These holiday weekends make it tough for me to find my 20 minutes. My routine is disrupted and I want to devote every second to my friends and family. I confess: it's been 3 days since my last meditation. I am not Catholic, so the ritual of confession has always fascinated me. My ideas about the rite come solely from the movies and I suppose the reality of the confessional is far from my Jewish girl fantasy. I imagine the incense and an ornately carved little wooden booth. I imagine entering that enclosed tiny space, my face hidden by a screen, but in reality I'm not anonymous at all. The person on the other side of the screen, who will listen and sit in judgment of my laundry list of wrongdoings and missteps, knows exactly who I am (at least that's the way it seems in the movies). How terrifying to have to admit those things no one wants to ever admit. Here's where the fantasy takes over: terrifying, but there's something thrilling about the secrecy and the admission and of course, the blanket of forgiveness being offered up by the priest. I just had to face up to what I did wrong, say it out loud, and the deed evaporates.
Here's another fantasy. Would that the world was a place where people would be humiliated by skipping their daily meditation. What would it be like if instead of saying it has been three days since my last confession, people would have said it has been three days since my last meditation?
Meditation cannot absolve sins, but it can take you to a place where you can begin to forgive yourself. I have often heard victims say they forgave the person who harmed them and once they let go of their anger, it gave them a sense of relief and renewed energy. It seems the same would have to be true if we can acknowledge our disappointment and anger in ourselves and then let it go.
Just let it go.