I'm starting to think that this meditation thing is a tool and not a product. Maybe it's the process of making, and not what's made. I'm just thinking out loud - I don't know.

I talk about my meditation experiences with a shaman, and with a counselor, and with a Buddhist. Everyone seems to have different opinions about what meditation is, and what it does. This is as it should be, I believe. I'm just thinking out loud, though. I don't know.

I read Pet's Friday entry this morning. It was about the hidden fishing lake behind Wal-Mart. It was an interesting experience reading that, because, yesterday, I had a somewhat similar experience.

I took my daily walk yesterday, intending to walk through Volunteer Park, and maybe through the cemetery where Bruce Lee is buried. I walked up Mercer Street and crossed Broadway, because I wanted to walk past Lowell School. We've driven past Lowell countless times, but I'd never seen the east side of the building. It's funny how sections of my neighborhood never get seen because I develop set routes. As I walked past Lowell (which is a beautiful building for its style), I thought about St. Mark's. There's another building we have driven past countless times, and yet I've never gotten a good look at it.

I changed course, turned left at Aloha Street and crossed Broadway again. I walked past the Scottish Rite Temple and thought about Jim. He and I didn't always get along, but we liked each other for the most part. I wonder where he is.

Behind St. Mark's, I discovered a nature trail. After a steep walk down the ravine, I found myself standing on a wooden bridge, looking down at a rapid brook. I was surrounded by trees. If it weren't for the muffled sound of Interstate 5, I could forget that I was in the middle of the city. The climb up the ravine was strenuous, and it provided wonderful views of Lake Union, Queen Anne Hill, and downtown.

That was a great walk.

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When Phillip suggested that I try meditating in the swimming pool, I knew that he meant floating in the pool. I am not above modifying suggestions, however. I did my customary checking out of the pool before wasting time changing into my swimsuit. (Sometimes the pool is too cold, or too dirty, or - very rarely - occupied.) The room was quiet and peaceful, so I tried meditating beside the pool. The problem I ran into was that I couldn't find a sitting position where my bare feet could be comfortable pressed against the rough concrete.

I eventually found a cross-legged position where my feet were the least uncomfortable. I leaned against the wall, and rested my hands on top of my legs. I focused my eyes on the black tiles that divide the pool in half. I focused specifically on the two tiles on the right. I watched as the refraction of the water changed the shape of two tiles. I focused my mind on my breathing.

Then I realized that with every inhale, the room was changing to a photo negative - darks were light, and lights were dark. Then when I exhaled, the room returned to "normal." Those two tiles, however, remained black regardless of whether the room was reversed or not. Then the water solidified, but it was still moving in waves. Then I realized that what I was looking at was not water, but sand. It was a desert I was seeing, and wind was blowing ripples of sand. I was looking at a desert from a long way away. I looked down to see what I was sitting on. Once again, I was floating in midair.

I realized that my foot was hurting. I was back in the basement, sitting on hard concrete, leaning against a hard concrete wall, and I was looking at a swimming pool.

I had trouble falling asleep last night, so I got up and did some web surfing. Then I went back to bed, and when I did fall asleep, I had a dream that I was having trouble falling asleep and had gotten up to do some web surfing. Then, in the dream, I remembered a large box of assorted chocolates in the refrigerator. Phillip was still asleep, so I figured I had the perfect opportunity to eat all of the remaining chocolates without him catching me. I hid the chocolate box under the computer table, in case Phillip should get up. I stuffed chocolates into my mouth as I read web pages.

Then I heard a loud bang in the kitchen. I went into the kitchen and saw that the refrigerator door was open. Obviously, something had fallen over inside the refrigerator. I closed the door without investigating further. I returned to web surfing and chocolate eating until I smelled smoke. I returned to the kitchen and saw that the oven door was open and sparks and flames were shooting out of the oven. I realized that the oven had exploded, that was the bang I had heard, and it was the force of the explosion that had knocked the refrigerator door open. I fanned the oven flames with a towel, but that didn't stop the sparking.

I went into the bedroom and opened the circuit breaker panel. The circuit breakers had cryptic labels, like "transportation" and "farm." I couldn't figure out which circuit to break. Then I saw that over each printed label, in very faint pencil, were other, handwritten words These words were in my own handwriting. Eventually, I found the words "The Kitchen" and tripped that circuit. I returned to the kitchen. The sparks and flames had stopped, but the kitchen was filling with smoke. Then I saw the silhouette of Phillip standing in the bedroom door, and I realized, with horror, that the chocolate box was sitting in plain view next to the keyboard. End of dream.

Earlier in my life, I thought it was cool to be a curmudgeon. I'd go around saying things like, "The best thing about being a pessimist is that you're never disappointed." As I discovered my true nature, later in my life, I came to realize that I am, in reality, an optimist. I tend to see the positive value of people, I see the positive things that emerge from the direst of situations. Blanche, in Writers' Group, has remarked that she enjoys my writing because of its positive messages.

I am prone to bouts of depression, but somewhere in the heart of all that sadness is the belief that once I get through it, I just might learn something.

These past five weeks have been some of my darkest times, and there is more to come. This morning, I'm thinking about the positive things that have emerged from this.

I've come closer to friends.

I've spent more time with my parents.

I've become closer to God.

I've found at least one good story to write. (Sorry, but this blog still isn't the place to write that story.)

I've learned to meditate.

I've found the motivation to clear out my clothing collection.

I've persuaded Phillip to take more walks with me.