Home » If you squint really hard, you could call what I was doing meditation

If you squint really hard, you could call what I was doing meditation

“Have you tried meditating?” My therapist asked me nine years ago when I was coping with a new diagnosis. Yes. I had. With mixed results. I understood the benefits of meditation as well as I understood the benefits of flossing my teeth, which is to say, perfectly, and then ignored them. “Overthinking is my superpower,” I told him. “My mind races with so many thoughts; I’m not sure it’s possible to empty it.” 

Still, I accepted the downloaded guided meditations he gave me by someone named Dr. Joe Dispenza. I thought they were weird; I didn’t like Dispenza’s altered, space-like voice. But I liked the way he used science to make the case for meditation. I didn’t understand then that he was intentionally using that voice to tap into certain brainwave frequencies and get us beyond ourselves, into a different state of mind. So I tried Tara Brach, Kundalini, and Zen. As my friend Landon put it about his own practice, “If you really squint, you could call what I was doing meditation.” I felt momentary states of calm, but not much more. Then, the tumors pressing on my spine made sitting too uncomfortable to continue. I tried lying down and practicing, but I always fell asleep. I thought, Maybe I’m not trying hard enough. Maybe running or being in nature is my practice. Maybe I’m not meant to do it at all. I put meditation on a shelf and labeled it, “Useful Tool For Others.” 

When I found out last spring that there were new and growing tumors along my spine, I was anxious, worried about the kids, the unknowns of this disease, and its limited treatment options. I was living in stress and survival. I was also not sleeping, averaging 4-5 hours of disrupted sleep a night. And I was resentful of others for being healthy and being able to plan for their futures. On a good day, I didn’t think about the disease, but I was still discontent. I spent hours scrolling Zillow real estate listings, looking for a new house, or fantasizing about renovating our old one. I wanted a clean, fresh, unbroken life. 

A friend suggested I go to a Joe Dispenza meditation retreat to learn to renovate my insides instead. I told her I’d rather have a new kitchen. I didn’t like the looks of his retreats. Big, flashy, Tony Robbins-style conferences in convention halls devoid of character and fresh air. But as a mom with a rare disease and not many options, I was willing to do anything to heal. And recent promising scans buoyed me enough to risk believing in meditation as a way to amplify healing. So I signed up for a 7-day experience in San Diego. 

Day 1: I walked into the enormous hotel ballroom carrying my little meditation pillow. The space was lit up like a rock concert with a giant stage and five large screens. I turned around and walked out. I caught my breath while looking at the ocean out the window. I looked at schedules for whale watching tours. I wanted to be out there, on the water, not cooped up in a giant conference room for seven days. I made a deal with myself: “If you go back in there and try, just one day, then you can go whale watching tomorrow.” I booked a spot on a 10 a.m boat the next day. 

I made it through the first day, feeling pretty convinced that everyone was going to have a spiritual experience except me. I was also certain that this was a cult. Back in my room, I went down the rabbit hole of who is Joe Dispenza. Is he legitimate? I asked ChatGPT, expecting a one word answer. Chat said, “He’s a real person. Many people report that his practices help them with stress and focus.” Not helpful, Chat!

Day 2: These are not my people, I told myself as I walked into the ballroom. My people are discerning intellectuals and nature-lovers, yet everyone in my row of chairs was not what I expected: a middle-aged couple from Mexico, a young woman from Denmark, a gentle Israeli man, and two brothers from Mongolia. Claiming that I didn’t fit in was like walking into an airport and declaring, these are not my people. There were 2,000 people from 61 countries. All ages. All nationalities. All faiths. Some had traveled for three days to get there. I watched a son push his father in a wheelchair from ALS, a daughter hold her mother’s arm as she shook with Parkinson’s, and an older man take three tries to get up off the ground after meditating. I committed to come back after my whale watching adventure. 

Out on the whale boat later that day, we motored for an hour off shore, venturing into the wide, open ocean. The captain claimed that they had spotted gray whales and dolphins all week, but so far we hadn’t seen anything other than a few sea lions. I started to doubt my choice to leave the retreat and come here. What if we didn’t see any whales? 

Then, a spout of water, and another, and another. Four humpback whales surfaced near the boat as they migrated over 3,000 miles from Alaska to Baja, Mexico to have their calves, following the sun, stars, currents and earth’s magnetic field. Our boat followed along next to them for over an hour, listening to their breath, watching their flukes break the surface of the water, wave, and glide gracefully back into the sea. I thought, now I know why I came. The humpbacks were teaching me that beyond that worry-making machine of my mind, there is all this mystery and beauty in the unknown. 

