Mexican Gods
I am back in Guanajuato. Yesterday and today I returned to the meditation group that meets based on the school calendar. We will take a break starting Friday, due to university vacation.
Both days, I felt so safe in the meditation room. So held. What is it? I wondered. Why do I feel so safe here, and less so when meditating with my Eureka group? It's not the personalities; I like the people in both places. Maybe it's because this group meets daily, 8:00-9:00 sharp. Whether I'm present or not, it's always there, and I find comfort in its steadiness.
For half an hour we sit facing outward. Today Ofelia sits next to me. Ofelia is a ballerina with a dancer's name and a body. She and her dance group performed in Panama in the spring, her teacher Lola, another meditator, told me yesterday.
The bell rings. We each relax in our own way for a minute or two. People stretch, do yoga poses. Another bell rings. We stand, bow. Another bell. We turn and walk slowly, barely moving. My feet cup the tiles. They "hug" the floor, I think, enjoying the image. They greet the floor, meet the floor, trust the floor, bask in its support, yield to it, lean into its strength.
But who is holding whom? The floor is holding me and I am also holding the floor.
Yesterday, meditating, I started with my usual greeting, the opening I hear myself say in most of my meditations: "Hi God, here I am." The words always remind of when I was 12 and 13, attending summer camp in the North Carolina mountains. After breakfast, the whole camp would assemble by the flagpole, and each cabin leader would respond, "All here or accounted for."
But this time my greeting felt like a challenge, as in, "OK, God, so? And? Just what are you expecting out of me this time? Huh?" As if I were arming myself, preparing myself to do battle.
Just who is my God, I asked myself. An Aztec god I have to fight? A lover whose arms I fall into? A soul friend? How do I approach You--warmly, tenderly, affectionately, with enthusiasm and joy, "Oh good! I'm so happy to see you again! It's been ages. I can't wait to catch up."
Or with fear, anxiety, suspicion, guilt? Are you the god who judges and absolves, twin sides of the same coin, from whom I beg for mercy?
We become the God we imagine, my Unity minister used to say.
An orange-red flowery garment, kimono-like, sways around my shoulders. The bell rings.
Both days, I felt so safe in the meditation room. So held. What is it? I wondered. Why do I feel so safe here, and less so when meditating with my Eureka group? It's not the personalities; I like the people in both places. Maybe it's because this group meets daily, 8:00-9:00 sharp. Whether I'm present or not, it's always there, and I find comfort in its steadiness.
For half an hour we sit facing outward. Today Ofelia sits next to me. Ofelia is a ballerina with a dancer's name and a body. She and her dance group performed in Panama in the spring, her teacher Lola, another meditator, told me yesterday.
The bell rings. We each relax in our own way for a minute or two. People stretch, do yoga poses. Another bell rings. We stand, bow. Another bell. We turn and walk slowly, barely moving. My feet cup the tiles. They "hug" the floor, I think, enjoying the image. They greet the floor, meet the floor, trust the floor, bask in its support, yield to it, lean into its strength.
But who is holding whom? The floor is holding me and I am also holding the floor.
Yesterday, meditating, I started with my usual greeting, the opening I hear myself say in most of my meditations: "Hi God, here I am." The words always remind of when I was 12 and 13, attending summer camp in the North Carolina mountains. After breakfast, the whole camp would assemble by the flagpole, and each cabin leader would respond, "All here or accounted for."
But this time my greeting felt like a challenge, as in, "OK, God, so? And? Just what are you expecting out of me this time? Huh?" As if I were arming myself, preparing myself to do battle.
Just who is my God, I asked myself. An Aztec god I have to fight? A lover whose arms I fall into? A soul friend? How do I approach You--warmly, tenderly, affectionately, with enthusiasm and joy, "Oh good! I'm so happy to see you again! It's been ages. I can't wait to catch up."
Or with fear, anxiety, suspicion, guilt? Are you the god who judges and absolves, twin sides of the same coin, from whom I beg for mercy?
We become the God we imagine, my Unity minister used to say.
An orange-red flowery garment, kimono-like, sways around my shoulders. The bell rings.
posted by Louisa at 2:03 PM
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