Jello in a Square Box

When I was a little girl, my grade school teacher called me Jello because I couldn’t stay still. ADD didn’t exist in the national lexicon yet. My old country still had military style education system. A wiggly daydreamer didn’t fit. I was shamed for being Jello and told not to move.

So I put the wiggly Jello in a tight square box, like a Japanese square watermelon. They nicely fit into a cardboard box, and then in a fridge. That’s my parents and teachers wanted: to fit in.

I grew up believing I was a square box, until I found I was not.

I was diagnosed with ADD by a psychiatrist I was seeing for depression. “I don’t have ADD. I have depression,” I protested. “I never be hyperactive.” “You are just highly disciplined. ADD could lead to depression,” he said.

It is usually mild but when it’s bad I can feel my brain is misfiring. Laser beams of multiple colors criss-cross in my brain in an accelerated speed. I can’t sit still and I walk around in a small apartment only to forget why I was in the kitchen or the bathroom. I can’t finish any small task. Noises are amplified in my brain and I need to wear a headset to muffle them. My eyes rove. It requires tremendous effort to focus on one thing.

And I remembered I was Jello. A fabulous rainbow colored Jello. All that I was made to believe I was were lies. I spent almost 20 years working in the same office, sitting at the desk from 9 to 5, doing the same thing and I thought I liked the structured mundane routine. It was a lie.

I was an ADHD magnet. All of my past relationship was with a severe ADHD guy. I thought they were attracted to me because I was still, because I was the person who held a string of floating balloon. I captured them and tried to put them into square boxes. Because I believed it was dangerous to be freaking fabulous multicolored Jello.

Now I know that they weren’t attracted to me. I was attracted to them, because I wanted to move, I wanted to be spontaneous, I wanted to float and bounce. I wanted to be them.

Since I accepted my original state of being, I haven’t had major depression. I am magical rainbow colored Jello, who is happy and dances freely.

Skeleton Meditation

I don’t sit and meditate.  I have a monkey mind some might call ADD.  My friends with monkey minds don’t sit and meditate.  Some bike, others run.  One non-moving meditation I actually liked and practiced for a while is Skeleton Meditation.  I don’t remember where it came from.  Probably Tibet or somewhere in Asia.  I’ve read or heard about it and just liked it.

In Skeleton Meditation, I lay down as a corpse (Shavasana if you are yoga person) and observe my body decompose layer by layer, muscle by muscle, till my form becomes a skeleton.  It was peaceful experience.  I liked my clean dry white skeleton on the ground.  Then I imagine a bamboo shoot coming through my eye socket, reaching up and up to the sky.  And I fell asleep peacefully.

There was one major problem for me with this meditation.  At that time I didn’t have much awareness of my own body.  My perception about my body was something like a gingerbread man.  So the entire process to become a skeleton took only a few minutes.  Poof, my leg muscles were gone.

If you are fully plugged into your body, this meditation could take at least hours, maybe years.  This is an ultimate “let it go” meditation.  Then you may let the skeleton go, too. Or you may reconstruct a new body from the skeleton, adding layer by layer.

After decades of training of one kind or another, the latest of which is a full body dissection workshop, I’m much more plugged in.  Tonight, I might be able to meditate for maybe 10 minutes…

Have a happy meditation.