Friday, January 25, 2013

Attempting Meditation

I did. Well, I tried, at least. I was stressed, couldn't focus, and had a big math test the next day. So I closed my eyes - squeezed then shut - crossed my legs, and hummed. It didn't work. I tried to meditate, and, as popular culture would put it, it was an epic fail. I don't believe in meditation. Well, I kind of believe in it, since I tried it, but not believe, believe. I tried to clear my mind of all thoughts, empty all the ideas, throw out all the junk, and clear the dust off my brain in the process. What's really interesting, though, is my train of thought as I meditated. I imagined nothingness. Not a dark void, like a black whole, but just whiteness, like that scene in Coraline when there's nothing left of the other world, and it's just white, white, white, everlasting and never ending. Way back in elementary school, when I was in maybe 3rd or 4rth grade, we first studied poetry. One of the poems was the Frog poem, by Japanese poet Bashu. In the "Learn About the Author" section there was a painting of a very chubby Japanese man, supposedly Bashu. And it looked like a blank canvas, with three markings: a a line for the mouth, and two lines for the eyes. That's how I remember it, at least. And so in my meditating state, that picture came up, and suddenly, in my world of white nothingness, there was now three small black lines, that almost resembled a face. And the lines grew and twisted and connected, spiraling and swirling, until they resembled calligraphy. And then I remembered, my eyes flying open. I had a calligraphy drawing due next week for art class! But, see, the whole point of meditating is to throw everything out. And then I relaxed my eyes again, and resumed. And every single time something would come up, I would throw it out. I would forget about it. Completely. I just imagined it gone, whishhh, a balloon with a hole, flying away, far away. I didn't turn in that calligraphy assignment three days later. I promised to have it by next class, though. (And I promise to post a picture of my finished calligraphy soon) Again, I tried to meditate in a different way. Not clear my thoughts, let them disappear into nothingness, but clear myself, erase my being, as Stargirl did. That was even worse. I suddenly became extremely conscious of how much I was there, taking up quite a bit of space, compressing all the air molecules in the world a little more. I tried to imagine a giant eraser, swipe, swipe, swipe, no more me. I would by the giants drawing, the paper needed for a much more important purpose than a drawing of me, and so away went the drawing. That giant had to have a lot of spunk, trying to erase me. Except there was no giant. There was also no meditation. 
         After the math test, I wanted a treat. A really good, yummy, awesome treat. Like a great book. Like, a Jennifer Armentrout book. And that is how I finally ripped off the band-aid and scratched the itch. I've read the Covenant series, which is absolutely, positively the best series I've ever read. Hands down. Each book ends in a horrible cliffhanger (depending on how you look at it, because the goal of cliffhangers is to leave the reader wanting more, after all, and they do that extremely too well), and the latest book in the series comes out April 9th, so I'm eagerly awaiting that. Anyway, Jennifer is also writing another YA series, Lux, and I had all three ebooks (that have come out) waiting for me. And every single person that read Opal, the latest book in the series, cries out in frustration at the horrible cliffhanger. And so I waited and waited, and was patient and more patient, until the last drop was squeezed out, and I read Obsidian (first book in the series) after the math test. I was planning on reading only the first chapter, but I ended up reading all three books in two days. Two. School. Days. About 1,500 pages. that's how good they are. And the cliffhanger. The. Cliff. Hang. Er. I can't review a book like this, because I'd go into full fan girl mode and start jumping up and down and screaming and clapping and tearing up at the cliffhanger. I don't think I'll read anything else for a few more days, though. I'll just bask in the great awesomeness of the books. All other books pale in comparison.