Adhivāsanā: Day Two — Grief
I remember little from the second day. I awoke still thinking about escaping, but as the bell called us into our first group sitting of the day, and I kneeled on my mat, I noticed something unusual.
As Goenka-ji started chanting — another sound I’d grow to both love and hate — my anxiety just upped and left, and I settled into our second day of breathing-centric meditation — ānāpānasati. I became resolute for a few hours.
After tea time and our second sitting, I was struck by intense grief and longing for those on the outside. My parents, my sister, my close friends.
I worried for them and hoped they would evade suffering while I was away.
I experienced my first breakthrough shortly after, sitting almost completely still for the third hour of group meditation — then again for the optional hour and a half of solo practice. I watched my respiration intently, focusing on the area between my upper lip and nostrils, and the hour seemed to fly by inconsequently — my first taste of time dilation. The tea bell rang and I cracked the biggest smile I had in a long time.
Stepping out into the world for the first time in a few hours, I became aware of the atmosphere that suddenly enveloped me like a blanket.
The air was thick with humidity and electricity, and I observed a huge, foreboding storm cell forming on the horizon. The wind was tempestuous, and the tiniest droplet of rain would strike my skin every so often.
I grabbed a rickety plastic patio chair, set it in the middle of the walking area, and watched the show until it was time for bed.
The resulting elation carried me through to the next morning.
My dreams of outside became less decadent and torturous.
