Breath meditations*.
*When breathing isn’t so easy. I thought I knew a lot about breath meditations until I tried doing them with a nose that see-sawed between feeling like it was blocked-up by an angry crafter using a glue gun (don’t ask me why the imaginary crafter was angry – maybe they ran out of sequins?), and being so runny it made my head ache even more than it was already wondering where all that liquid could keep coming from.
Meditating when you’re not well is a totally different and humbling experience. Because in a way, it reminded me of when I first tried meditation all those years ago, when it all felt clunky and odd and sometimes so difficult I questioned if it was worth it. And so I found myself sitting there between Christmas and New Year with a chest and ear infection caught between wanting to meditate because I knew it would offer some relief, but also not wanting to focus on the aggressively painful sensation of air touching the inner workings of my nose (who knew sinuses could be such wicked inflictors of discomfort) that caused my insides to cringe and throb in a most un-festive way.
I realise now I’ve taken for granted all these years that I’ve never had much issue with breathing apart from a bit of asthma, which meant breath meditations were generally accessible for me. I’ve been fortunate to benefit from the use of controlled breath meditations like box breathing when my mind feels overloaded and to mindfully focus on the feeling of each breath entering my body when I want to anchor myself into the present and let past and future fall away. But my tried and tested techniques didn’t align with fits of coughing and shallow breathing – in fact they shone a light on the symptoms, which was the last thing I wanted.
So I experimented. I trained my mind to pull away from the feeling of a hot poker up my nostrils and instead to rest solely on my back where it gently pushed against the (many, many, but never sufficient) pillows propped behind me with each inhale. And when my thinking brain returned again to notice the scratchy, sinister feeling of air that caught in my throat, demanding throat clearings and wheezes, echoing unpleasantly in my tight chest, I gently (let’s be honest I was doing everything gently – I hadn’t slept much for days at that point) let go of focusing on those sensations and guided my attention to observe those more pleasant ones...that familiar one of enlarging then softening in my diaphragm that always makes me picture a jellyfish...or that one at my back where I get this tiny sensation of my breath stretching into my spine if I really focus.
Meditating while I was ill definitely felt different – I meditated lying on my side propped up by cushions in the middle of the night, I meditated with eyes open breathing through my mouth, I mindfully sipped a honey and lemon tea (focusing only on the sensation of it travelling down my throat – it tasted of nothing) and I immersed myself watching snow falling through the window with no other agenda than to observe it. And it helped just like I knew it would; it has always helped with any mood, problem, challenge, difficulty or situation I’ve ever found myself in and I have complete faith it always will, because in learning to meditate I have learnt to trust myself; to trust my mind and my body, and to find that reservoir of calm that is always there, just covered over with worries and judgements and stories we tell ourselves (and sometimes with a bunged up nose and a really annoying cough). So I’m very glad the illness has passed, but I’m glad for what it taught me, and for the reminder that there is always more to learn; always a new way to look at things, always the opportunity to let go of the rung of the ladder we’re holding and reach out for the next one, even when we can’t see it yet.
Emma x