I was there, I prayed, meditated …
I was nineteen years old; it was an afternoon like any other. Most days, visitors would drop by for an afternoon tea: friends, relatives, and the like. Being Persian, hospitality is a big part of our culture, guests are always welcome in our households. My dad used to say, "Guests are God's blessings." At that age, I had my own idea about it, and I would ask my parents who is the person that is coming so that I could decide if I needed to come up with an excuse to hide in my room or choose to stick around. This time our guest was a friend not my age, not my parent's age, somewhere in between. I liked this type of visitor, especially if it was someone we hadn't seen for a while. Thus, I stayed; I didn't need to hide. During Mitra's visit, I learned about one of her friends who had been to India for meditation and yoga training. She had recently opened a center; only a 10 minutes walk from our apartment.
The following week I found myself at the center, followed by the next three years of learning and expanding my knowledge about this newfound treasure. That was my first introduction to meditation. Before I visited the center, I didn't know anything about meditation, and only very little about yoga. The class was a combination of yoga and visualization. The smell of Incense in the room was just the perfect amount; scattered yoga mats with equal space in between; everyone walked in silently and took their place. The teacher walked in with her white shirt and white pants. She was calm and gently walked us through series of yoga poses while teaching us how to synchronize our breathing with each movement. Then we sat down and listened to her voice as she took us through this meditative journey. Dropping in, feeling our body from our toes through our head, inch by inch, while paying attention to our breath. Connecting with every part of ourselves, feeling every cell while remembering to breathe. I was hooked. I wanted to remember everything and bring the practice home. What struck me was that they expected us to remain silent from the moment we entered the center to the moment we left. Chit chat was not allowed.
I don't remember exactly where and when my inner journey began. I was born in Tehran, Iran, to a practicing and open-minded Muslim family. Both of my parents prayed every day. My dad found it his duty to teach each of his children the prayer tradition. From what I recall, the practicing age for girls starts at nine. I learned how to pray from my dad. I had to memorize these Arabic verses and learn all the prostration that accompanied each verse. I started this formal type of praying when I was nine and continued till about 12. Then I stopped. Looking back, my sister stopped right before I did. When I asked her why, she responded: "everyone finds their way of connecting with God, I don't feel any connection by repeating some Arabic verses that I don't understand." I felt relieved. She gave me an in, which was my way out.
Our parents didn't bother us for not praying. When my dad found out that I stopped my prayers, I asked him if he was mad or disappointed? He recited something from Koran which meant, "There is no force in religion." And he left it at that. I guess that was also his way of telling me, find your way to connect; I am not forcing you to do something that you can't relate to at this age. He even said, "My duty was to teach you; the rest is up to you."
Feeling the possibility of something bigger than me and my familiar small world, tickled my curiosity at a very young age. I began this quest which would become my mission to find my way to connect. The openness in my family also gave me this freedom of discovering a practice that felt closer to my heart—learning how to meditate carried that familiar feeling. I began to develop an awareness of something that felt so big and outside of me, but somehow it was also inside me. The more I practiced meditation, the more it felt like home. It was as if I was beginning to become familiar with this home that I have been residing in for a long time.
I would later find out, moral of the story, don’t hide in your room:)
