The Epiphany
I went to the Foundation of Light on Sunday morning for their regular meditation session, which consists of fifteen minutes of silent meditation at the beginning and end, with reading and discussion in the middle.
I’m not good at meditating—my mind wanders far and wide, and it often takes a long time before I become aware of it. “Thinking,” I say to myself, and go back to focusing on my breath.
In the discussion period, we were talking about love—universal love. I said it was kind of an empty concept for me. I knew what love for family meant, and the kind of love I have for friends.
“My strongest love,” I said, “is for my daughter and grandkids. I know I would sacrifice my life to save them without hesitation.”
When someone said that it was important to cultivate compassion and love for all, I asked, “Why?”
The psychologist in our group shuddered. “That’s the one question you’re not supposed to ever ask a client—WHY.”
Once we got past that hurdle, each person told me why it was important to them to cultivate love for all.
I thanked them for their answers.
But love is a feeling. I’d need to feel it in order to really understand what they were talking about.
The reason I can’t feel that kind of love is that I shield myself from connection with others. I am alienated and separate.
In our meditation circle that day, I was sitting on a chair while the others were all sitting on cushions on the floor.
I’m different. I’m not part of them.
They felt universal love. I didn’t.
I’m different. I’m not part of them.
Then, just before we were about to begin our last meditation session, a young woman said, “Look, we’re all wearing purple today. We’re connected.”
“They are connected,” I thought, until I suddenly looked down and realized that I was wearing purple, too.
“Oh, I said, startled, “even me.”
Maybe I did belong.
After crying tears of love and connectedness throughout my meditation, I told everyone that I wasn’t leaving until they each gave me a hug.
Next: The Cat
