Went out betimes last evening and attended a presentation on Transcendental Meditation. Why? You might be driven to ask.
Two reasons. The first one being that friends who swear by it find it a great means of alleviating life stresses. And that leads me to the second reason, which is, it vouldn’t hoit, just like chicken soup.
Life has its clutter and junk and sources of tension and I think I handle it moderately well these days, despite human nature tendencies to sink into despondency or fly into blind rages. Actually, I don’t do either of those so much, though I am victim (much too often) to insomnia. But, otherwise, no mammoth crying jags and my dear wife and I rarely berate each other.
In years gone by I dealt with stress in a time-honored manner, I’d get shitfaced drunk. But such a highly negative means of agony dealing passed by my personal scene 18 years ago (on June 5th, as a point-of-fact). It will never be a welcome guest to my liver any longer.
Anyway, unmystical sod as I might be, I nevertheless have always had a fascination with TM. I plan to make no attempt to channel George Harrison, and John Lennon thought that the Maharishi was a bit of a fraudster. My person jury remains out in that regard and, well, a fella has to make a rupee wherever he can. Regardless, the process is age-old and its curative powers cannot be derided because I have seen it work with people.
So, I went to the session.
One of the suggestions posed was for those present to think of a time in their lives when ‘all was good’. The quest should be to recapture that feeling. I have had moments when all of life (albeit briefly) seemed blissful, such as certain instances on different travels, or when I would fall in love (with my propensity to fall really hard when I do), or that brief microsecond just before orgasm, and finally a short duration period in my life.
And I found that time within my memory bank.
It was a brief time period around when I was 5 years old. And as I look back to ‘then’ it was golden in my memory. We were living at the home of my grandparents while my dad completed construction of the family home a couple of blocks away.
So, what are those golden memories of a blissful time?
– we were living with my grandparents whom I adored. Adored much more than I did my parents, if truth be known. That was never to change for me.
– loved the big old rambling farmhouse with its multiplicity of rooms. Have no nostalgic attachment to my parental home, interestingly enough, but I do to the old long-gone ‘manse’.
– I was not yet at school. Life was never to be the same after that intrusion in my life.
– I took my first trip, with my Grannie to Hornby Island where her brother lived and had a farm. We went there on the Princess Mary, which ended its life rather ignominiously as an eatery in Victoria.
– In my (obviously false) memories it was always sunny and bright, except for the winter in which it snowed for days and days and I found, even though I was a child, I grew tired of it and wished it would go away.
– I still recall two dreams I had at that tender time in my life. One so vividly I could paint a picture of what I saw.
– Meanwhile at night I would hear the lonesome whistle of a steam locomotive as it passed through the valley below the house about a mile away.
– rail travel meant a lot to me and a particular pleasure was riding in one of the great red tramcars of the Burnaby Lake Line with my grandmother after a day’s shopping in downtown Vancouver.
My good and transcendental time. I’d like to try to get some of that back.