Last night, I sat on Donald and Maleia's porch and sipped wine. Maleia mentioned she had read my blog and was surprised to learn I meditated. Years ago, she cautiously admitted, she had studied Transcendental Meditation. I think she worried I would think it hokey. I did not and besides, I had just managed to extricate myself from a conversation about high speed internet and I was thrilled to have the opportunity to talk about something I was passionate about. Maleia and Donald met each other in a leadership class that used meditation. She remembered something else. "When I was in the first grade, I taught myself to meditate. I hated being in that classroom and I didn't want to be there. So I repeated a word over and over until I brought myself to another place. I repeated the word until it lost its meaning."
I was drinking wine, so perhaps this story has veered slightly over into fiction, but Maleia hadn't thought about that time in her life for a long time. She had never really thought about it that way before and only as we sat on her porch and drank wine and talked did she realize she had taught herself to meditate.
Over the years, the practice has slipped away from her and she doesn't meditate anymore. I thought she seemed regretful. "You might do it again. It's always there for you. My friend's son, Billy, says that meditation is like finding a room in your house that you never knew existed."
"But that's my recurring dream," said Maleia. "Over and over, I find a room I never knew was there."
I just love when that happens.