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Meditate? I’d Rather Be in the Basement Brooming Cobwebs

Meditate? I’d Rather Be in the Basement Brooming Cobwebs May 5, 2015

 

Jon Newhall reading on the deck of his house, suggesting a mood of mediation.  Photo by Barbara Newhall
My husband Jon in a meditative moment. Photo by Barbara Newhall

By Barbara Falconer Newhall

I like Sylvia Boorstein. She makes a great case for the practice of meditation. Her book, Don’t Just Do Something, Sit There, is one of my favorite ways to think about meditating without actually doing it.

Letting go of my busy life in order to meditate for a few minutes each day has never appealed to me. Sit quietly for a half hour? I’d rather be sorting laundry or brooming cobwebs from the basement ceiling. I like the physical world, right down to clean socks and dead flies on the basement floor.

A life is to be lived, I tell myself. And for the time being I’ve got one. Why would I want to spend any of it just sitting there, watching my thoughts go by – when I could be out in the world, generating new ones?

Author and Buddhist teacher Sylvia Boorstein. Photo by Christine Alicino
Sylvia Boorstein. Photo by Christine Alicino

I’ve tried meditating a few times – a very few times. I’m well read on the subject, however. Indeed, I’ve spent way more time reading about meditation than doing it.

Why meditate, I reason, when I could be outdoors deadheading spent blossoms from the shamelessly prolific rhododendron in our front yard? Those blossoms snap off their stems with such a satisfying pop.

(I do nothing to make that plant bloom, btw. Yet year after year it sucks up dirt and rainwater and blasts dozens of grandiose purple-blue blossoms into our tiny front yard. Hardly anybody notices this plant or its outrageous flowers. It produces them anyway.)

Why would I want to just sit there observing my mind when I could be calling my son in Minneapolis, my fingers still sticky with rhododendron sap, to ask how his new puppy likes running around the backyard Peter just fenced in? I could be phoning my daughter – has she starred in any new videos lately? I could be in the kitchen, massaging my kale with olive oil. I could be having fun.

Yet – right now I’m thinking maybe a little meditating could do me some good.

A friend once gave me a copy of an essay that Thomas Merton wrote way back in 1968. It’s called “Creative Silence.” In it, Merton makes a distinction between negative silence and creative silence. In negative silence, we fret and stew and let our anxieties run off with our thoughts. In creative silence, we experience what Paul Tillich called “the courage to be.”

Creative silence requires a certain kind of faith, Merton says. (If you’re like me, you’re not keen on the word faith. It has a squishy, sentimental, boasty feel to it. So, bear with me here. Merton uses the word in a specific way.)

Faith, says Merton, requires us to cut through the smokescreen of our daily activities, our busyness, the charming or efficient or competent personas we present to the world and to ourselves. Our talky prayers can be a smokescreen. So can the ideas about God that our traditional religions have constructed for us over the centuries.

All those reassuring slogans and routines of religiosity, says Merton, “can become a substitute for the truth of the invisible God of faith, and though this comforting image may seem real to us, he is really a kind of idol.”

meditating on a  browning, spent rhododendron blossom, ready to be dead-headed by the attentive gardener. Photo by Barbara
A spent rhododendron blossom, ripe for dead-heading. Photo by Barbara Newhall

We fear genuine silence, Merton says. We are afraid of being alone in the nakedness of our true selves without our usual masks of competence or sociability. Why are we afraid? Because we’ve lost hope of ever reconciling with – of accepting – our true selves.

By faith I think Merton means the willingness to trust that, if we set aside the busyness of our days and the busyness of our thoughts and we go fully into silence, someone – our true selves – will be there to meet us. As will God.

I like Merton’s take on silence. But does that mean I’m about to take up meditating? Time spent in meditation might be like time spent on a Spin bike or with a hair dryer. I might like the results.

No, sitting meditation is not for me right now, but Merton’s silence is. And so, as I snap the spent rhododendron blossoms from their stems, and fold my husband’s T-shirts, and wait for the phone to pick up in Minneapolis, I’ll remember the silence. I’ll listen for that wordless self of mine.

“Don’t Just Do Something, Sit There: A Mindfulness Retreat with Sylvia Boorstein,” by Sylvia Boorstein, Harper Collins, 1996.

“Creative Silence,” by Thomas Merton, first published in April, 1968, in Bloomin’ Newman, by University of Louisville students. Reprinted in Thomas Merton: Essential Writings, Christine M. Bochen, ed., Modern Spiritual Masters Series, Orbis Books, 2000.

A version of this story first appeared on BarbaraFalconerNewhall.com, where Barbara  riffs on life, family, books, writing, and her rocky spiritual journey. Barbara is a veteran newspaper journalist whose stint as the religion beat reporter at the Contra Costa Times in the San Francisco Bay Area inspired her newly released interfaith book Wrestling with God: Stories of Doubt and Faith.

 


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