Today is the last day of my meditation marathon. This morning I did a writing meditation, at the kitchen table with two yellow candles, while outside it was snowing. Somehow I had the feeling that I entered a lighter place in myself.
Eventhough I did not even know I was in the dark.
I wrote about the power of limitation. How it helped me to write on this blog, because I had one topic. Meditation. When I can write about Life, words block, it is too big. Before the meditation marathon this blog was almost empty. But a small entrance gave me space to write. And actually meditation gives a broad terrain - it includes whole life.
So I will keep filling this blog with limitation. And I will limit myself in the new year. These last days I will think how. Which limitations make me grow? Which theme gives me space to write about life? Which commitment, like meditating every day, helps me to go deep?
Limitation as a gift, as an entrance for a broad terrain like a new year.
May you all limit yourself in a deep and meaningfull way ;)!
Posts tonen met het label meditation marathon. Alle posts tonen
Posts tonen met het label meditation marathon. Alle posts tonen
vrijdag 25 december 2009
dinsdag 22 december 2009
Low sun and long shadows
It stayed with me the last days, the subject of light and shadow.
It occurred to me a week ago. It was midday. The sun was shining, but low in the sky.
This gave the big oak in my garden a huge shadow on the fresh snow.
When the light is low, the shadows are long.
Midwinter is a time that shows us our shadows. Shadows show you who you are on this earth. Your bare form, reflected on the white earth, as an almost too clear mirror. No leaves, no flowers. When the sun is low, there is space for reflection. It can be hard to see our dark side; old patterns of impatience, old habits of feeling lonely.
But actually it is a gift. By seeing it we have the space to let go. Because we can only let go of things that are visible.
Yesterday we celebrated midwinter in my house. We built a snow igloo. And in the igloo a fire. The igloo reflected the orange fire. We were standing in an orange circle amidst of snow that made the shortest night light. We through in the fire a Branch of holly (the tree of letting go) and of oak ( the tree of building up) and a note with a word that we wanted to let go. Our shadow was eaten fast by the fire.
By seeing you shadow, you can let go. You can see you are not only this shadow. By burning it we became our own light, shining from within.
From the flower that I planted after burning my shadow Impatience, already grows some Patience. Patience with the sun rising within.
It occurred to me a week ago. It was midday. The sun was shining, but low in the sky.
This gave the big oak in my garden a huge shadow on the fresh snow.
When the light is low, the shadows are long.
Midwinter is a time that shows us our shadows. Shadows show you who you are on this earth. Your bare form, reflected on the white earth, as an almost too clear mirror. No leaves, no flowers. When the sun is low, there is space for reflection. It can be hard to see our dark side; old patterns of impatience, old habits of feeling lonely.
But actually it is a gift. By seeing it we have the space to let go. Because we can only let go of things that are visible.
Yesterday we celebrated midwinter in my house. We built a snow igloo. And in the igloo a fire. The igloo reflected the orange fire. We were standing in an orange circle amidst of snow that made the shortest night light. We through in the fire a Branch of holly (the tree of letting go) and of oak ( the tree of building up) and a note with a word that we wanted to let go. Our shadow was eaten fast by the fire.
By seeing you shadow, you can let go. You can see you are not only this shadow. By burning it we became our own light, shining from within.
From the flower that I planted after burning my shadow Impatience, already grows some Patience. Patience with the sun rising within.
woensdag 16 december 2009
Guided meditation
A small circle
of new people
on brown leather couches
I lead them to
a situation of joy
of nourishment
The circle gets wider
in between us
are acres of land
covered with fresh snow
We are hold by space
the world fits in our circle
With eyes open close together
around a candle
new to each other
With eyes closed
long familiar
floating in spaciousness
of new people
on brown leather couches
I lead them to
a situation of joy
of nourishment
The circle gets wider
in between us
are acres of land
covered with fresh snow
We are hold by space
the world fits in our circle
With eyes open close together
around a candle
new to each other
With eyes closed
long familiar
floating in spaciousness
Friends
Yesterday morning. With 5 friends in front of my new kitsch Christmas altar. Full of lights, angels and maria's. The garden white from thin snow. Half an hour of deep silence. Strong silence, because we are together.
