Meditating and the Soul

I have been meditating for almost 2 months now. I was reasonable with my expectations. I didn't expect the world to shift and then suddenly I am hit with a dose of self-awareness that would resolve my issues with the self.

But I did expect a little something. A whiff of knowing, a deeper connection within. A subtle flutter in my consciousness.

But I feel devoid of all that. I still freeze when things become overwhelming, all presence of mind going out the proverbial windows. Decisions still don't come easy to me. It takes a drop of a hat to disconnect me from anything within.

They say that the inner self is shy, hidden, wary, and scared to make an appearance. And meditating is supposed to create the space for it to appear, to know that it will be safe and heard.

Not bombarded by the plethora of external bullshit and stimulation, pushing it to the back.

The more we engage with the inner self, the more it will make an appearance. And therein lies the elusive wisdom that we seek.

The world as we currently know it is obsessed with the instant. Instant messaging, emails, likes, instant deliveries - the sense of patience has taken a backseat, blurring into the background of our lost selves.

Once considered an imperative virtue, it is now something that is least spoken of. That is why, individuals like me, become prematurely disheartened and discontinue on any set path because we do not receive instant results.

Every day for the past few weeks, I have sat and tried to focus on my breaths. Inhale, hold, exhale, hold. Thoughts of lifetimes bombard me, finding the rarity of this virgin quiet ground. Most of the time, I get swept away by them - losing my sense of grounding in my breaths. But rare as they have been there were a few, very few moments of absolute nothingness, where there is just me and my breaths. And then, within an instant of an instant that nothingness is gone.

Was that it? Was that the emptiness our mangled souls crave? A space to just be, not tainted by the world and its wiles. I am afraid I do not know. Who would have thought that the journey to the self would be so rife with clutter? Clutter brought about by my own hand, filling myself to the crevices of my being, squashing my inner psyche into a smear on my person.

Silence, Solitude and Stillness

This is the key, so it is said. A daily dose of these gems and gradually a path would open within us, to ourselves. The self we turned away from, so we could indulge in the offerings of the world. That niggling inner voice which we chose to ignore until it became a shadow of a whisper. That part of us, who is wholly just us - untainted and unstained and also, undiscovered. But it is always there. Inside. Just waiting for us to finally make our way back home.

I owe my inner self, an apology. For almost decades I ignored its existence, filling myself with the dictates of society and man. Until now I realize I no longer hear that voice, that whisper, that truth. Because I did not give it a safe ground to thrive, to breathe.

I am sorry my dear soul. You were there and I did not listen. I am lost and I am blind. And now finally, I seek to connect with you, I seek your counsel, I seek your wisdom, I seek you. And I know, that path to return to you is laden with my own worldly debris, but I am trying. Trying to find you, to reach you, so we may be whole. One breath at a time.