(Originally published as Ruminations #5 www.coffeewithcutter.com)

Part I: The Idea of Faith

Growing up, I attended Catholic schools. I was raised to follow the Catholic teachings and standards following my Holy Communion when I was a young boy (I can’t remember how old I was when this ritual took place). To celebrate the occasion, my Nan bought me a 3D laser-etched crystal cube with an angel inside (“It’s your guardian angel in life,” she told me) and my parents gifted me with an olive wood cross complete with a crucified Jesus made of silver. Looking back, Catholic symbolism was all around me growing up (my Aunt, bless her soul, used to burst into random acts of song whenever we visited on Saturdays, but would only sing one line, ‘take my heart in sweet surrender’). By the time Year 9 or Year 10 rolled around, I came to the realisation that Catholicism wasn’t for me. The Bible, though an interesting piece of work regarding its immortal longevity, provided me with nothing of substantial worth (unlike my father, who reads it often and finds great solace in its passages). Catholicism was just something that I couldn’t relate to. I don’t judge anybody who does proudly identify as a Catholic or Christian (and I find the media's absurd judgement towards anyone who aligns with that religion utterly pathetic), but having grown up exposed to the traditional Catholic rituals and stories, natural rebellion was unavoidable. I do find religion (in all its forms) to be a fascinating subject rife for exploration in the realm of my fiction, though. For example, the Christian faith was a large theme of my book, The Ascension of the Seventh, albeit examined through a more critical assessment. Hell, even the title of the book contains a subtle nod to Catholic lore, albeit unintentionally. (There are no mistakes, just happy accidents – Bob Ross). Still, I’m not a religious person, but I wouldn’t call myself a full on atheist, either. A cautionary agnosistic fits the description much better, I’d say.

Not too long ago, I stumbled across a quote that summarised the idea that every individual must allow themselves to believe in something higher than themselves. I was surprised to find myself agreeing with this philosophy, despite having abandoned Catholic ideology. In today's day and age, now more than ever, it is very easy to find yourself lost and adrift. Through my experiences with depression, illness and survivors guilt, I found myself growing increasingly more bitter, jaded, and lost, although a lot of the time I wouldn’t actually express what I was feeling, with the exception of detailing my innermost thoughts and turmoils through my fictional characters. I didn’t have anything to believe in, nothing to help guide my emotions through the turmoil I was experiencing. When I was first diagnosed with my stomach tumour back in 2016, I returned to the idea of Catholicism, but this was a very short-lived revival. Writing has always been something that has helped me process my emotions, to the point where Ascension could be viewed as a piece of semi-autobiographical therapy as opposed to straight-up fiction. This philosophy – of placing a belief in something beyond your own sense of being – led me towards the concept of Buddhism. Of all the religions out there, Buddhism has long been the one and only religion to attract my passive enthusiasm, but I would go on to spend years without taking the time to read into its teachings and core philosophies. I’ve felt lost for a very long time, like I’ve been drowning. Long have I been searching for something, something bigger than myself, something I could believe in, heart and soul. Following a rough few days of wrestling with a depressive episode, I spoke with my girlfriend about my curious desire to try practising Buddhism. She thought it was a good idea, I think she could tell that I was struggling with some sort of emptiness. I took to Google and discovered that the closest establishment I could find that could show me the ways of the fourth largest religion of the whole world (as many as 506 million people practise Buddhism) was the Manchester Buddhist Centre. I decided it was high time to put the philosophy of believing in something greater than myself into practice.

