I've been meditating a few minutes each day, while seated silently at my kitchen table. As the years have passed, I've gradually begun to spend more time in silent contemplation out here in my kitchen, which is not totally barren of spiritual reminders: my angel candleholders are in view, and I usually have a couple of post-it notes displayed nearby reminding me that the present moment is the key to liberation, or something like that.
I might legitimately be asked, “What good has all that meditation done you?” Looking back over the years I'm surprised to recognize a gradual transformation in myself and my outlook on life. As a youth from a large impoverished family I wanted very much to become a successful writer, earning good money for my work – I was not entirely self-centered in my ambitions: I dreamed of helping family members out who continued to struggle in poverty.
My ambitions have changed in later years to less emphasis on material success to a desire to offer a healing presence in my daily life and in my writing to those who are suffering from a variety of causes, including illness, disability, poverty, loss of a loved one or a zillion other painful circumstances.
At this stage of my life, I live in a residence for people over the age of 55. As might be expected, my neighbors are often dealing with low income, physical disability, and/or the death of a family member. Approaching a table in our community room, I sometimes pick up on the grief being expressed by my neighbors, and I usually offer to say a brief prayer. I've never been turned down.
In my prayers I not only ask God to welcome the loved one home, I also ask for divine comfort for those left behind. It has occurred to me more than once, that the deceased loved one is now healed and whole; whereas, those left behind continue to suffer his or her loss. Prayer helps. As the bowed heads at the table are raised, there is an all around sense of letting go and peace.