Over the past month or so I’ve been taking a heart-centered business course led by a Sufi Master Teacher. They use a Sufi meditation practice called Remembrance as a foundation for the program, so I’ve had a great time learning about this new-to-me religion and its practices.
Meditation is one of those things I always wanted to “get.” I worked with people I really admired who had a very strong, regular meditation practice. In fact, for most of those people, it was the non-negotiable part of every day.
For me, it was always a chore. I never felt like I did it right, and I think I only experienced the transcendent emptiness in savasana after a particularly difficult yoga class.
My teacher explained that there are two main kinds of meditation:
What I love most about it is that there’s no “right” way to do it. You tune in to what you’re feeling, and you use a name to call the Divine into your heart. Sufis call Remembrance “teatime with god.”
I love that, I love the informality of it. You’re just showing up and being. There’s nothing to “do.”
Even if you think you’re doing it wrong, or you don’t feel anything at all, the only technique is to relax and ask:
Is love available, even here?
(spoiler alert: love is always available. Even here.)
I’m always on the lookout for ways people can get embodied, relax into themselves, and bless their journey instead of cursing it.
For me, this is its most healing if I need to intervene and stop a sneaky hate spiral from progressing too far in my head. I can pause my anxiety, my panic, my self-judgment, and just ask, “Is love available, even here?” Just for a breath, a moment, an hour, an entire task, or an entire day.
Or you can just ask it, whenever you think of it. Making coffee, eating food, watching TV, hugging your loved ones, playing with pets, moving your body, studying, on the way to work, during staff meetings.
Whenever you remember, ask. See what comes up.