Part II: Mindfulness & Breathing

On the 19th April, I visited the Buddhist Centre for a guided meditation. This was my second visit, my first being on the 5th to take a curious look into what the organisation could offer. Upon entry, I was met by busily stocked shelving units of Buddha statues, books written on the practices and philosophies of the religion, and countless other little mementos. I approached the counter and, sounding like a clueless fool, tried to convey that I was searching for something and that Buddhism might guide me down the correct path of this new journey I was curious to explore. He understood exactly what I was trying to say and told me that guided meditation was the advised starting point for this journey towards enlightenment. I took the time on Tuesday to attend a guided meditation session, entitled Mindfulness & Breathing. Of course, during my first visit, I bought a few books that would serve as a worthy introduction to the religion:
The Heart of Meditation: Discovering Innermost Awareness – The Dalai Lama
This Difficult Thing of Being Human – Bodhipaksa
Buddhism: Tools for Living Your Life – Vajragupta

I approached the Buddhist Centre that afternoon, curious to experience a guided meditation. In the past, I’ve tried meditation as recommended by David Lynch, who is an ardent practicioner of Transendental Medition and a devoted advocate of the practice. I was promptly led towards the meditation room where the session would take place. Immediately, I was overcome with a tremendous sense of peace. Instant serenity. I don’t know how, but I felt calm and relaxed the moment I stepped into the room. Chairs arranged in a gentle curve occupied the room, positioned before rows of mediation mats, each with its own cushion. I wasn’t sure if these mats were reserved for the more initiated practitioners, so I parked myself down on one of the chairs and took in my surroundings as the room steadily began to fill with people of varying ages. A shrine, complete with a lifesize golden Buddha, flowers and candles was situated at the front. Even though the mediation had not yet started, I felt at peace with myself, which is something I almost never feel. Before the mediation began, the host read out an excerpt from Meditation: Calming the Mind by Bob Sharples:

“Don’t meditate to fix yourself, to improve yourself, to redeem yourself; rather, do it as an act of love, of deep warm friendship to yourself. In this way there is no longer any need for the subtle aggression of self-improvement, for the endless guilt of not doing enough. It offers the possibility of an end to the ceaseless round of trying so hard that wraps so many people’s lives in a knot. Instead there is now meditation as an act of love. How endlessly delightful and encouraging.”

The guided meditation lasted roughly around forty minutes. Against all my best wishes, I didn’t succumb to a state of relaxation throughout. The mediation was divided into four breathing exercises, designed to bring mindfulness to your thoughts and breathing, and while I can say that there were instances in which I felt calm and relaxed, I spent a lot of time allowing my thoughts to spiral and traverse elsewhere; negative thoughts, rambling thoughts, thoughts of how I was going to put this blog post together. I can’t help it. My mind is never quiet. I think more time was spent telling my unquiet thoughts to shut the hell up so I could focus on the task at hand. It didn’t help matters much either that the man sitting to my right made it a habit to crack something at the end of each segment of the meditation. Honestly, I don’t know what he was cracking. His jaw, his neck, I couldn’t tell you, but it sounded like somebody was running a hammer across a xylophone made of broken bones. How spine-curdling off-putting! Once the mediation was drawing to a close, the host finished with another fantastic excerpt from a poem by Rumi:

Do not look back, my friend
No one knows how the world ever began.
Do not fear the future, nothing lasts forever.
If you dwell on the past or the future
You will miss the moment.

At the end of the mediation, several members of the audience bid farewell through the action of namaste. I didn’t, largely because I would’ve strangely felt like a fraud for doing so. I’m still a rookie to the world of this religion and its philosophies and believed that actioning a namaste was solely reserved for those fully initiated into Buddhist practices. Perhaps I’m looking too much into this, though. Afterwards, as the room began to clear, I asked the host if I could snap a photo of the excerpts read during the mediation. I confessed that while I found the guided practice interesting, I couldn’t quite achieve complete mindfulness due to my temperamental thoughts. What she told me next was quite inspiring in more ways than one. She told me that although everybody looks as though they’ve achieved complete mindfulness and serenity during a meditation, chances are they’re battling back against negative and intrusive thoughts as well, though some may be more proficient than others at making peace with them due to practice. She told me that whenever negative thoughts come, do not fight against them or trouble yourself with trying to extinguish them. Instead, allow yourself to sit with them, accept them, and then move past them. She compared it to ducks on the surface of a lake; on the surface, ducks look calm and serene, but underneath the water, their webbed feet are working hard to ensure they do not sink. Mediation is like this, and I thought it was a clever comparison to make. I believe this was a decent start to what I hope will be a very rewarding journey into the Buddhist way of life.