The Walking Meditation

Remembering this assignment, I decided to walk home from my friend’s apartment. She lives right near the Seine, and I had the time. I pretty much always have time…at least I’m in Paris performing ‘walking meditations’ instead of the backyard of some sorority chugging a mystery combo of alcohol and juice…right? 

It’s raining, but just enough to form a sort of misty haze. There’s no oppressive force pelting down. It doesn’t interfere. I walk feeling refreshed. I know I need to appreciate this before getting back to New York in the summer-walking into the subway in the summer is what I imagine walking into the deepest layer of hell might be like…

I decide to start this meditation and already know it’s going to be difficult. A friend of mine was raised Buddhist and is constantly trying to get me into meditating but I can’t grasp it. I place one hand in front of the other, “to differentiate from “just walking.”” 

The only people I ever see walking like this are elderly men in nice hats, clearly out for a ‘stroll.’ Usually they have some sort of color-coordination going on. Color coordination is underrated. 

I feel authoritative. Knowing this is going to be hard for me, I remember the advice from the reading: “If your mindfulness is weak (meaning your mind wanders a lot), then walk very slowly until you can stay in the present moment of each step.” 

I begin walking. Looking out to the Seine, everything seems peaceful. I hear the rain lightly beating against the concrete, my own feet clumsily clanking against the floor. The mist surrounding the Seine stays constant. The tour boats zoom past, flashing their fun and glamour. A glamour that accompanies the luxury of escape; the luxury of tourism. 

Observing my surroundings-the first step. I try to remember what else the article said to do…something about counting breaths-a way to ‘center’ you. I begin. I match my breath with my steps. Right foot, inhale. Left foot, exhale. I start noticing a rhythm-an internal clock I forget I can control. I become focused, and suddenly competitive. Why do I feel competitive? 

Cross-country. I ran cross-country all throughout high school and my coach used to yell at us about breathing the ‘right way.’ Coach Kerns: the quintessential star high-school athlete who settled down and now coaches, living semi-vicariously through his players. 

My mind is wandering. I’m not in the present. I’m in the past. “‘Life” is a continual process of arising and passing away.” That’s what a memory is. To live life, you have to embrace the memories; you have to accept that these memories have layered onto each other to create your present-your identity-your perceptions of your surroundings. As disorienting from the present as they are, they’re still apart of you. They’ll always be apart of you and you can only try to run from them for so long before they catch up to you. I exhale. 

I’m still thinking about cross-country, which leads to high school, which leads to an endless spiral of past relationships, and remembrances of the naivety that was and, to some extent, still is my reality. 

I need to be in the ‘present.’ I started thinking about what else the reading said to do. My memory has always been shit. 

I look down and my hands are no longer crossed in front of me-they’re at my sides. Okay, Emily. Focus. Suddenly something comes back: Goodness. The reading was talking about goodness. 

“Walk up and down and ask yourself, “Today, what acts of goodness have I done?” I re-assemble my hands, inhale, look out to the Seine and think. It’s the first of May and I brought my friend one of the Lily of the Valley plants. The reading states that, “Goodness is a cushion for tranquility, a base for peace.” 

My mind wanders to the agendas of life. I need to call my boss at home and make sure I’ll still be employed when I return. I work at a flower shop in Jersey. I love that job. Giving people flowers all day really boosts your mood. My boss always said flower arrangements were ‘living art.’ Granted he’s super pretentious and, being a failed artist, is in a constant state of convincing himself he’s still doing ‘art,’ but there’s some truth behind it. Flowers make people happy; they make me happy, and they made my friend happy. I smile. I don’t mind being transported into the past when it’s a good memory. A memory that comforts you from the inside out; a memory that gives you something in the immediate moment. It’s a nice disorienting. 

I can’t concentrate on anything without being reminded of the past. It’s not always bad. I used to hate it. I used to strive to always be in the ‘present,’ but that’s overrated-some scheme someone came up with to sell self-help books. Your present is your past. Your past layers to create your present perception, so why not accept the past as an extension of your present? 

Okay, Emily. Focus. I’ve walked awhile at this point. The reading states, “When you get to the end of the path, turn slowly around and re-establish your mindfulness. Where is the mind? Has it wandered off?” Yes, reading. Of course it has ‘wandered off.’ Observing nature and thinking about goodness can only distract it for so long. 

The reading continues, “The mind tends to wander elsewhere chasing thoughts of: anxiety, fear, happiness, sorrow, worries, doubts, pleasures, frustrations and all the other myriad thoughts that can possibly arise.” That makes sense-it’s bored, it’s trying occupy itself with something flashy and exciting…not that walking isn’t flashy and glamorous…

I try to re-center myself. Focus on walking. Focus on breathing. One foot in front of the other. My grandpa used to sing this war song to me when I was little and didn’t want to walk. It went something like, ‘left, right, left, right, left. I wanna go home but-“ I can’t remember the rest. I miss him. 

Okay, time to re-focus myself…again. This feels like my a millionth time trying to establish ‘samadhi.’ I’m not cut out for this whole inner-peace thing. I’m never bored, generally. I’ve been doing this whole, ‘not chilling out and taking things at face value’ thing for nineteen years and it’s a habit I don’t really intend on breaking. It’s my perception now. Plus I’m stubborn, which doesn’t help anything.

The reading states, “As the ability to concentrate for extended periods of time increases, the hindrances are suppressed more and more.” Hindrances, okay life without ‘hindrances’ might be nice, but only when they’re phrased this as hindrances. Who’s to say the past is a hindrance? I would’ve agreed at the beginning of the semester, but now there’s something comforting and reassuring within it. 

There’s too much going on in a city to achieve this ‘zen’ state of mind. There are too many things to associate with. The city itself is a distraction from yourself; from your own ‘hindrances.’ Maybe that’s why so many people want to escape to it; want to escape from themselves.