Day 3 and beyond: I walked into the ballroom with curiosity and openness. I adopted a Mexican couple as my new best friends. That day, and every day afterwards, we did three meditations a day and listened to hours of lectures on physics and neuroscience. I wasn’t having a breakthrough or any spiritual experiences. So I kept trying harder. On Day 5, we woke up at 4am to meditate. I could hear Octaviano snoring next to me, but somehow I managed to stay awake. When Dr. Joe told us it was 9 o’clock and time to go to breakfast, I was in shock. How had I meditated for five hours? Well, we did alternate between sitting and lying down, but still. Before, with the sciatica from tumors pressing on my spine, I couldn’t sit for 30 minutes. 

Then I found out I was chosen for a healing experience at the end of the retreat. I was honored, but also conflicted. I was offended by the notion that if a person just believed enough in their body’s ability to heal, they could cure their cancer. So those who die from disease didn’t believe or try hard enough? It felt cruel. Yet at this point in my journey, I was open to possibility in a way I hadn’t been in a long while. 

When the time came for the healing, I was grateful, but overwhelmed by the idea of so much attention being placed on me. They told me eight meditators would sit in a circle and send me loving, healing energy while I lay down in the middle and received. What does that even mean? Receive what? My overthinking, skeptical brain was in full force. 

I lay down and closed my eyes anyway. Then the meditators designated as healers came into the room and gathered around. I kept my eyes closed. I didn’t feel anything. I had a strong urge to get up and give away my “healee” spot. It was uncomfortable to just lie there and receive. I wanted to do rather than be and give rather than receive. I thought, I don’t deserve this healing. There are others sicker than me. Yet I didn’t want to make a scene, so I stayed lying down, eyes closed. 

I kept trying to feel something. Then I heard an autistic child in the room make sounds, and instead of trying harder, I surrendered to the sounds I was hearing. It gave me permission to make sounds too. I opened my mouth and out came low rumblings that sounded like monks throat singing, then sobbing. I felt nine years of stress fall off my shoulders and lower back. I saw Cole and Hazel, Kurt, my dog, my brothers, my mom, my dad and loved them deeply. Next, I was floating in space through the stars less like I was in a spaceship and more like my body was a constellation. I was inside one of those star charts drawn by H.A Rey (The author of Curious George and also The Stars) and I felt full of gratitude for everything all of a sudden, especially for Curious George and for H.A Rey. The next sound that came out of my mouth was not a low rumbling or deep sobbing, but laughter. 

I knew clearly at that moment that I was going to be fine. I could hear a woman by my left ear crying too and I wanted to reach out to tell her it was okay, that we were all going to be okay. I also saw myself outside in a forest surrounded by teenagers and I was teaching them how to meditate. I was envisioning a future with me in it, and that felt amazing.

When it was time to open our eyes, I didn’t feel embarrassed that I had just sobbed and moaned in front of eight strangers, I wanted to see who they were and thank them. We sat talking for a while and all of us seemed changed for the better. When I spoke with the woman next to me who had been crying, she told me that she was a military vet who suffered from terrible PTSD. She said, “I don’t know what just happened, but all the anxiety and stress has completely left me.” All I could think was, if the two of us could have some kind of spiritual experience in a basement hotel ballroom, then anything is possible. 

Nine years ago, the diagnosis changed me. Three recurrences changed me again. In that moment on the carpeted floor, I saw myself as someone who was not afraid of the unknown, someone who didn’t live in survival mode, someone who slept deeply and well. After seven days of meditating on the unknown, I know that I’ve changed again, and it feels amazing. 

Now that I’m back home, the real challenge begins. So far, I’m waking up 30 min earlier each day to meditate. It’s not as easy to do alone, but my days go better when I do it. I still scroll through Zillow, but I’m writing again and ideas are coming to me faster now. It’s as if I rid myself of a whole lot of energy that was going toward worry and stress and released it for creativity. And last night, for the first time in months (years?), I slept for eight full hours. 

Whatever your practice is to find your center, keep going. I feel deeply that we’re on the right track. Just keep going. 

Love, 

Susie

(P.S. To support the non-violent protests and the exhausted people on the front lines in Minneapolis, we are offering a weekly meditation circle: Meditate for Peace & Justice on Mondays at 7ET/6CT/5MT/4PT, online. Stay tuned for more details or reply to this email that you are interested in joining us. There is no cost, and no experience is necessary.)

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If you want to try meditation on your own, here are some of my favorite resources: