A guys gotta do what he can for his brain (to say nothing of his marriage), so I recently agreed to attend a weekend meditation retreat with my wife. Agreed is an interesting word here, as I was given the option of not attending, but after passing on the previous 17 or so, one had a sense that there was more at stake than inner peace.

Through years of hard work, dedication, practice and personal discovery, my wife has become the yogic equivalent of an acrobatic thought ninja. Over the same course of time, I have discovered that if you stack three yoga mats directly on top of each other you can just about take a nap on them. The key is to position them equidistant between the six directions of the universe and about four feet out from the woodstove.

That said, Im a guy who remains open to alternative ways of thinking (Fleet Farm or Farm & Fleetwho am I to say? Go in peace.) and am totally willing to expand my consciousness (alt hough , again: naps are nice). I also have plenty of opportunity to study my wife, and am fully resolved on whether the world needs more people like me or more people like herso Im trying to be more like her.

When we arrived at the yoga studio, I was one of three men in the room, so basically it was like going back to nursing school only without the embarrassing polyester smock and white shoes. For meditation class I wore jeans, a flannel shirt and gray socks. (This is what we call meeting half way. Plus, the world is not ready to see me barefooted in a sea foam green tank top and mid-calf drawstring yoga knickers.)

Right off the bat I caught a break when the instructor said I would be allowed to meditate while sitting upright in a chair. Its not that I cant achieve your classic full lotus position, its just that the end result would be the equivalent of a botched bilateral hip replacement. There is the added bonus that I long ago mastered the art of napping while sitting upright in a chair.

The instructor began by playing a DVD featuring a revered Tibetan monk whose brochures Id seen around the house. He seemed a cheerful and peaceful fellow, although I admit the first thing I thought of when I saw him sitting cross-legged in an armchair was Hey! Get your feet off the furniture! I just heard Mom pull up! These are the sorts of thoughts that impede your progress along the dharmic arc.

Much of the wisdom the monk shared was of a classically monkish sort (I will need several additional lives and a set of flash cards to gnaw my way through the Four Immeasurables), but there were two very humanizing moments. The first came whenwhile expanding on the aforementioned Immeasurableshe invoked the phrase yada-yada . The second came when he said one of the chief purposes of meditation is to tame the monkey-mind .

I could use some of that. Since I dont wish to insult monkeys, lets just say my mind operates like a nervous squirrel in a roomful of acorn-scented SuperBalls. I mean, mostly I like it in there, but there are times I wish we could stay in one gear and just drive, without all the frantic veering and Y-turns. So when the DVD segment concluded and the workshop instructor led us into our first meditation, I put all the jokes on hold and tried my best. The squirrel paused among the SuperBalls. I snuck a peek at my wife, just two feet away and a thousand miles ahead of me.

Back in my head, the squirrel raised his paw.

Yes? I said.

Original post:
Michael Perry: Finding oneself at a weekend meditation retreat