Big Adventures with Paula McGuire

OH, give me a break. Of course, dear reader, I’m not suggesting that you have in any way overworked your protagonist.

As far as responsibilities go, I have the air miles to cover the distance and my well-worn walking shoes are still up to the commute. But maybe that’s just what’s wrong with my outlook: it’s so far from myself that I’m forever chasing its shadow – and that doesn’t leave much time for basking in the light.

I guess I’m a victim of my own crimes against respite. Like most modern minds, mine has an off switch that can only be reached if you spell the name of God with an I. Much of it, I’m sure, is a hangover from those wild days of excess anxiety when I binged on over-thinking like a budgie in a mirror.

And even though I’m back on the recovery wagon and driving it all the way to sanity, I still can’t seem to just lie back and enjoy the ride. Maybe activity, even most frantic, is what’s keeping my wagon on track; maybe I’m just scared of what my thoughts will do if left alone with me. Whatever the cause, the effect is an adventurer who can’t take a break, or even just a fracture.

While this week’s Big Adventure then may seem lower key than my usual scale, for a fretter like me, meditation is a pitch above perfect.

The Glasgow Theosophical Society in the west end is the heart of soul-searching in the city. Descended from the New York foundation, which was established in the 19th century, the Glasgow branch continues the organisation’s traditions of studying science and religion, with a philosophical apéritif. As an eye into the spiritual, it definitely comes third. My first viewing of the society’s rooms came this week when I visited Gordon Rainey and his Tuesday evening meditation group, whose welcome was warmer than even the outside chill could temper.

In the first floor lecture hall, well below the corniced ceiling, a four-bar fire tried its best to at least defrost the gathering cockles. The setting could easily have hosted a rousing session of pass the parcel, with a ring of chairs perfect from which to gradually unwrap a manhandled box of Jelly Tots.

Instead of party music though, there was low lighting, soft chatter, and wall hangings that spoke equally of peace and Reiki. After a hug with Gordon, the group’s coach and facilitator, each of we 10 arrivals took a seat and a moment, gathering thoughts or scarves to cushion the way.

While mindfulness and its brethren have gathered popularity like a stationary stone, the practices are so far beyond my ken that my Barbie needs to commute. But where meditation is concerned, hands no safer than Gordon’s can be found. I’m told his elbows are as risky as they come though. His nine years’ experience in the field, both personally and professionally, developing his own approach to conscious living, allows him to draw a weekly gathering of students into his calming presence.

The session set off with an exercise in mindfulness breathing; drawing our attention to the fundamental workings of the respiratory system: its continuous bellowing in our honour.

With eyes closed and mind open, I focused intermittently on the inhale, with brief interruptions of the ex, and allowed time and tension to drift, if not away then at least outwith the limits of current reach. It seemed almost redundant afterwards to take up introductions, given that shared space of new-found familiarity, but hearing of the journeys that had brought each of us to the rest gave me great context for the trip to come.

Around that circle was experience and none, faith and doubt, reason and uncertainty; all to our own ends with somewhat the same beginning. We discussed energies, the awareness of thought, and our misplaced comfort in self-criticism, all the while with Gordon’s input guiding the chat ever inwards. Even adventure found voice and, as is my wont, if not anyone’s desire, I spoke of the need to take out into the world that which we want to find there.

At a time later than the evening began – if you subscribe to such linear progressions – the conversation ebbed and Gordon brought the meditation into full flow. As we settled back into our selves, the coach led us gently from our minds into our minds’ eyes.

Of course, some of the techniques were beyond this beginner’s range.

If thoughts arose, we were encouraged to acknowledge their existence but let them flutter past, not grab their tails and wrestle them to our inner monologue, as was my own instinct.

But Gordon assured us afterwards that, with practice, such inclinations could indeed be ushered into decline. He spoke in mantras throughout the process; phrases that connected with his own insight.

Avoiding the temptation to hunt them down and gather them for my collection, I allowed them to wander free, but will ever have stuffed in my memory that I am not my thoughts.

The meditation drew quietly to a close with a wiggle of toes, to both bring us back and fend off the jetlag. By then, confused had followed dazed to dampen my already sodden wits so that when asked to share the one word that might sum up my inaugural meditation, that which fell from my mouth was “relieved”.

Relieved perhaps that I had not embraced the calm completely and snored the class from their concentration. Relieved that anxiety hadn’t putted its way to the fore.

Or relieved that I had found the fuse box, and have finally learned how to switch myself off.

More information on Gordon’s meditation classes and workshops can be found at www.gordonrainey.com