Meditation

The idea may seem silly, says the Rev. Lauren Artress of the Grace Cathedral, but here it is: Walk into the nave of the elegant Episcopal cathedral on Nob Hill, then step onto a lush wool carpet, its ancient labyrinth design woven in purple and gray across a 37-foot diameter. As you follow a winding path for 20 minutes or so, you might cry tears of grief or joy, solve the riddle of a messed-up family or work life, feel better about an illness, or gain spiritual insight.

USC junior Geinel Johnson tells herself that Sunday is her one day to rest after a jam-packed week of classes, job duties and volunteer work. But, somehow, she finds herself still multi-tasking even on her day off. Johnson, 21, said her schedule is like that of most of her college peers. "We are always doing something," Johnson said this week, fresh off a final exam and on her way to her part-time job on campus. "We never take time to reflect on the day."

Inside a church community room, beginning meditators close their eyes, straighten their spines in their folding metal chairs and try to rein in, for just 10 minutes, the thoughts that race like wild horses through their minds. A woman in the back row yawns. The woman next to her fidgets. Another student sneaks a peek. "My mind still wanders," Jeremy Morelock, 33, says of the Buddhist meditation class he has attended for three months in search of stress relief and spiritual growth.

The 30 or so clinicians and researchers sat cross-legged on cushions or in chairs, their eyes closed, as their teacher led them through a guided meditation. Telling them to relax their bodies and concentrate on their breathing, author and meditation instructor Sharon Salzberg urged them to overcome distractions such as sounds, thoughts and emotions by coming back to the breath each time they found their minds wandering. The goal, she said, was to still the mind.

Every afternoon, office manager Janet Atwood leaves her desk, walks into a quiet room, closes the door and spends 20 minutes meditating. Her boss, Encino physician Phil Lichtenfield, can't accuse her of nodding off on the job. He approved the rest break. At about the same time Atwood is closing the door, Montague Guild, founder of Guild Investment Management Inc.

Imagine you're part of a scientific experiment. You've been asked to be part of a healing process--but not with chicken soup or get-well cards. Your job is to pray. Weird science? Just wait. The project director says the prayers are for fungus cultures. The object is to slow their growth, as if they were an unwelcome infection. In the end, the cultures that received the spiritual attention actually grew slower.

Vita Barron stepped carefully on the labyrinth's narrow path, at times teetering on the turns, at other times gliding smoothly as if on Easy Street. A labyrinth is a lot like life, she said. Dating back at least to 1800 BC, labyrinths are an ancient meditation tool.

You're on a team with a colleague you consider an incompetent boor. She leaves her half-empty coffee cups around until mold starts to form and lets her paperwork slop over onto your desk. Because of her disorganization, a report you both worked on was late, tarnishing your image as well as hers. You feel your chest tightening and your rage swelling. There are two options, right? You can confront her directly and run the risk of an ugly scene. Or you can simmer in a stew of resentment, grumbling to co-workers or being obsessed about what you should have said to her face and run the risk of poisoning your job and compromising your work.

The hypnotic voice of qigong master Zhang Ruming floated through a hall packed wall-to-wall with 300 working-class Beijing residents. "The lotus flower endlessly grows," Zhang intoned. "The lotus flower envelops you. Think, 'I am the lotus flower. The lotus flower is me. . . . The lotus flower is all of nature.' " Everyone seemed lost in quiet meditation on the soothing words, rich in Buddhist imagery. But no one considered this a religious meeting, at least not openly.

When Joannie Parker developed breast cancer, her doctors eradicated the disease with surgery, chemotherapy and radiation. But the rigors of battling cancer left the 66-year-old Westwood woman feeling as many patients do: stressed out. To deal with her anxiety, