Why I Can't Fully Meditate

I love going to a place of solitude and really thinking about things. Learning to control my breath has been such a huge help to me. Whenever I get too stressed out and my mind feels scrambled, I can return to mindfulness simply by calling it up. It benefits me physically and emotionally as well.

But I can't fully meditate. I can assume the position, I can close my eyes and find my mental relaxation image (currently a watersnake cutting a path over the top of a river; sometimes it's a pebble free falling through the water). I can think deeply about things. But I can't let go. I'm terrified to let go.

When I was 17 years old on the last Thursday in March 11 1/2 years ago at about 6:30 pm, I was dressed to go to a Jehovah's Witness meeting. Didn't want to go, but got ready anyway. We were waiting on Dad to come in and get ready. I was in my room. I put my headphones on. I was probably listening to Prince, but I really don't remember that part. I wanted to slip off into my head and think about other things besides this stupid meeting. I remember I layed back on my bed, perpendicular with it, not straight as though for sleeping. My bed ran parallel to the closet. The closet had a curtain over it, as Dad hadn't made the doors for it yet. So I was facing the closet.

I couldn't close my eyes. I would close my eyes to slip off into my head like I'd done billions of times before, and my eyes would snap open wide. I would lay my head back, close my eyes, and immediately startle up, looking at the closet. It felt like the nastiest, scariest beast was right behind the curtain waiting for me to close my eyes so it could grab me. Now, I don't scare easy. The only thing that truly scares me are pedophiles and rampant viruses, the first for my son's sake, the second because I can't personally beat it to death with a bat or something. Back then, none of that scared me.

I was terrified. I told myself it was stupid to feel that way. I got up and looked in the closet (just to make sure :) ) and laid back down. Same thing happened. As soon as I closed my eyes, my skin crawled and my eyes snapped open. It felt like whatever was behind the curtain was breathing or something.

Then Sister burst in. She was 15 years old at the time. I'll never forget the look on her face. I've never seen it since, and I hope she never has cause to feel that way again. Her mouth was moving, but my headphones were still on. I took them off. "What?"

"Daddy's dead!! Daddy's dead!! Oh my god, Joy, what are we going to do? He's killed himself!"

I remember screaming, "You're a liar, stop saying that!" and pushing her aside (sorry, Sister)and running down the stairs, and out the kitchen door to where I somehow knew his body was, and my mother screaming behind me, "Joy, don't, please, God, for my sake, don't go and look, please don't." And I stopped in my tracks. And I felt the world spin, like it was spinning on top of my head, and I saw my sister collapse on the floor, and my mother calling 9-1-1 when it was obviously too late, and both of them weeping up at me, the only one standing at this point.

My life was never the same. Obviously.

Apparently what was behind the curtain was my mother discovering my father's body. She loved him more than she loved any of us. I knew him, I understand why. When she found him, my headphones apparently blocked out her screams, which Sister says she sometimes still hears in her dreams at night. A horrible, piercing, devastating cry. And the headphones drowned out my Sister's wails and the thundering of her feet up the stairs when Mom was desperate to find me.

I was very lucky. My last memory is not of my father's fatal gunshot wound nor my mother's soul screaming off never to return. My last memory is of my father standing in his blue checkered workshirt, smelling like spearmint gum and holding his cup of coffee. It was 7:00 in the morning, I was going in to work on my Spring Break from high school when I could've stayed home. He told me he was proud of me. I told him I liked his shirt and I wanted to borrow it. He laughed and said I could have it. He put his coffee on the table and told me he loved me, and gave me a gigantic hug.

"I love you too, Daddy." I had said and I kissed him and off I went and I never saw him again. But I couldn't have said good-bye any better.






I can't sleep unless the bedroom door is locked. I can't sleep unless I have the wall close to me. Sometimes I sleep on the edge of the bed because I'm subconciously afraid I'll have to spring up out of it. I can't sleep out of doors anymore. I cannot close my eyes and put headphones on. And I can't close my eyes and fully let go to meditate. Something starts to breathe and seethe somewhere in my brain.

That's the Beast that's locked inside my brain. I have no idea how to kill it.

Also, this is going to be the last heavy post I publish in a while. It's good to get it out of my head, but I've got lots to think about. I need a basic return to simplicity right now. And so I'll probably start focusing more on simplicity in everyday life, or even possibly the downright frivolous. If that's boring, I'm sorry. But I've made some big decisions recently, and I need the simplicity to act in the most peaceful, silent and unpretentious way possible.

--Virgil