As I sat meditating on my papasan for the second time for the evening, I was stoned. My first, 20-minute meditation sitting is always done sober, but doing it high later on during the evening has become a habit as well. Typically I listen to a guided meditation the second time around; lately it has been Haylee and then some form of Witness meditation.
So there I am, pleasantly focused on my breath when my head abruptly turns to the left, almost robotically. It actually frightened me, happening without warning, but I tried to approach it with curiosity. My head remained there, chin to shoulder, for a time until my head robotically slid back to facing forward. These movements can be stopped and I can push against them, but the fact that they nonetheless arise without my conscious prompting perplexes me. In the midst of meditation, I suddenly recall something my father had said to me during one if our conversations when I had gone down for my niece’s birthday party. He mentioned having driven passed the old Bible camp I’d gone to when I was young, did I remember? Frustratingly, I have only been able to recall fragments of my time there. The most enduring event I feel associated with the place is that memory of sitting up at the window pane, watching the rain. My parents both remember a scene far more terrifying. As I blathered on about in Shared Hells:
While sitting in the chapel with the rest of the parents, they saw men in black suits standing at every wall, faces pale and expressionless. The children then came out in single file, faces also blank of any emotion, marching in a way my parents equated with robots. None of the children looking out eagerly to see their parents as one would expect, and that alone confused and frightened my parents.
Then the Reverend came up to the podium, bald head and all, and began informing the crowd how he was “graced by god” to have been taught at “the infamous Bob Jones University.” My father’s hand grasped my mother’s in terror, and both quickly decided to get us kids and get out of there as soon as they could.
“You guys were like robots,” is how they always explained it. It never struck me until just then how similar my “kriya” during meditation was to the description my parents gave regarding how we moved when they came to pick us up that day. Is there truly a connection?