Advent Meditation

The online Advent practice for today asks that I “sit in my cell for a half hour and do nothing.”  I can do this. I start by sitting and looking at the tops of the bare trees out the balcony door window that is in my study.  I watch the tips of the branches sway in the wind at the backdrop of an all gray sky.  Misty rain speckles the glass on the door.  I listen to the tinnitus in my right ear.  It is on high pitch but it doesn’t seem to matter.  A few minutes pass. 

Then I hear a voice:  “Your cell phone is ringing.”  I attempt to ignore the proclamation, but the urge to know who was calling seems greater than my time of doing nothing.  I’ll go make a cup of tea.  This will help me do nothing.  I find my cell phone. The call was from an online guidance counselor about my degree program.  It was important and I note what she said on a sheet of paper then go back to my cell.  Maybe I should write a short email to the counselor to say I got her call.  This takes about 20 minutes because I have to search the internet for some information I want to share with her.

 Now my tea is cold, but it’s okay.  I look out at the tree tops again.  Everything is as I left it a half hour ago.  Too bad—I could be done by now, but I’m starting all over.  I observe darker lower clouds passing overhead that look like smoke from a fire.  There was a comment about “fire” in today’s Advent practice.  When on fire,  “stop, drop, and roll… cease the frantic motion that is fanning the flames.” Okay, I can do that. 

Suddenly my spouse, charges in the room and announces, “I’ve finally finished the eulogy!  Want to hear it?”  Why yes… of course I do!  She is a minister and is so good at writing these things.  Another 20 minutes have passed, but I can still do this meditation practice.  I close my door and lock myself in.  It’s 1 p.m.  I stop fanning the flames.  In the distance I hear a fire engine. 

I take two shell peanuts from my breast pocket that I was keeping for the back yard squirrel and eat them.  I put the shells back in my pocket.  I continue to look out the window and try to get the crushed peanuts out from between my teeth with my tongue.  I methodically chew the little bits that are left and swallow them.  There is cold air coming in from around the door sill.  The wind continues to shake the tops of the trees and pull the dark smoky clouds across the sky.  I close my eyes and try to shut it out.  At arm’s reach, I grab the blanket off the rocking chair and drape myself, head to foot. 

Thoughts begin to creep into my mind—Those few grumpy people who are disgruntled with me for one reason or another—Why do they bother me at this very moment?  Send them away. I feel the soreness in my muscles since I’ve been wearing a FitBit and walking and exercising more. Send it away!  I can almost feel the cortisone shot that entered the left knee this week.  Send it away! And that tinnitus is still blaring.  Send it all away.  I still chew on tiny pieces of peanut.  This is a mixed blessing and it keeps my mind from coming up with new thoughts that I will only have to send away. 

“Are you there God?  Don’t you want to say something?”

“No.”

Sometimes all God wants is our presence.  I stay with this thought for a long while.  Then a memory comes to mind of my first time in centering meditation that was also suppose to last a half hour.  It was during my spiritual direction training and one of the other students fell asleep and started snoring.  There were about six of us in the room and I remember opening one eye just a crack to see if there were any reactions.  The snorer was slumped on the couch and those around him were seated upright with tiny grins at their lips.  I remember how ironically the time seemed to pass.  Just like now.

I look at the clock on the computer and its 1:36 p.m.  I made it.  What I report back to the online practice group remains a mystery.