I am starting an introduction to meditation course at a local Zen Buddhist temple. It is partly due to a dream I had involving the Dalai Lama. In my dream, he and I were tremendous friends.  I was lamenting that despite my best intentions I could not meditate. “I try and I try, but my mind is always the chattering monkey and I cannot keep it still.” The Dalai Lama chuckled, as he is fond of doing, nodded knowingly and flicked my left eyebrow with his finger. Chortling, he walked away and at that moment I knew that he had flicked the secret of meditation into my third eye, albeit a little off centre since the flick veered to the left. “So that’s all it took,” I thought to myself and instantly felt enlightened.

I felt inspired all day. I told The Sweetie of my experience, although I generally avoid sharing my nocturnal visions with anyone because dreams are usually only fascinating to the dreamer. I’ve been known to be impatient with The Sweetie when he tries to recount his dreams to me. He describes them while half asleep, trying to capture them before they flit away. They often end up being snore inducing, long drawn out tales of  “there was a parking lot…. and there were these guys…. and they all had sweatshirts on….” and so on and so on.

Despite my vows to keep my dreams to myself this one felt significant.

“So do you think the Dalai Lama and I could be friends in real life ?” I asked.

“Sure, why not. I think you guys would get along,” The Sweetie replied.

“I figure that if the Dalai Lama is friends with Richard Gere, why not me, right? Although I’m worried he may find me a smidge shallow.”

Later that same day a friend told me she had signed up for a meditation course. She had taken a course last year and found that she became much more present, focused and calm. I saw it as a sign. I was meant to take a meditation course as well. The Dalai Lama came to me in a dream to tell me so. It was time.

I had taken a Buddhism course when I was in university and was instantly drawn to it. Unfortunately, I was going through my dirty hippy Jesus phase and was easily distracted by the multitude of  long haired, thick sweatered, religious studies types in the class. Needless to say, enlightenment took a backseat to more secular pursuits.

I tried a meditation class years ago but I wasn’t particularly successful. We were instructed to focus on a flower in order to train ourselves to only concentrate on one thing and empty ourselves of other distractions. I was too busy choosing which flower to concentrate on in my mind’s eye to really feel any benefits.  “I think I’ll pick a lotus,” I’d think to myself, trying to get comfortable in my cross legged position. “No, it can’t be a lotus, too cliche. Well I’m certainly not going to choose a rose. Maybe a daisy. They’re pretty. I love daisies. So fresh so fun. Gahhh!” The endless inane chatter went on like this throughout what was supposed to be a simple exercise to quiet the mind.

Since then I have made half hearted attempts at meditation, trying to move beyond my superficial existence to add a small speck of depth, but I haven’t had the time nor the inclination to really make it a priority. That is until now. I want to feel that there is more to me than shallow musings and my own small world. I want to be compassionate. I don’t want to just think about shopping and snacks. I want to be one with the universe. It is not every night that the Dalai Lama appears in a dream, chuckles and flicks you in the eyebrow. My time has come.

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