Yesterday evening. I was alone in my atelier. Nobody came to the Open meditation evening. I felt alone. I did not meditate, but, as a way of distracting myself, I put some more Christmas decoration in my shop-window. Hanged around for half an hour. And than my good friend A. showed up after all. We nestled us on the electric blankets while outside it was freezing. We listened to Jaya's talk from Tiruvannamalai. A. and I were there five years ago. And now again. We heard the rickshaws on the background of the recording. The chickens and the cooks. We stayed longer in our warm nests than planned.
Friends help.
Yesterday evening. I was alone in my atelier. Nobody came to the Open meditation evening. I felt alone. I did not meditate, but, as a way of distracting myself, I put some more Christmas decoration in my shop-window. Hanged around for half an hour. And than my good friend A. showed up after all. We nestled us on the electric blankets while outside it was freezing. We listened to Jaya's talk from Tiruvannamalai. A. and I were there five years ago. And now again. We heard the rickshaws on the background of the recording. The chickens and the cooks. We stayed longer in our warm nests than planned.
Friends help.
zaterdag 12 december 2009
Free forest?
Walking meditation with my little chiwawa. The sun was sinking. The top of the trees were orange. The sky pink. I left everything at home. My wallet, my bag, to let go of all commitments, only my phone I could not leave behind, as a last piece of busy market mind.
Step by step I slowly arrived in the cold winter air. My dog was happy running really fast on the path before me. Almost there was peace.
Until a policewomen with a gun on her belt walked in my direction.
'Is that your dog?' pointing to a little white point running further and further.
I felt almost proud when I said Yes. So much joy in such a little animal.
'That will cost you 40 euro.'
Gone with the peace. There was no compassion, no love, no patience. Only anger.
'We're in nature! Dogs have to run now and then.'I said it with a red head of blood rushing.
'It is not allowed, he will disturb.' When I stared in disbelief at the police woman I saw she wore blue make-up.
'Did you see my dog, you think this little animal will disturb any one?' I asked.
'I want to see your ID'
'My ID? I am in a forest!'
'You are obliged to bring it anywhere. I want to see you bankcard.'
'Also at home.'
'Your phone?'
'Yes,' and I showed it. The police woman seemed relieved. Ha, now she could identify me.
She asked my number and called me. My Hindi song-ring tone that certainly disturbed more people and animals than my dog that still was dancing around us made her finally believe I was somebody. Nanda with a phone number. Not a human walking freely.
She wanted to join me to my home, but I could not handle the thought of having her in my house. I crossed my arms and fiercely said 'no way.'
It worked. She would send me the penalty. 40 euro for a free walking dog, plus 20 euro for me not having an ID.
I walked away full of tension. I hated Holland. Stupid rules.
Yes, she could me symbolic for my inner censor - fining me when I get too free.
Yes, she could teach me to love and accept every human being.
But she did not. I was just angry. Pfff.
But I have to admit - she gave me a good story after all.
Step by step I slowly arrived in the cold winter air. My dog was happy running really fast on the path before me. Almost there was peace.
Until a policewomen with a gun on her belt walked in my direction.
'Is that your dog?' pointing to a little white point running further and further.
I felt almost proud when I said Yes. So much joy in such a little animal.
'That will cost you 40 euro.'
Gone with the peace. There was no compassion, no love, no patience. Only anger.
'We're in nature! Dogs have to run now and then.'I said it with a red head of blood rushing.
'It is not allowed, he will disturb.' When I stared in disbelief at the police woman I saw she wore blue make-up.
'Did you see my dog, you think this little animal will disturb any one?' I asked.
'I want to see your ID'
'My ID? I am in a forest!'
'You are obliged to bring it anywhere. I want to see you bankcard.'
'Also at home.'
'Your phone?'
'Yes,' and I showed it. The police woman seemed relieved. Ha, now she could identify me.
She asked my number and called me. My Hindi song-ring tone that certainly disturbed more people and animals than my dog that still was dancing around us made her finally believe I was somebody. Nanda with a phone number. Not a human walking freely.
