…or, as it is sometimes (and less elegantly) known, a murse.
Look, I’ve just gotten too much shit. I have big fat headphones. Camera. Journal. And, of all things, lately I’ve been reading. !!!
Mason Jennings was in town yesterday–strangely, playing on a bill at Southpaw with my new drummer, Pete McNeal, who was backing Inara George–and I met him at his hotel, a tatty, ornate, century-old place near Herald Square. There was a tour group of British teens idling in the lobby, jet-lagged-ly.
We took the R train down to Union Square and hung out, watching the skaters in the sunlight (first warm day in April), talking about music and the musician’s life, and this meditation practice that he hipped me to. I took a course in it last week, and have been enjoying the hell out of it–I’ve tried to meditate in the past, and I start fidgeting like a mofe before two minutes have passed–using this practice, I do twenty minutes twice a day and it’s a snap.
The language and the nature of the practice, too, is good for me: it suits my nature as a kind of grumpy, omnivorous spiritual dilettante.
I’ve had some borderline-psychedelic experiences with it–I guess I entered a hypnogogic kind of pre-sleep state–but mostly it’s just a chillaxed kind of inner journey situation. I’ve been seeking out adventurous places to meditate–I did in St. Patrick’s cathedral the other day, as parishoners grieving the Pope filed in to pray before a large portrait on an easel. There was a woman unwrapping candy in the pew behind me–that was a drag. Otherwise it was wonderful.
Yesterday I meditated in St. Peter’s, that modernistic wooden-minimalist Lutheran church on Lexington and 54th. They wouldn’t let me in the main sanctuary, as there was a 12-year-old organ prodigy rocking the gigantic pipe organ. I watched him from the balcony a little–his bookbag on the floor beside him–and then went and meditated in a side chapel.
Jewish readers–can you tell me something about synogogues? Firstly, I’ve never been in one, and want to go. Secondly, I just want to increase my selection of meditation venues. Can a lapsed Lutheran just walk into one and take a seat?