By Dana Gornall
I was looking for something more in my spiritual life.
Catholicism wasn’t doing it for me, but I really didn’t know which direction to go. One day when I was driving to an appointment for my job I was stopped at a red light and looked to my left. There was a metaphysical store right there and for some reason I felt drawn to go inside. I ended up taking many different types of classes there, and meditation was one of them.
After I started having children, classes or hobbies all took a back seat and being a mom was the focus of my life. Suddenly my time was full of sleepless nights and toddlers and Blues Clues on our TV.
My sister-in-law invited me to drop in a yoga class with her and so I went. I was hooked. For some reason yoga and meditation provided that missing link in my life.
Today my children are teenagers and instead of Blues Clues on our TV we have The Walking Dead. Instead of chasing toddlers I am running them up to the school, to the gym and sitting in the passenger seat with my fingers clenched as they practice driving. Meditation is hard to fit in the day. Hell, going pee is hard to fit in the day.
When things get a little chaotic, I find myself pulled to the kitchen. There is a small red rug that we had bought for one of my daughter’s school projects when she had to portray Gandhi. I sit there, right under the sink (that usually has dishes still in it) with my back against the kitchen cupboard and the dog bowls next to my side, and close my eyes for a few minutes. And that is my meditation.
Nothing structured, no timer, no specific format of meditation—just a few minutes of quiet on the kitchen floor. Even if it’s only a short time with zombies hissing in the background on our TV.
Latest posts by Dana Gornall (see all)
- To the Young Mother with the Screaming Child at Target - September 12, 2019
- Talks at 1 a.m. - August 17, 2019
- The Edge of the Empty Nest - August 1, 2019