I've also started a meditation at the end of the exercise. I should do it whether I take the time for exercise or not. . .
I start in a neutral position (see below in blue), and then circle my arms down and around, wide, imagining gathering in all the world and the life experiences of the people in it. Hands meet above my head and come down to the beginning position. I ponder on the atonement, on Christ's knowledge of our sorrows, sins, grief, hurt, etc. I consider the sorrows I know--Isaac's initial desperate attempts to breath, Gram's heart break to discover Mary taken away, Mom's grief over Dad, Margaret and Dave's anxiety for Olin, my sisters' in law's burden of pregnancy out of wedlock, our great,great, great grandmother, Elizabeth Sheely, left with 12 children and a newborn when her husband died on Christmas day. I consider the sorrows I am aware of: the grief of mothers and wives whose husbands and sons are killed in war, the pain of the wounded soldier, dying slowly on the battlefield, neglected orphans, hoping always for someone to love them, parents of kidnapped children, women and children abused, raped, abandoned, men and women engulfed in the darkness of sin--adultery, abuse, pornography, dishonesty, greed, pride, hatred, vengeance. There is so much pain in this world that meditating on it, and on Christ's taking it all on himself, bearing and experiencing it all is overwhelming. My heart hurts with the exquisite sorrow of it. But that is only half the meditation.
Before I feel utterly weighed down by the darkness of this world, I reverse my direction. I lift my hands and arms and imagine shooting upwards, piercing the atmosphere and emerging as I bring my arms down in a wide circle. I imagine the clouds trailing behind me, glorious as I rise above the pain of the world and into the perfect beauty of space. All around me, and into the distance, too, others are rising, free of the world and the sorrows they bore, shooting like arrows of light, trailing clouds of glory. The weight and sorrow are gone, and through the atonement, we have become beings of light: perfect, pure, whole. My heart fills with exquisite joy. (Alma 36:21) We are healed! Everyone who has suffered so acutely in this life is burdened no more. The bonds are broken. The captive are free. We are together again, surrounded with love, beauty, light and peace. The suffering was but a moment after all, and here is eternity before us. God awaits, magnificent and perfect beyond description, His works surround him and we are the crowning jewels, His children. Gratitude and praise are insufficient, again I am overwhelmed.
I'm afraid it all sounds hokey, in words. The feeling of the meditation is powerful, and reflecting on these things gives me perspective and peace. 
I think it's probably good to give yourself time--and a regular, predictable time--to let those emotions cultivate themselves through your soul. It seems like sorrow often comes at unexpected times--I found out just last week that my cousin's wife is expecting a baby girl diagnosed with Trisomy 13, who will probably not live to be a year. And then I'm shocked, I'm saddened--but before I can really think about it, I have to move on to dealing with the next thing that comes up. SOmehow it feels disrespectful not to give more time and thought to these heavy experiences of others. Today, for the first time in a LONG time, I went running (a friend and I were doing a babysitting exchange), and it felt good for my soul to be outside, under the beautiful sky and clouds. I can't remember what I thought about, but I do remember the good feeling of the leisure to actually think about something without having to react or respond to something that Polly posed (not that there's always a "have to" about that--I also love interacting with Polly, most of the time...). I haven't meditated in the way that you described--matching physical actions to the direction of disciplined thought. But I'd like to try.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you enjoyed your run! After writing the post, I walked outside on our deck, saw the beautiful fall leaves, felt the balmy autumn air, smelled the sweet, mellow smell of fallen leaves, and watched the girls playing in the sand box. I felt Heavenly Father remind me not to overlook all the beauty He created here on earth for us, to assuage our pain and remind us of home. Truly, he staged our mortal experience in a wonderful way. Nature teaches us daily of His ways and looking there renews my soul, too.
ReplyDeleteI know how it can feel "disrespectful" not to contemplate continually on other's griefs, and instead to go about our daily lives, doing simple, everyday things. I think we must do that, though, with our own pain as well as others. In the face of pain, our daily tasks do much to get us through, to distract us and reassure us that life goes on, and we will get through.
I love you, Naomi! Thank you for commenting. It means so much. I'm working with the nurse practitioner about getting an appointment while you are there. I'll be there whether that works out or not. I'm so looking forward to it! (see first post)
This scripture (Mormon 2:19) matches this meditation beautifully. "And wo is me . . . for my heart has been filled with sorrow because of the. . . wickedness [of the world]. . . nevertheless, I know that I shall be lifted up at the last day."
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