TURNING THE LIGHT INWARD: 108 DAYS OF MEDITATION
When I arrived in America, I learned quickly that reaction was synonymous with freedom; so, perched perfectly between the mantra of the grandmother I left in Guyana, Just go do it and you will find out, and the mother I came to live with in Brooklyn whose middle name should have well been Flora No Monize, I stood a paradox, a mass of strugglings which eventually walked me right into zen practice. There, one morning, I experienced, quite effortlessly, the falling away of a certain anger and resentment I had held.
Quite naturally, when the 108 days of sitting practice appeared, traits inherited from my grandmother and mother showed up. My grandmother’s habit of rousing me ahead of dawn and my mother’s no I am too tired, went to war. Then, Mums died. In my heart I kept her and wanted to never forget the smells of her tropical skin, her hair released from her nightcap, so I rose early, scented my dusty cushion, bowed and sat. Some days, I sat, then quickly hopped up under daybreak. Other days, I wiped the altar, put out fresh water, lit the candle and left. Or, I counted my breath, lost my way, and began again. Often, I circled the space I had set up for home practice, hung out on the periphery until eventually, eventually, my body accepted the permission to stay in the ritual that preceded the light, morning after morning of just sitting without fanfare.
In the years since, the 108 home practice has offered a space, a small place on a cushion that is a field. That is earth. On the ground sits my body, the great granddaughter of farmers who rose early to touch the soil, to smell the rivers and trees, the dew drop in mud, to hear the shifting tropical sounds of dawn that filled the whole of everything.
This year, while my mother is in hospice in our home, I will sit. While I parent, clean, work, I will sit. Even with resistance. Because my body is my mother’s body and my grandmother’s and all the rest, I will sit; in the midst of the death by Covid or racism or hunger or anger, I will sit. The pointer is clear.
Won’t you join me in the practice of sitting continuously, wherever you are?
We support each other in the commitment to meditate every day from Jan. 17th for 108 days, ending on May 4th. All are welcome.
The intention is primarily to strengthen and enhance our meditation practice, in this time of great uncertainty, in the face of life and death.
To join, please join us on Zoom on Saturday January 16th to make your commitment to 108 Days of Practice in a ceremony led by Dantika Petriana Monize, or contact Dantika at dantikapm@gmail.com and she will include you in the ceremony.
For 108 days of practice period, there will be Zoom sittings weekdays, Monday - Friday 5:30 am - 5:55 am & 6:00 am - 6:25 am. All are welcome.
Please email greenriverzencenter@gmail.com for the Zoom link.
When I arrived in America, I learned quickly that reaction was synonymous with freedom; so, perched perfectly between the mantra of the grandmother I left in Guyana, Just go do it and you will find out, and the mother I came to live with in Brooklyn whose middle name should have well been Flora No Monize, I stood a paradox, a mass of strugglings which eventually walked me right into zen practice. There, one morning, I experienced, quite effortlessly, the falling away of a certain anger and resentment I had held.
Quite naturally, when the 108 days of sitting practice appeared, traits inherited from my grandmother and mother showed up. My grandmother’s habit of rousing me ahead of dawn and my mother’s no I am too tired, went to war. Then, Mums died. In my heart I kept her and wanted to never forget the smells of her tropical skin, her hair released from her nightcap, so I rose early, scented my dusty cushion, bowed and sat. Some days, I sat, then quickly hopped up under daybreak. Other days, I wiped the altar, put out fresh water, lit the candle and left. Or, I counted my breath, lost my way, and began again. Often, I circled the space I had set up for home practice, hung out on the periphery until eventually, eventually, my body accepted the permission to stay in the ritual that preceded the light, morning after morning of just sitting without fanfare.
In the years since, the 108 home practice has offered a space, a small place on a cushion that is a field. That is earth. On the ground sits my body, the great granddaughter of farmers who rose early to touch the soil, to smell the rivers and trees, the dew drop in mud, to hear the shifting tropical sounds of dawn that filled the whole of everything.
This year, while my mother is in hospice in our home, I will sit. While I parent, clean, work, I will sit. Even with resistance. Because my body is my mother’s body and my grandmother’s and all the rest, I will sit; in the midst of the death by Covid or racism or hunger or anger, I will sit. The pointer is clear.
Won’t you join me in the practice of sitting continuously, wherever you are?
We support each other in the commitment to meditate every day from Jan. 17th for 108 days, ending on May 4th. All are welcome.
The intention is primarily to strengthen and enhance our meditation practice, in this time of great uncertainty, in the face of life and death.
- The basic agreement is to meditate every day for 108 days. The traditional practice is one hour per day. If you can’t do this, please commit to what you can do. The key is consistency.
- You may break your daily meditation into two or more periods.
- Walking meditation may be included.
- If for some reason you are not able to succeed fully with these commitments, please keep going nonetheless and do your best for the entire 108 says.
To join, please join us on Zoom on Saturday January 16th to make your commitment to 108 Days of Practice in a ceremony led by Dantika Petriana Monize, or contact Dantika at dantikapm@gmail.com and she will include you in the ceremony.
For 108 days of practice period, there will be Zoom sittings weekdays, Monday - Friday 5:30 am - 5:55 am & 6:00 am - 6:25 am. All are welcome.
Please email greenriverzencenter@gmail.com for the Zoom link.