She wanted to join me to my home, but I could not handle the thought of having her in my house. I crossed my arms and fiercely said 'no way.'
It worked. She would send me the penalty. 40 euro for a free walking dog, plus 20 euro for me not having an ID.
I walked away full of tension. I hated Holland. Stupid rules.
Yes, she could me symbolic for my inner censor - fining me when I get too free.
Yes, she could teach me to love and accept every human being.
But she did not. I was just angry. Pfff.
But I have to admit - she gave me a good story after all.
vrijdag 11 december 2009
Market meditation
I have been standing on the christmas-market this week, selling book and Indian blankets. 'Real Kashmiri blankets!' I was telling every just a little interested by passer. And to any one slightly more interested 'A part of the money goes to Sister Mary's micro credit project.' I told it so many times, that I lost the meaning of it.
With my meditation marathon I had to be creative. There was not much time and space. Just that one minute that no one came by and I could sit on my chair.
I tried to concentrate on my breath, my heart, any inner space that I could find amidst of selling marketmen. 'Everyhing half of the half price!' yelled the men selling Christmas ligts. It started my business mind again. Maybe I should also lower my prices. I did not sell enough.
But happily I had a neighbor selling sausages. And in the time that he did not have enough customers (and I was sitting on my chair, trying to meditate)he was yelling: wake up! wake up!
With my eyes closed it became a spiritual message. Wake up. Wake up to the light in yourself! Wake up to what is really important! To support single Indian women! To pass on their stories. Wake up. Do not lower your prices as if the women are sausages. Wake up.
He is still there in my head, this sausage-seller, that by the way was very smart in selling and told customers every story they wanted to hear. Yes horsemeat! No horsemeat! He sold twice as much as me.
He does not know it. But the sold me a very TASTYTASTYTASTY spiritual sausage.
I woke up. And sold some more REAl KASHMIRI blankets. To pass on the light.
With my meditation marathon I had to be creative. There was not much time and space. Just that one minute that no one came by and I could sit on my chair.
I tried to concentrate on my breath, my heart, any inner space that I could find amidst of selling marketmen. 'Everyhing half of the half price!' yelled the men selling Christmas ligts. It started my business mind again. Maybe I should also lower my prices. I did not sell enough.
But happily I had a neighbor selling sausages. And in the time that he did not have enough customers (and I was sitting on my chair, trying to meditate)he was yelling: wake up! wake up!
With my eyes closed it became a spiritual message. Wake up. Wake up to the light in yourself! Wake up to what is really important! To support single Indian women! To pass on their stories. Wake up. Do not lower your prices as if the women are sausages. Wake up.
He is still there in my head, this sausage-seller, that by the way was very smart in selling and told customers every story they wanted to hear. Yes horsemeat! No horsemeat! He sold twice as much as me.
He does not know it. But the sold me a very TASTYTASTYTASTY spiritual sausage.
I woke up. And sold some more REAl KASHMIRI blankets. To pass on the light.
zaterdag 5 december 2009
Madonna meditation
This is part of my journal about my 40 day meditation marathon
At home. Tired. Heavy.
Don't talk to me. Talk to me. Leave me alone. Don't leave me alone. Not tonight. Yes tonight - she wakes up.
In an instance she gets up from my bed. Instead of sitting in front of my altar, she walks to the stereo. She puts up Madonna. She takes of my dirty working jeans, puts on her new pink dress and starts to dance. The music loud. A party for two. For her and me. I missed her. We are on the beach. It's full moon. A sensual night. Together we meditate on the beats. This is who we are.
At home. Alive. Light.
At home. Tired. Heavy.
Don't talk to me. Talk to me. Leave me alone. Don't leave me alone. Not tonight. Yes tonight - she wakes up.
In an instance she gets up from my bed. Instead of sitting in front of my altar, she walks to the stereo. She puts up Madonna. She takes of my dirty working jeans, puts on her new pink dress and starts to dance. The music loud. A party for two. For her and me. I missed her. We are on the beach. It's full moon. A sensual night. Together we meditate on the beats. This is who we are.
At home. Alive. Light.
dinsdag 1 december 2009
Haiku
This is part of my journal about my 40 day meditation marathon
Sunday I walked with five writers in silence through the forest.
