The Thrill of Life
There’s an activity I’ve led a few times in yoga teacher training. I place the group of students in a circle. They're seated, eyes closed, left hand face down on their left knee, right hand face up on their right knee. The only direction they're given is to not open their eyes. That's it. I then walk around and place an ice cube in their open right hand and let the group know that we'll be sitting for an indeterminate amount of time, reminding them that the only request is they keep their eyes closed. It is fascinating to watch the response. Some people are immediately surprised. Some people laugh. Some people cry. Some people eat the ice cube. Others muscle through the pain until it fully melts, their suffering a badge of honor. Some set it on the floor or rub it between their hands. Others get up and walk out of the room. There are no rules other than the ones they place upon themselves. It's a practice in witnessing their consciousness and observing their reaction. When I sit down to meditate, sans ice cube, the intent is the same. To notice and become aware. To witness me in that moment.
In my first 200-hour yoga training we were required to meditate 30 minutes a day. The way I first learned to meditate was incredibly unforgiving. Lotus position. Erect spine. Eyes closed. If your leg went numb, well, then your leg went numb. If your shoulder was itchy, well, you tried to scratch it with your mind. Back then, and still to this day, it was usually around the 7-minute mark where the meditation adventure went one of two ways: I'd drop into it and settle. Or my mind would resist, I'd constantly check the time, and I'd play games in my head to make the minutes pass by. On really naughty days, I'd move my legs in rebellion, quit early, or choose not to sit all together, which usually resulted in guilt and shame in having not fulfilled my commitments. If you're wondering if I'd be the person who would sit and suffer with an ice cube in my hand, you are correct.
Nine years later, I was introduced to a meditation teacher named Lorin Roche. Just listening to him speak is like listening to poetry. His words are rich and radiant and bold. In a recent podcast he was featured on, he said "Let's redefine meditation as jumping into the thrill of life. Welcome all emotions, all thoughts." A few other tidbits of his that continue to inspire me:
"You want your meditation to feel like a bath, a massage, a dance, a party." (Um, yeah, sign me up please!)
"Meditation is rehearsing for life."
"When we let ourselves be drenched in the energy of healing, our wounds become golden. The places that were broken don't become fixed, but magically strong."
"What, to you, feels like 'OH YEAH!'? That's what you want to try to find when meditating."
"When you challenge the body, it rebuilds itself stronger. Just like working out, you break down tissue, it heals, you come back stronger. Meditation is working out your nervous system. It heals. You come back stronger."
I meditated a hell of a lot after moving to California. Some days I'd have my hands over my heart and tears would be pouring out of my eyes. Some days I felt the familiar itch of discomfort. Some days I was content. Many days were unmemorable. But every time I sat, I was intent on feeling it all, inviting all emotions to have a seat at the table, clinging to the belief that facing my emotions head on would help them dissipate. They'd lose their power. Without a shadow of doubt, meditating is what helped me heal from unbearable pain. And I am consistently dedicated to finding the thrill of life, to continue healing, to strengthening, to finding pleasure and enjoyment as much as possible.
I'll be offering a free 15-minute group meditation Monday mornings at 7a PT starting September 14. It will be offered on Instagram Live for now. Please join when you can and share with anyone in your life who wants to come along for the ride. You can find me at @averyhyggelife. Ice cubes optional.
