Here is a healing meditation.
At the beginning of the week, on Monday, I had a mole removed. A visit with the dermatologist scheduled two months earlier. The arrival of a long-scheduled event makes me remember long-scheduled commitments to teach meditation looming ahead. I had yet to prepare for these.
In the examination room, stripped down to my underwear and socks. The doctor asked me if I thought meditation could be “healing.”
Here it is, my big chance to influence Western Medicine. “Yes,” I answered, intoning with talk of body, mind, and breath. Key, I added, was intellectual understanding or “view” for successful meditation practice. All of this while the doctor scanned my exposed skin with what looked like a fancy magnifying glass. Somewhere in the middle of my pitch, I lost him. Running behind schedule with his patients. Limited time for chitchat, I guess.
He stopped his scanning at a mole on my back.
“Whoa. OK, this one’s gotta go.”
“Oh, really. When should we do this?” I asked, imagining a time down the road when the thought of this procedure would fit in comfortably with all of the worries pressing in on my schedule.
“If it’s OK with you – Now.”
I sputtered something about my immediate plans for the day and then came up with the real question – “Will it hurt?”
“Just a pinch.”
Some more reassurances and a needle prick later there was casual talk about the doctor’s upcoming trip to San Francisco, future emails and phone calls that would come with “results”. Eavesdropping, I thought he was speaking to the nurse until it dawned on me that he was talking to me — referring to the erstwhile piece of me that needed to be tested for cancer. Six days later and a few fitful nights and anxious dreams, the still sore, quarter-sized crater in my back is looking like it just might heal and I haven’t heard anything from the good doctor.
“You are so lazy!” my wife, Jeanine exclaims in exasperation on Saturday – referring to a paper shopping bag emptied of its contents but left to languish for an hour on the floor of the kitchen. I couldn’t disagree. Heightened anxiety distracts me. If left to fester, immobilization is the result. OK, so call this existential crisis “laziness”. I didn’t have the energy to split hairs. In any event, to be sure, more than my usual share of household ineffectiveness had characterized the past week.
During this week my customary morning meditation practice has also faltered. Sure, meditation practice is healing. But probably not if you don’t do it. Last night having exhausted all distractions, I finally talked myself onto the Zafu and Zabuton in our meditation room. While sitting and paying attention to my breath, I faced my anxiety. A jumble of thoughts and emotions pressed on my mind and future. Behind all of them lingered a heightened sense of mortality. My practice was pinching.
Slowly, coming back to mindfulness of my breath, I stopped fighting. The anxiety relaxed into a sense of sadness and loneliness. Was my suffering brave, a profound and timely confrontation with impermanence? Or was it the worry-prone machinations of a comfort-obsessed coward? No way to know. Sitting on my meditation cushion, late on Saturday night, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The sad lonely feeling was a relief. My mind was settling. A week of dithering about, trying to postpone this meeting with myself, was over.
Saturday night I slept well. Sunday morning, for the first time all week, my physician-mind woke me up with a prescription for “healing” meditation.
“Oh really,” my anxious-mind replied. “When would you like to do this?”
“If it’s OK with you”, my physician-mind replied, “Now.”
Editor’s Note: In diagnosing suffering, its cause and remedy, the person known as the Buddha is sometimes called “The Great Physician.” For inspired and thoughtful texts on healing meditation see Tulku Thondup’s Healing Power of Mind and Boundless Healing. For the tradition’s take on what the “physician-mind” might look like, see the Medicine or Healing Buddha.