We were walking words on the path. To write steps on paper later.
We made haiku's next to the wood stove. Writing as a way of meditating.
Counting syllables, in stead of breaths. 5-7-5.
Practicing in observing, in being present as a human, as a writer, but not to interfere. That is Haiku. To give the reader a visible piece of autumn.
Still and straight tree trunks
with black bare branches bowing
softly in the wind
Sunday I walked with five writers in silence through the forest.
We were walking words on the path. To write steps on paper later.
We made haiku's next to the wood stove. Writing as a way of meditating.
Counting syllables, in stead of breaths. 5-7-5.
Practicing in observing, in being present as a human, as a writer, but not to interfere. That is Haiku. To give the reader a visible piece of autumn.
Still and straight tree trunks
with black bare branches bowing
softly in the wind
donderdag 26 november 2009
Straightening
This is part of my journal about my 40 day meditation marathon
That is how it goes. Every time I write a definition about meditation, it will proof me next day that every definition is too small.
The other evening I wrote about softening. About a resting body and an open heart.
The next morning I woke up tensioned and full of the nightmare I had. No softening at all.
In my awakened heart were no blue flowers and pink hearts. Darkness was there.
I did not want to lie down anymore. I wanted to sit. I needed to be alert. Clear. Together with my housemate I sat in front of her window. I saw the candles on her altar, but outside it was dark. It was 7.30 am in the morning. I closed my eyes. Saw the night images coming by. A house full of small rooms where I lost my way. A phone call where I could only hear but not speak. A friend that was there but I could not see.
Breathing in, breathing out. Having a straight back. Going back to my sitting bones. Seeing the images passing by. But not drowning in them. Breathing.
The alarm clock rang. I opened my eyes. I was light. I was the bare oak in the garden. I was grey, but day. The sitting helped me to overcome the night.
That is how it goes. Every time I write a definition about meditation, it will proof me next day that every definition is too small.
The other evening I wrote about softening. About a resting body and an open heart.
The next morning I woke up tensioned and full of the nightmare I had. No softening at all.
In my awakened heart were no blue flowers and pink hearts. Darkness was there.
I did not want to lie down anymore. I wanted to sit. I needed to be alert. Clear. Together with my housemate I sat in front of her window. I saw the candles on her altar, but outside it was dark. It was 7.30 am in the morning. I closed my eyes. Saw the night images coming by. A house full of small rooms where I lost my way. A phone call where I could only hear but not speak. A friend that was there but I could not see.
Breathing in, breathing out. Having a straight back. Going back to my sitting bones. Seeing the images passing by. But not drowning in them. Breathing.
The alarm clock rang. I opened my eyes. I was light. I was the bare oak in the garden. I was grey, but day. The sitting helped me to overcome the night.
woensdag 25 november 2009
Softening
This is part of my journal about my 40 day meditation marathon
My meditations the last days are very laid'back.
Staying in bed ten minutes longer. Floating in between sleep and being awake.
Going to bed half an hour earlier. Taking time to soften before falling asleep.
A few years ago this would feel like fooling around. Like not REALLY meditating.
Meditating is being alert. Awake. Is to sit. Straight.
That is true. But it is not the only way.
For me meditation is more and more a way of softening. Of being really gentle to myself. To make a way free for the heart. A heart that awakens when my body and mind fall asleep.
My meditations the last days are very laid'back.
Staying in bed ten minutes longer. Floating in between sleep and being awake.
Going to bed half an hour earlier. Taking time to soften before falling asleep.
A few years ago this would feel like fooling around. Like not REALLY meditating.
Meditating is being alert. Awake. Is to sit. Straight.
That is true. But it is not the only way.
For me meditation is more and more a way of softening. Of being really gentle to myself. To make a way free for the heart. A heart that awakens when my body and mind fall asleep.
maandag 23 november 2009
Autumn time
This is part of my journal about my 40 day meditation marathon
The other day I wrote about my ten minutes practice. But after ten minutes I want more.
After writing wildly for ten minutes I touch I a deep voice that wants to speak, scream and dream only more.
