I light my candle and I’m sitting there in front of Jesus as I do every morning, (okay, it’s only a picture of Jesus).  I’m letting go of thoughts, returning to my breath. Aaaaah, so peaceful, so right. And then, just when I’m feeling pretty smug and well, good, at this, the inevitable happens–a juicy thought meanders by. Hmmm, that’s interesting . . . still, I should not bite; I choose not to bite; I will not bite. But look at how interesting it is . . . pretty edges, nice colors, even a little emotion attached to it. No!  I am in control here. I can choose to let it go by. I will choose . . . I am in control, I am in control, I am in . . . damn. . . .

So why do I keep going through this rigmarole that sounds so unfruitful, so painful, day after day after day? Because, oddly enough, I do benefit from it in amazing ways. I have seen changes in myself that I struggled to make for years and never managed and I believe that daily meditation practice is largely why they are finally occurring. Sometimes, you do just have to let go (or do your best to). And I do actually have more space in my mind than I did before. That sounds weird, but it’s how it feels. My mind is spacious enough enough of the time that I can actually make choices in how I respond to daily life instead of just reacting (no, I don’t have to stab my husband with this paring knife because he appears to be more interested in his cell phone than in me; no, I don’t have to ram that woman in the SUV who just cut me off–I don’t think I’ll even flip her off, I choose to let go of this). I let go, and then I can also see things more clearly; my mind isn’t in tunnel vision mode.

Now you might (logically) be thinking, just two days ago, she admitted to reacting to her husband in a mean, selfish manner and now she’s saying she’s in control. I admit it! I have not mastered this. BUT, I was still better than I used to be: I realized I had a choice, there was space there, I just chose to barrel down that unseemly path (oh, stubborn, stubborn, stubborn), even though I knew I shouldn’t. And that is a gigantic difference between me now and me then: I chose; I knew I had a choice. And anyway, I’m beginning to suspect that it is possible that I will never, never be perfect, and that I might just have to let go of that aspiration in all its guises. I will never meditate perfectly. I will never be a perfect wife. I will never be a perfect mother. I will never be a perfect person. Ha!–I admitted it! (I cried during Groundhog Day, with Andie McDowell in her perfect woman role, because it suddenly came over me: certain knowledge that I would never, never, never be perfect, not in a million years. I don’t think I even realized before that point that I was aiming for perfection.)

Ann Lamott says grace is where you find yourself in a different place than before and you know you couldn’t have gotten there on your own. That’s me; I’ve experienced a lot of grace in recent years. When I look back on my pre-meditation/pre-yoga/pre-God-centered life, it’s hard to believe I’m the same person. And I know I cooperate better with grace when I don’t let my obsessive mind run the show 24/7; how can I cooperate with God if my mind is constantly thinking and analyzing and trying to control everything? This is why I also try to practice mindulness. Sometimes I feel like a little kid trying to maneuver a full size grocery cart in a crowded store, running into everything, annoying people, knocking down displays. Get out of the way for God’s sake! Just sit down here on the sidelines and take a break; you’re not in control around here, anyway.

One of the greatest graces of my life these past two years has been my Ashtanga practice. I am certain God led me to this form of yoga. I hadn’t taken a yoga class in a couple of years and when I got the catalog for the local rec center and saw Ashtanga yoga listed, I felt compelled to take it even though I didn’t know beans about it. It was one of those feelings of, I NEED to do this, I HAVE to do this (whatever this is). And though I still struggle with practicing solo (among other things), it has been another great facilitator for healing in my life. After all, it’s yet more training in letting go (yippee!). Let go, listen to the breath. Let go, inhabit the posture. Let go of trying to be perfect (again!). Let go of impatience, let go of grasping, let go of envy, let go of pride, let go, let go, let go, let go, let go. . . .

On my desk, I have this saying of St. Francis de Sales: “Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself.” Sometimes, I have to be satisfied with teensy little consolations (like, at least I didn’t get up; I sat there on that chair in front of Jesus thinking for a whole half hour).