The Senses
In meditation you don’t close yourself off from your surroundings, rather you accept and become indifferent to them in order to fully focus on your breathing. One method of accepting your surroundings — so that you don’t become irritated by an errant noise or a distracting sight — is to address the senses one by one. By doing so, you can acknowledge the sense input and either make a change to stop it happening or say that it doesn’t matter. For instance, sitting here . . .
I can smell the slightly fruity musty odour of my jumper. A jumper that lives, for the most part, amongst the raisins, teas and oatcakes in my drawer at work.
I hear the continual whirr of the servers, the occasional beep of a computer or a phone, a patter of voices, people talking quietly about work and lives, outside there is a rumble of HGVs.
I touch the keys of the keyboard, my back and bottom sit in the chair comfortably, I’m not slouching or crossing my legs. My wrists rest on the laptop.
I see the electric lights, the computer screen, Monday morning faces, the dirty rain lashing against the windows.
I taste death, a claggy feeling. I am dehydrated, my Iron Buddha tea hasn’t satiated my thirst.
My sense of balance is wayward due to tiredness.
The temperature is slightly cold, but only slightly — a tiny chill across my back.
I am not hungry but will eat an apple in ten minutes to get a sugar boost.
You’ll notice that I included other senses beyond the usual five, because the usual five seem quite restrictive and don’t acknowledge all of the sensual irritants we have to face. Once I have done this, I can then focus — that is the idea, anyway. In reality, it is Monday morning and my brain is all over the place.