And so I fantasised. Inevitably, one of the images that came to me was of a Buddhist or convent retreat. Further reflection quickly revealed that whatever it was I needed, it could not be found in someone else’s discipline, routine or vision. But my research did lead me to the discovery of the meditation stool and soon I took delivery of my very own. I thought it would be one of those quickly-regretted impulse buys, a great idea that spent its life unused, a fantasy of desire and not desire itself. But I was wrong. Do I spend long, tranquil hours at that stool? No. In fact, it is a challenge to train my muscles to accommodate themselves to the stretches required. But it is a challenge that I am winning! If I do not spend hours at my stool, I do find myself drawn to it, with unwavering delight, night and morning. And sometimes in the morning, I have to remind myself to leave this quiet haven for the business of the day.
What I have found at my stool is the beginnings of gratitude. It was not intentional. I have long resisted the increasingly popular practice. I briefly flirted with a gratitude journal once upon a time, simply out of curiosity, following the strong claims for its benefits, but quickly abandoned it as a form of writing I found to be stilted, contrived and unnatural to me. The problem, I quickly learned, was that I associated a practice of gratitude with the idea that we should all just be grateful for what we have instead of spending ourselves in longing for something more. I thought of the deep suffering of the world and could not reconcile the concept in my mind.
What changed? I am not certain, though I know it had something to do with the words of a wise friend, Joanna DeVoe, who has found gratitude to be a wonderful way of attracting joy. The thought appealed to my imagination. And then there was the stool. I started with the intention of focusing on my breath and body for a few minutes at a time, but was quickly overtaken by an outpouring of gratitude and gladness, a reflection on the qualities I would like to enhance in myself, a desire for peace among all those who suffer, and an intimate daily communion and conversation with God.
It is proving to be a surprising gift, one that will not contain itself within the confines of the meditation stool. I now find myself at odd moments remembering something I have forgotten to give thanks for and suddenly there I am, in the middle of my daily activity, stopping for a moment and offering up thankfulness. It is not a duty, it is a natural effusion of joy. And then I begin to notice things everywhere, as they happen, that fill me with delight. Now I find that my day is regularly punctuated by a spontaneous celebration of each moment of gladness.
And the real secret? What I focus on expands. It truly does. It turns out that the practice of gratitude is not about the resigned acceptance of less, it is about a glad invitation to and welcoming of more. It is an open door.