Three stories inspired by meditation

Three micros stories from Micro Stories Collection and Short Stories

Meditation I

I opened my eyes slightly, just enough to let some light reach my retina to distinguish the bodies sitting still next to me. I moved my eyes right and left, like they teach us in exercises but this time instead of deleting old programming, I was simply dying to see if everyone was still sitting quiet in meditation. My right leg felt numbed after only 10 minutes, my left calf blocking the blood circulation along the right one. I knew I had to move, but I did not want to be the first to disturb the quiet air with the vibrations of my movements. I told myself, when I see someone else adjusting the posture, I will do the same. For sure someone will. Two minutes, three minutes, five minutes, the time was passing, and my brain was shocked both by the pain in my leg and the distressing panic I felt as all other classmates kept sitting still, unstirred.

It’s a lie, it’s a lie, I wanted to shout. I was sure that half of them were feeling their legs tingling but they wanted to win: they were not moving. I tried to calm myself and focus on my goddammed breathing but my mind kept jumping, laughing at me for even trying and repeating me, your legs hurt, your legs hurt. Shut up, you loser, I shouted inside. If they do not move, I won’t move either. And with that I contracted my jaw so hard that my upper and lower teeth tried to carve their way into each other.

The accumulating tension was spreading along the four limbs and a light, involuntary shake rattled my body. The only thing I could focus on was the wretched state of my body, and instead of blessing and peace I was buried under a thick cloak of defeat. I finally had my eyes so wet, in a way that the fifteen minutes of eye yoga never managed to. I slowly moved, my eyes closed as I did not want to see the happy faces around me. On all fours, I let the blood run throughout my body, then I sat down on the cushion again, legs wide in front of me, my hands on the floor on the side of my pillow.

I could finally breathe, and I basked in the thankfulness of my revived circulation, as I mentally signed off meditation class from my activity list.

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Meditation II

I have been thinking about it the whole day, since I got up grumpy and angry at the world, this morning. I came back the night before from a business trip to Bonn with a colleague and the unreliable train connection from Berlin meant getting up early and coming back late at night, leaving no space for private life. The trip to Bonn was punctuated by calls, which interrupted the last revisions of the presentation. The slow internet connection tensed my body proportionally to the distance the train was still going to cover. I had been sloppy in my work, and I was afraid of lacking the time needed to fix my slides. At each station I held my breath, unconsciously. Gasping for air after a few minutes, I then inhaled deep and loud, as I never allow myself to during a meditation session. I expected to have some quiet time during the return trip, but I did not consider the enthusiasm of my young colleague for his newly born. Faking a nap did not interrupt the flow of words as he intermittently spoke on his handy with his wife, aunt, cousin, friend and chatting with an equal amount of people, letting his WhatsApp notifications beeping like a car alarm.

I turned off the office light and with eagerness I took the metro to the yoga studio. The metro was overflowing with people who matched my grumpiness or even surpassed it. When the screaming baby got on, I consciously started focusing on my breathing. In, out, in out. It is all an illusion, the screaming, the smell, the grumpy people.

Somehow, I managed to get off keeping my blood pressure to an acceptable range, and I walked in the darkness of the late afternoon to my favourite building. Here, on the third floor, I would find my peace, my own self, my balance.

I quickly changed into my clothes and instead of joining the group for a cup of tea in the common room, I went to the meditation room. I was early and I was pleased to see the room still empty, the pillow with my favourite colour still available. I sat down with a sigh and pulled my legs closed to me, to let them get accustomed to the Burmese position first. I closed my eyes, and I observed my breathing getting finer, even, deep in my belly. My mind emptied and with each breath I started peeling off the stress of the previous day. Gone was the time pressure, the sloppy work, the constant chattering in the train. The gong resounded in the room, now half full, and I accommodated myself in half lotus to enjoy one hour of motionless peace. As time went by, a rush of energy invaded my body, charging my brain with something beyond words. I was home.

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Meditation III

“Ah, so you meditate as well, that’s awesome,” said her date, “me too.”

She flashed a smile, nodding. Of course, she knew it. She chose his profile according to his interests and she thought it could be romantic to meditate together.

“Which kind of meditation do you practice?” he asked.

She looked at him with a question mark painted on her face.

“I sit and breathe.”

“Yes, of course, but which kind, Zen, transcendental, chakra…?”

She looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language.

“I don’t know, I close my eyes and I let my mind wander.”

“What? You let your mind wander? Who taught you that? You don’t focus on your breathing?” He looked at her as if she had violated all ten Commandments.

“Yes, I concentrate on the breathing at the beginning, but then I let the thoughts come and go. I read it in a book.”

“Ah, you mean that they pass by, as clouds?” he asked, his eyebrows now knitted together.

“No, they come, and they stay, I think about this or that, according to what comes first.”

He opened his eyes wide and retracted his body, as if he needed to put some distance between him and the impure.

She took the plastic strow in her mouth to a sip of coke, crushing the edge with her front teeth.

“But this is not meditation, I mean…I don’t know where you read such stupid things.” He sighted, bringing his body nearer the table again, putting on his teacher face and started lecturing her on the real meditation.

Her hands on her lap, she listened politely, with a faint smile on her face. As soon as he stopped spreading the verb, she rushed to change subject and asked him about his job, his plans, his dreams, assessing between his words and his pauses his yearly revenues (he complained about the costs of a monthly metro card) - and fun potential (he went to bed every night at 10 pm).

After the second drink, a beer for her and another healthy drink for him, they left the bar and said their good-byes. Both were clear that the match was not meant to be, and they parted with no bad feelings.

He went home, a few centimetres taller, his chin held right and occupying all the space around him, thinking how ridiculous that girl pretending that she meditated.

She looked at the time on her mobile, and saw she had the time to stroll leisurely to the KaDeWe mall to pick up the tray of mixed canapé and caviar jars she ordered for the weekend. She was expecting a couple of friends over and was looking forward to it.

The food hall was quieter than usual, and she could reach the stand without juggling her way through the customers. She was glad to be promptly served and once done, she felt again grateful for there was but one customer before her at the check-out.

The casher told her the total amount and she noticed offhand that it was threefold the cost of a monthly metro card. She handed over her credit card pleased at the delicacies and thought that she maybe did not meditate right, but those meditation sessions still allowed her to build a flourishing business which brought her both wealth and peace of mind. Taking the bags, she left the mall, wondering how much money she could get by selling her meditation style.