My first adventure into meditation was when I was 7 years old. And it was one my few memories of spending quality time with my father who later moved to Asia by himself. Although my father mentioned that meditation was important for concentrating the mind and creating greater awareness, all I was concerned about was demonstrating my youthful flexibility. I was really proud of myself for easily getting into full lotus. How hard could the rest be? I closed my eyes, sat still, and counted my breaths. After some time, my right foot fell asleep and I opened my eyes while I adjusted my foot. To my surprise, I found a bleeding superficial cut on my foot. Whaaat?? To this day, I still don’t know what happened.

My second most outstanding memory of meditation was at Buddha camp. Yes, you read that right – Buddha camp. It was a week-long sleep away camp for mostly Chinese adults and children of all ages in the middle of nowhere in New York. The wee was filled with 5AM chanting, vegetarian food eating (I still miss those veggie ham burgers), and Buddhist study sessions. And there was a massive bonfire with singing and dancing at the end. Eclectic, yes. Something I could do longer than one week, no. The last year I attended, sometime in early high school, the monastery that hosted Buddha camp built a 20-story pure white Buddha statue. It was the definition of awe-some. Meditating in front of it in a crowd of hundreds of people moved me, but not in the way you might think. With my eyes closed, it seemed like the physical lines between my body and others in the room began to blur. I sensed energy. And I sensed breath, tiny vibrations through the thick summer air. Then, I felt an overwhelming wave of sadness, like I embodied total suffering. No specific cause, no object of my feelings. If I didn’t snap out of it right then and there, I didn’t know where that pain would have lead me. Tears? Falling over? I didn’t know and I was afraid, perhaps even ashamed. I opened my eyes, took a deep breath, and told myself I was going to be ok. I’ve never let myself go back to that place again, never to that depth of meditation.

Since then, I have honestly done very little meditation outside of yoga class. Over time though, I have observed several instances where a yoga pose or sitting meditation brings out something profound and intense in people. And I’ve often wondered what that was about.   Was it similar to what I went through at Buddha camp? How does the condition of our physical body affect our subtle energies and emotions? Do we suppress parts of ourselves that accidentally surface when our mind and bodies are calm?

Every once in a while, my mother will encourage me to develop a meditation practice and I inevitably say that I’ll try but never do. I know that meditation is good for me. Theoretically, it’s great for stress relief and for helping the mind focus in a world of over-stimulation. But when I’m honest with myself, I know why I don’t go there. I’m afraid of the sensations of suffering that I’ve felt before. Perhaps I’m even afraid of the reasons behind them, or if there are reasons at all.