I am lying on my bed trying to meditate.
Trying to engage in mindful meditation, to be accurate.
Mindfulness, I am learning in my wonderful Buddhism class, is the state of being in the present moment. Living in the now.
Something I’ve always had a very hard time doing.
The regrets of the past and the worries of the future always have a firmer hold on me than anything I am experiencing in the present moment.
But that’s one of the reasons I am taking this class. I know I am missing a lot by not living in the now. Maybe Buddhism can help me find that place in time.
Our instructor told us to try mindful meditation for 25 minutes a day. So I am here on my bed in the early evening trying to meditate.
But there’s someone else on the bed: Maddie.
I realize most sane people (and definitely sane people who don’t have dogs) would say, “What the hell are you doing with a dog on your bed when you’re trying to meditate? Do you ever see pictures of Buddhist monks meditating with their faithful canine friends at their side?”
Well, no.
But for those of you who have dogs, you know what would happen if I tried to kick Maddie off the bed — and let’s not even get into locking her out of the room.
Maddie is very sure of few things in life — she’s a nervous kind of labradoodle — but one thing she is very certain of: Her place is at my side.
As I write this, she is flopped on the floor next to me, tired from our 2 hour trek through the park this morning, content from her bowl of breakfast, and relaxed because … she’s near me.
So getting rid of Maddie isn’t an option. Not even for a 25 minutes.
I lie on the bed and think: Forget about Maddie. Stop fixating on the dog. Relax .. let go … let go …
There are some voices outside, and I feel my body tense. Any second now, Maddie is going to erupt. How am I going to meditate with manic barking 12 inches from my head?
Relax … let go …
I remember something a yoga teacher said ages ago about meditation: “Thoughts will try to come into your mind, but don’t push them away. Think of them as clouds, momentarily blocking out the sun. These thoughts will float away on their own, leaving your mind clear.”
Maddie hasn’t even barked yet, I think. I am stressing about my meditation being interrupted by something that hasn’t happened — and may never happen. Why am I thinking about this when I should be thinking about nothing?!
Let go … let go .. like clouds blocking the sun …
I inhale through my nose and exhale deeply. Nothing calms my crazy mind like a deep exhale. I feel my body relax, my focus becomes less focused …
Maddie suddenly twitches and then viciously begins chewing a toenail.
Oh, for God’s sake! Just when I am starting to relax and sink into it, she has to gnaw away at her toenail?! What’s on her toe that’s suddenly so itchy? Why does she have to chew at it so loudly?
Let it go … relax … the clouds will move away …
I try — but I know me.
There is no way I am going to be able to sufficiently relax while Maddie could bark, chew, move, sneeze .. do anything at any given moment.
I exhale again — but this time it’s in exasperation.
So what am I saying? That I can never meditate while I have a dog?
And then it occurs to me. Cesar always talks about “dog psychology.” I am a great fan of Cesar — he is my guru. Following what he preaches has allowed Maddie and me to have a more normal life than I ever dreamed possible. We have so much fun together, and none of this would’ve been possible if I hadn’t discovered Cesar.
I think about what I’ve learned, about how when I am walking Maddie my anxieties travel down the leash to her. How I’ve worked on being calm when we see other dogs, other people … and how I know my calmness (feigned or not) has helped transform this dog into who she is (who we both are) now.
So maybe I can transfer the calmness, the stillness of meditation to Maddie while I lie here. Maybe she can join me in meditating.
Inhale, exhale.
I gently pat a spot on the bed next to me. Maddie doesn’t need much encouragement.
She rises from the foot of the bed, stretches, and crashes down next to me. We are shoulder to shoulder.
I reach over and let my hand rest on her torso. That is our leash for now.
I pet her slowly and gently for a few minutes. Then I just leave my hand resting on her.
Inhale, exhale. Clouds moving away from the sun.
I feel Maddie relax, hear her sigh.
I feel myself relax. My exhales become longer and deeper. I can feel my body melting.
When I finally sit up, I glance at the clock. We’ve been lying there for a half hour, connected by my hand.
I know I didn’t fall asleep, but I can’t say for certain I was meditating. I do know Maddie and I were both totally relaxed and very much living in the now.
I can’t wait to do it tomorrow.
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