Page 60 of Loving the Legend
“Yeah.” Can’t say I saw that coming.
“Thought that might be the case. Painful memories come with heavy emotions. Meditation is a way to clear them out. Can I guide us through a quick meditation?”
I swallow roughly and nod. It’s unnerving that he thought about me and what I might need today.
He studies me. “I wish I could hug you.”
“Me too,” I reply, but it comes out gruff.
“This will feel as good, if not better, than a hug. Get comfortable. The only goal is to try to stay present. Thinking about the future causes anxiety. Thinking about the past binds us to old memories and feelings. Our power is in the present.”
I nod, then stack the pillows up against the headboard for support.
“Close your eyes or focus on an object or space in front of you. I’m gonna close mine.”
My heavy eyes close.
“We’re going to start by taking a few natural breaths. Breathing always reminds me that I’m alive.”
I nod, even though he probably can’t see me. I roll my shoulders and stretch out my back.
“No biggie if your mind wanders. Just try to return your thoughts. It helps to focus on the feel of your stomach expanding and contracting.”
“Okay,” I reply. My mind flashes back to a young kid at the cemetery. He arrived with an older woman, but she stood back to give him space. His shoulders trembled as he kneeled on the grass. His grief looked fresh, and I wonder if he—
“Let go of any thoughts that come up and return to focusing on your breath,” Sid says.
I sigh. "The struggle is real.”
“You’re doing great.”
He leads us through a breathing exercise that’s similar to the one that I used to do with my mom. I follow his verbalcues to inhale through my nose for five seconds, hold my breath for seven seconds, and then exhale through my mouth for nine seconds, ending with a hold at the bottom of the exhale before repeating.
My mind wanders constantly. But now and then, I zero in on my breath entering and leaving my body, and for those quiet seconds, the heaviness of the day lifts. Imagine if a person could be perpetually present-minded. Now, that’s a dope superhero power. They would always be in—
“Keep releasing the thoughts that come up,” Sid says. I let out a deep exhale and return to the swell of oxygen, expanding my abdomen with every inhale, then the slight discomfort of holding it inside of me, chased by euphoria when I expel it and my chest decompresses.
“We’re gonna move on to an exercise that helps you release tension in your body. When I call out a body part, I want you to inhale and then hold your breath like we’ve been doing. Except this time, when you hold your breath, I want you to squeeze the body part and hold the tension until I tell you to release it, and if it's awkward to squeeze, then just visualize yourself squeezing it. When I ask you to release it, match your exhale with the release.”
I repeat the steps in my head.Inhale, squeeze, hold, exhaleon his command. “Sounds easy enough.”
Starting with the toes of my left foot, we gradually travel up my legs to the top of my head. For the moments that I’m able to focus, tension seeps out of my body, unknotting my stomach, expanding my chest, loosening my throat, dropping my shoulders, and dulling the ache behind my eyes.
We close out with a few deep breaths set at our own pace, ending together with one deep breath. Sid surprises me when he chants “om” in an exhalation, and his deep voice sends a vibration down my chest and legs. I asked my mom once why she chantedom. She said sounds have a way of healing us andthatomis one of the oldest and most sacred of sounds. I smile, thinking about how much she’d like Sid.
I open my eyes and am sucked into the intensified colors of my room. Sid’s eyes are outlined with gold ink. I can’t help but beam, matching his brilliant smile.
“That was dope,” I confess. “My brain wandered like mad, though.”
“You look lighter…You were carrying a lot.”
I nod. “That last exercise…Man, I had knots everywhere. I had no idea.”
“I read once that we consume something like thirty-four gigabytes of data and information a day,” he says, leaning back against his headboard. “That’s like 100,000 words. Our brains are so full. How the hell are were supposed to know what’s happening in our body?”
I scoff. “100,000 words…That’s wild.”
“Yeah, it’s like a 300-page book or something. It’s why I dig meditation. A few seconds of quiet goes a long way, or else I’m stuck in my head.”
