Zen and the art of coming to terms with car maintenan

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I’ve got my meditation date and like a child in a custody battle, I’m handed off from one party to the other in car park of ‘Freshcuts butchers’, high glamour in the Seychelles, as I’m way too chicken (boom boom) to drive the hills of La Misere, especially not knowing where I’m going. I feel guilty as my meditation buddy drives in and clocks me behind the wheel (getting in practice with the other one) so much so that I spend the rest of the journey explaining in torturous length my driving history (or lack of it) that given she’s at the wheel, she cannot but listen to, bet she was regretting her decision already.

I admire her house and engage in more interesting chit chat (having established the baseline of boredom with my car whining) while waiting for her other friend to arrive. I’d been careful to raise some of my concerns by email, like what if I burst out laughing? So again, I established early on the level at which I operate at (barely adult some might allege), though it does worry me if my lentil curry from the night before decides to say hello. I just hope I can meditate (or clench) it away.
I have a little intro about what meditation is all about, clearing the mind of clutter and for this particular type of meditation, of being mindful of the feelings being experienced (though my recollection may not be accurate!). I sit cross legged on a cushion, lean against the sofa and close my eyes being guided through the meditation. We’re encouraged to listen to the sounds around us before following the rhythm of our own breathing and then focusing on one particular area and to try and filter out all other distractions ( like wondering how long before our next puncture and do we need another fan belt?). All’s good, until about halfway through when my bony ankle impedes itself on my consciousness, telling me it doesn’t like being jammed against the floor. I try to move about subtly but it’s not much relief and I don’t want to break people’s attention by fidgeting too much (a major challenge). So the ankle gnaws away at me as does that state of our car, until after 30 minutes, I’m released from being at one with my mind and get to be at one with my belly as we share chocolate cake and chat about how I found the meditation.

I don’t think I properly inhabited the zone but would definitely try it again and found myself reading from cover to cover the magazine about mindful living that I was lent. I doubt I’ll be a total convert but think that it can only be beneficial to sit every now and then and aim for some inner space and peace (though not quite ready for ten full days of it!). I think my success at meditation would be aided considerably if I had a new car, though I’m not sure that Buddha would like that.

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