Meditating in Oakland Cemetery

Without meditation there is no knowledge, without knowledge there is no meditation. Paradox or summink...but who said dat? Not me, Guv. The Old Buddha. Who else? But what brings one round to the subject of meditation?

Well, it's better than sitting around and doin' nuttin. Isn't that the old joke made by folks who don't meditate? Lately, I've retaken to the practice twice daily, AM and PM. 100 breaths = 20 minutes, 200 breaths = 40 minutes. Always sitting and almost always outdoors. 

On the back lawn, in Atlanta's Grant Park area, the roaring traffic of I-20 sounds like waves crashing on rocks. The sirens for emergency vehicles? Well, they sound just like sirens. There are other sirens but not emergency ones, not even sirens, more like furies... what am I getting at? Flocks of Karens' and Ambers' interrupting AM and PM meditation with the shrill of WAWK WAWK WAWK (no wonder the American male is a miserable specimen!) 

My beef/their beef? Multitasking. I take the She Beast for a walk in local Oakland Cemetery, an amazing death spot convenient to HQ, and meditate whilst she's off the leash. Walking dog. Meditate for 100 breaths (20 minutes). Come back with a suntan. Hence multitasking. For some reason the Furies (the blonde Amber Heard like chicks) come out like the demon Mara at 85 breaths, CONTROL YOUR DOG! LEASH YOUR DOG! So rude, but, they're in the right, unfortunately. Oakland Cemetery is a park and governed by ordnance 110-70--all pets must be leashed in parks unless in designated areas (I KNOW THE LAW YOU DEMENTED HARPIES!) 

Wrong or right, right or wrong, I'm from Liverpool and can't help but take-the-piss. "Oh, I'm TERRIBLY sorry, madam...I'm just a stupid foreigner." Bloody Ambers getting in the way o' meditation! Always blondes! My Old Man was dead right: FUBAR, all of dem blondes! No wonder he went from New England to Olde! Best to walk the dog in Oakland Cemetery and not multitask in future. Shame. I thought that I had a good system going...

A 3-minute walk from HQ, Oakland Cemetery remains a local delight. Hailing from the same period as Kensal Green cemetery back home on Ladbroke Grove, it's one of the few plots in the city that survived Sherman's march to the sea in 1864. Unlike Hampstead and Kensal Green, this place is ornately kept by its custodians, and not left to rot by the grey suits of the local county council. And there are loads of dead celebs to name drop, too. Kenny Rogers. Bobby Jones. Maynard Jackson. Margaret Mitchell. Oakland Cemetery is full of famous plots and tombs.  

Meditation came in handy during night shifts on-the-McJob. Rather than surf porn, or whatever it is that geeks and plums supposedly do on their personal computers, I'd meditate seated, always ready to spring back on duty in event of etcetera, etc. Notwithstanding, it was also the best means of preserving ones' sanity during 16 months of night shifts, 5-days a week. Rather me than you, loyal reader. Fortunately, I remembered that I had a career to reboot and walked out on that job back in March. Like being a vampire! And, what made it worse, one joint they had me guardin' was the most haunted hotel in Atlanta. Rather than me than you for the second time, loyal reader. 

Oakland Cemetery has its share of ghosts, too.  The ghosts of the civil war dead supposedly emerge for reveille and taps at dawn and dusk and are often spotted hanging from the bows of the oaks and magnolias that shroud their plots. I always stop to salute the old soldiers. No-one-else-does. "I let my dog crap on their graves," boasted one local. Right or wrong, wrong or right; I didn't have the energy to scold him for dissing the Glorious Dead.

One of the tombs in Oakland Cemetery bears a 9mm bullet hole.  Some years ago, a security officer was on night shift at the cemetery and spotted a spectral figure with a pair of red eyes lurking in one of the tombs. He drew out his 9mm and discharged 2 shots. The phantom disappeared. He logged the incident in his daily activity report. The supervisor asked if he was under the influence of drink or drugs. No, he wasn't. Nonetheless, the tomb was damaged and the man was fired on the spot. 

Phantoms and trigger happy security aside, the most important thing about seated meditation at Oakland Cemetery is comfort. I use a pair of battered Diadora sneakers as a bolster on the wet sod of Potter's Field. Once seated, the eyes are clamped and focus is solely on-the-breath. And, by counting each and every breath, one doesn't have to rely on a wristwatch or an iPhone timer (Ed. Note: but they are a good aid.) The first 10 minutes are like the first 10 minutes of a run after a lay off. It's tough to focus. And many people complain about breathing in a regular and controlled manner without hyperventilating themselves unto death. 

Religious people, especially here in the Deep South, think that meditation brings one into contact with demonic entities. Foolish Natives! What is prayer but a form of meditation. I wouldn't know. I rarely pray. I meditate. But, when I do say a prayer, usually to a spirit house or a Buddha in passing, I say one for others (and not myself) in the hope that others are praying for me (and NOT themselves.) That seems to be working out. 

When I need to recharge the spirit, I'll meditate for longer but rarely more than 45-minutes. I was talking to a foxy assed Yoga teacher about this very matter. She reckoned that meditating longer than 45-minutes puts you at risk of entering a spiritual negative zone. Or just falling asleep. 

But back to that negative spiritual zone.  Astral meditation aka astral travelling came to mine. Moving through the ethereal zone by leaving your body. This is not especially hard to-do. And, unlike the old days, when one had to rely on books from Seven Dials, there are heaps of "guided astral meditation" videos on YouTube (complete with twinkly New Age Muzak. YUCK!) 

Being more spiritually developed than youth, I decided to give it another bang. You lie down on a comfortable surface, with some props for your arms and head, no distractions, for 2 plus hours of meditation double plus. The out-of-body feeling is particularly unnerving. I cut off at that point to stay on this plane. Still, 'twas worth a bash and the experience most relaxing (so says Mr fuckin' Pooter of the Astral Suburbs). I recently gleaned a local joint in Atlanta that promised "Modern Buddhism" at a $ price. How much?  $15 to go and meditate with the Ambers' of downtown Atlanta. Maybe I ought to recce the joint; it's better than sittin' around and doing nuttin' in Oakland Cemetery.