After meditating ten minutes I touch a deep rest that wants to sink only more.
So yesterday I could not stop with a ten minute meditation a day. I did three.
In the morning I guided a dance meditation during the writing day for my Writing-Companions. I planned to use the kundalini-meditation cd of Osho, but I forgot it.
But nature came and helped. When we shake up our bodies, we did this on the music of the rain falling on the attic-roof. When we moved our bodies, we did this on the sound of the autumn storm racing around the house. We were really like trees in the wind. And when we rested, the sun came through and warmed our backs.
It feels like the autumn-time is supporting my meditation marathon. The wind shakes of my dead leaves and blows me inside. Literally.
In my lunch break I laid down on the bed next to the window and meditated on the clouds that sailed by. In the evening, wet of the storm I biked through, I went to bed early and sank deep into my roots.
Autumn makes from ten minutes an hour. And is still whining for more.
The other day I wrote about my ten minutes practice. But after ten minutes I want more.
After writing wildly for ten minutes I touch I a deep voice that wants to speak, scream and dream only more.
After meditating ten minutes I touch a deep rest that wants to sink only more.
So yesterday I could not stop with a ten minute meditation a day. I did three.
In the morning I guided a dance meditation during the writing day for my Writing-Companions. I planned to use the kundalini-meditation cd of Osho, but I forgot it.
But nature came and helped. When we shake up our bodies, we did this on the music of the rain falling on the attic-roof. When we moved our bodies, we did this on the sound of the autumn storm racing around the house. We were really like trees in the wind. And when we rested, the sun came through and warmed our backs.
It feels like the autumn-time is supporting my meditation marathon. The wind shakes of my dead leaves and blows me inside. Literally.
In my lunch break I laid down on the bed next to the window and meditated on the clouds that sailed by. In the evening, wet of the storm I biked through, I went to bed early and sank deep into my roots.
Autumn makes from ten minutes an hour. And is still whining for more.
zaterdag 21 november 2009
I am my best idea
This is part of my journal about my 40 day meditation marathon
Maybe I am my best idea.
This was a thought during my evening meditation.
Meditation can be painfully confronting with the working of the mind.
And my mind has many ideas. Great ideas. Such great ideas that I immediately want to act upon them. Want to post that new amazing course on my website. Want to invite my friends for that original party. Want to change the outline for my workshop to make place for that new, buzzing exercise.
I fully believe in my ideas. For a while. They can take me over. Until, paf, I awaken from them. After getting out of mu bubble I sometimes see my ideas are just air, sometimes they have potential.
Also during this evening meditation I was caught up in a new idea. Than I woke up and laughed. About this thought: that I am my best idea.
I saw a soul, a mind, an essence - however you call it- floating through the universe. A soul with a Great Idea: Lets have a life as a creative woman with a million ideas! And plop: there I was. Nanda. My soul's best idea.
Sometimes I awaken from this idea that I am. Than I can feel the essence of my soul. I float through creativity. Need no names. No ideas. No form. I am all ideas.
Teachers often said to me; the moment you REALISE that you're thinking, are moments you awaken. Short enlightenment's.
I am an idea where I can awaken from. To discover my real potential. Creativity.
Maybe I am my best idea.
This was a thought during my evening meditation.
Meditation can be painfully confronting with the working of the mind.
And my mind has many ideas. Great ideas. Such great ideas that I immediately want to act upon them. Want to post that new amazing course on my website. Want to invite my friends for that original party. Want to change the outline for my workshop to make place for that new, buzzing exercise.
I fully believe in my ideas. For a while. They can take me over. Until, paf, I awaken from them. After getting out of mu bubble I sometimes see my ideas are just air, sometimes they have potential.
Also during this evening meditation I was caught up in a new idea. Than I woke up and laughed. About this thought: that I am my best idea.
I saw a soul, a mind, an essence - however you call it- floating through the universe. A soul with a Great Idea: Lets have a life as a creative woman with a million ideas! And plop: there I was. Nanda. My soul's best idea.
Sometimes I awaken from this idea that I am. Than I can feel the essence of my soul. I float through creativity. Need no names. No ideas. No form. I am all ideas.
