MY PLACE – POETRY , AFFIRMATIONS & MORE

Fingering through the Sunday bulletin I almost choked on my coffee as the Ministers voice faded while I read through the upcoming events section of the weekly church handout.

Coming soon, Learn to Meditate with a Buddhist Monk, Mondays 6pm.

Having been raised a strict Irish Catholic I was in shock. More shocking this news was in a Christian church bulletin!

What paralleled my astonishment was deep excitement. The many years of Catholicism burrowed deep under my skin jeering negative thoughts such as; Am I not at church? Who approved this?My grandmother’s voice also echoed in the  furthest corner of my mind as I imagined her rolling in her grave. The rules I grew up with were simple; “stay away from them dirty Protestants up the road, do not worship false Gods.”

With my amazement and shock behind me I was excited to read about the upcoming meditation classes. I always longed for more understanding and connection with what I tend to define as my own unique spirituality. I’ve never considered myself religious, too many rules.

Buddhism was not new to me. Just seeing it printed on a Christian church’s bulletin was.

I once attended a full day meditation in the park with a renowned Buddhist monk. Aside from my butt going numb from sitting all day I did find some useful techniques that allowed me to incorporate more variety in my attempt to establish a daily meditative practice.

My next thought shouted defiantly inside my head “I’m going!”

The church looked different at night. The dark window panes mirrored recent images of the lively Sunday afternoon worship. I imagined each seat releasing a puff of an embedded music note as each person sat down.

Walking closer to the front of the church I was startled by a very happy monk who bopped out of nowhere and gave me an uncomfortable full body hug. She pressed her almost fully shaven head hard against my bosom, ugh!

Everyone’s attention turned to the back of the room as I attempted to shake off the shock I felt from the unwelcome squeeze.

A much older gentleman shuffled lazily towards the front of the church where a hard wood chair awaited. Without making eye contact, he floated past everyone silently. He sat down and gazed sleepily at the rows of eager meditation students just a few feet in front of him.

Even though his words did not come immediately, I imagined when words did come they would be as slow and as purposeful as his walk to his uncomfortable seat was.

Words softly rippled from his lips as he broke the silence and talked about mindfulness and keeping our thoughts hushed opposed to singing out what so ever was on our mind, like his favourite song “Row Your Boat”.

“Row, Row, Row your boat gently down the stream, merrily merrily, merrily life is but a dream”.

His words hummed with rhythm as he told his story pausing in between each sentence for the added drama.

Row your boat, your boat, no one else’s.

How to do it? Well do it gently and with ease, doing your best to stay happy and merry, not thrashing about.

For what we all know to be true is; life really is “but a dream”.

I did not immediately absorb his words about this childhood song, I smiled inside at his eccentric manner and delivery.

I got home and found myself asking questions to my family as I usually did. Did you do this? Have you called so and so? Do you know when you will? Then it hit me!

OMG! I’m rowing their boats!!

I considered how less stressful my life could be if I just rowed my own boat .

Those three simple words would be sketched into my every day thereafter. Who could have though a simple story could change my way of thinking about this life, it did.

I now only do my very best to row my own boat.

Well mostly.

Written by: Corrina Leblond