First, I find it both nearly impossible and entirely necessary to meditate through pain. When the spasms were at their worst, I would just breathe, recognizing my in and out breaths, unable even to count. When I did try to count, a spasm would hit and I'd just forget where I was and have to start over. But trying to count and to breathe was essential--it allowed me to recognize and be in the pain, instead of trying to ignore it. In other words, I'd be thinking, "whoa, that spasm really hurt. But I'm meditating here. So back to breathing." It kept me from getting scared--why did it hurt? when was it going to stop? how could I make it stop? will it ever stop? Sure sometimes, I had to keep telling myself to count with every breath. Pain is very diverting sometimes. But meditating seemed to make it less so. Especially after 4 weeks of practicing. Especially because I was practicing several times a day, through and then outside of the pain. There is a parable by the Buddha, mentioned in an article on pain and meditation in this month's BuddhaDharma magazine, about the two arrows: the first arrow is the sensation of pain but the second arrow is the fear, anxiety--the suffering--of pain. If you are mindful, you only need feel that first arrow. And apparently now, scientific studies of Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR, that book I'm reading called Full Catastrophe Living by Jon Kabat-Zinn) which focuses on mindful meditation, particularly a scan of the body, has proven that meditation can actually decrease the pain of that first arrow. In fact, it happened to me today. In the second that I sit before I lie down, I must have compacted that herniated disc and felt a surge of sharp pain very very briefly. So I lay down, acknowledged what I had felt, and then did some breathing. And I realized later that the ensuing "aftershocks," while uncomfortable, were not actually painful. And that even while that first "arrow" hurt, I didn't actually mind.
Second, I've learned that the "how-tos" of meditation aren't that important to me right now. If I'm focusing on the moment, being mindful, I'm meditating. I've let go of all the "shoulds." I'm not meditating sitting up, obviously. I'm not even meditating with my eyes open, especially when I hurt. And yes, sometimes I even meditate myself right to sleep. I am not meditating so my pain will lessen, so I can take fewer drugs, so I'll be relaxed, I'm meditating because I like to meditate. I need to meditate.
One of the most inspiring meditation practices this month was on the couch a few days ago. I was counting my breaths and the sun burst through the clouds through my living room window onto the couch where I lay. Now, up to that point, I hadn't really been in the sun, for weeks. And the warm on my face felt so good. And the light behind my closed eyes was so yellow and beautiful and comforting. And I lay there feeling and seeing and embracing that light. And also hearing the birds, feeling the wind through the window, noticing the cars on the main road and a few neighbors walking by. And I was breathing and counting. And being. I think I understood, in that instance, the power of light.
And of meditation.
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