Teachers often said to me; the moment you REALISE that you're thinking, are moments you awaken. Short enlightenment's.
I am an idea where I can awaken from. To discover my real potential. Creativity.
Ten minutes
This is part of my journal about my 40 day meditation marathon
Internet is a strange thing. It makes you act really fast. Dangerous for people like me with a thousand ideas. An idea like: lets write every day about my meditation marathon.So now I did not only commit (online) to every day meditating, but also (online) to every day writing. AND told all my friends about it...
Actually I did already commit to my morning pages. And to my morning yoga. So I was a kind of busy this morning with all my commitments that are supposed to bring me peace.
An American friend once wrote me that it is typically Dutch to use to word 'busy' so much, and also for the activities that you must not do, but actually like to do. Busy with friends, with meditation, with parties. Like that.
So this morning I was busy with all my new commitments. I was in the internet-acting-fast-mood. Ten minutes of writing, ten minutes of yoga, ten minutes of sitting. The ten minute style for writing is not new. I do it a lot. I take a subject and freely write about it for ten minutes. This can go really deep and is often surprising me with unexpected turns.
The ten minute meditation I did not try yet. But it was a kind of freeing. It makes it light and easy. I just sat for ten minutes on my pillow in front of the window. The autumn sun came just above the bare trees. I closed my eyes and let all my leaves fall. Ah. Breathing to my roots that were suddenly there. Commitments can be good. Even though they keep you busy. Even though you made them impulsively online. They make me act. Not only to wish. In ten minutes a whole world can change.
Internet is a strange thing. It makes you act really fast. Dangerous for people like me with a thousand ideas. An idea like: lets write every day about my meditation marathon.So now I did not only commit (online) to every day meditating, but also (online) to every day writing. AND told all my friends about it...
Actually I did already commit to my morning pages. And to my morning yoga. So I was a kind of busy this morning with all my commitments that are supposed to bring me peace.
An American friend once wrote me that it is typically Dutch to use to word 'busy' so much, and also for the activities that you must not do, but actually like to do. Busy with friends, with meditation, with parties. Like that.
So this morning I was busy with all my new commitments. I was in the internet-acting-fast-mood. Ten minutes of writing, ten minutes of yoga, ten minutes of sitting. The ten minute style for writing is not new. I do it a lot. I take a subject and freely write about it for ten minutes. This can go really deep and is often surprising me with unexpected turns.
The ten minute meditation I did not try yet. But it was a kind of freeing. It makes it light and easy. I just sat for ten minutes on my pillow in front of the window. The autumn sun came just above the bare trees. I closed my eyes and let all my leaves fall. Ah. Breathing to my roots that were suddenly there. Commitments can be good. Even though they keep you busy. Even though you made them impulsively online. They make me act. Not only to wish. In ten minutes a whole world can change.
vrijdag 20 november 2009
First day visitor
This is part of my journal about my 40 day meditation marathon
This evening I was hanging on my couch as a meditation. I was tired from working, but felt relaxed. With my hands on my belly I sank into the pillows. Ah, at home.
Than a visitor came. It sat on my hand and bit me. A mosquito! In the middle of cold rainy Dutch November.
It was big, like the Asian ones.
It is buzzing around me. Eating my hands, feet.
It brought me back to my first meditation retreat ever. I was 20. It was in India, Bodhgaya. The hardest things of that retreat were not my obsessive thoughts or my changing emotions, no it were the mosquito's that I was not supposed to kill. Although they were all over me. My instinct was too big. Before a thought could stop me I already hit the poor animal. Dead. No peace. War.
Yes, later in the retreat I realised that I did the same with my thoughts. Instinctively I killed them.
A new thought came: I could be light. Raised my hands and hit it hard: nonsense. Bang.
A sincere thought: I am love. Bang: too soft.
A deep thought occurred to me: I am not the one who thinks. Crazy! Kill it.
Sitting with mosquito's, can be as sitting with yourself. I killed new thoughts before they could itch.
And now 13 years later I look with wonder at this strange, not expected visitor. I raised my hand, but stopped on time. No war. Peace. Let it itch.
This evening I was hanging on my couch as a meditation. I was tired from working, but felt relaxed. With my hands on my belly I sank into the pillows. Ah, at home.
Than a visitor came. It sat on my hand and bit me. A mosquito! In the middle of cold rainy Dutch November.
It was big, like the Asian ones.
It is buzzing around me. Eating my hands, feet.
It brought me back to my first meditation retreat ever. I was 20. It was in India, Bodhgaya. The hardest things of that retreat were not my obsessive thoughts or my changing emotions, no it were the mosquito's that I was not supposed to kill. Although they were all over me. My instinct was too big. Before a thought could stop me I already hit the poor animal. Dead. No peace. War.
Yes, later in the retreat I realised that I did the same with my thoughts. Instinctively I killed them.
A new thought came: I could be light. Raised my hands and hit it hard: nonsense. Bang.
A sincere thought: I am love. Bang: too soft.
A deep thought occurred to me: I am not the one who thinks. Crazy! Kill it.
Sitting with mosquito's, can be as sitting with yourself. I killed new thoughts before they could itch.
And now 13 years later I look with wonder at this strange, not expected visitor. I raised my hand, but stopped on time. No war. Peace. Let it itch.
Meditation Marathon
I committed myself. To meditation. For 40 days. Until Christmas. It happened online. Before I knew what I did I said Yes. I clicked and bought every day meditating like I impulsively buy books online.
We were in a Skype-meeting with friends from the international meditation Sanga, Open Dharma. Most of them I know from retreats in India. Because mysteriously my connection at home broke down at the time we would meet, I raced to an internet cafe in the 'bazar' of Utrecht, on the Kanaalstraat. Sitting amidst smoking and shouting men, it felt as if I was in India. My connection was also really bad and I could only hear some words in between a lot of noise.
So I heard: Christmas. Meditation. Together. Every. Gift. Peace. Yes?
And than from all directions, from the US, from Canada, from Spain and Amsterdam; yes, yes, yes, I commit, I do, I want, I will.
Nanda? You hear? Kind of. You join? Eh well, yeah.
Later I pasted all the words together in my mind.
Until christmas we all would meditate every day. By meditating together, we connect. By meditating during Christmas season, we give a gift. To ourselves; some inner peace. And as a small gesture to world peace.
So there I sit now, on my cushion. Before my online commitment I used to sit there a lot, but it feels different now. More important. Bigger. As if sitting is not only sitting anymore. It is part of a world wide intention. An intention to go deep, to find peace.
And to confirm this feeling of importance, I decided to write regularly about my meditation marathon. To bring what is inside, out there.
I write in English, so my Open Dharma friends can also follow.
If you feel, you can join. Just sit/ lie down/ walk for (inner) peace.
If you feel, you can support.
Open Dharma could use your gift.
--
We were in a Skype-meeting with friends from the international meditation Sanga, Open Dharma. Most of them I know from retreats in India. Because mysteriously my connection at home broke down at the time we would meet, I raced to an internet cafe in the 'bazar' of Utrecht, on the Kanaalstraat. Sitting amidst smoking and shouting men, it felt as if I was in India. My connection was also really bad and I could only hear some words in between a lot of noise.
So I heard: Christmas. Meditation. Together. Every. Gift. Peace. Yes?
And than from all directions, from the US, from Canada, from Spain and Amsterdam; yes, yes, yes, I commit, I do, I want, I will.
Nanda? You hear? Kind of. You join? Eh well, yeah.
Later I pasted all the words together in my mind.
Until christmas we all would meditate every day. By meditating together, we connect. By meditating during Christmas season, we give a gift. To ourselves; some inner peace. And as a small gesture to world peace.
So there I sit now, on my cushion. Before my online commitment I used to sit there a lot, but it feels different now. More important. Bigger. As if sitting is not only sitting anymore. It is part of a world wide intention. An intention to go deep, to find peace.
And to confirm this feeling of importance, I decided to write regularly about my meditation marathon. To bring what is inside, out there.
I write in English, so my Open Dharma friends can also follow.
If you feel, you can join. Just sit/ lie down/ walk for (inner) peace.
If you feel, you can support.
Open Dharma could use your gift.
www.opendharma.org
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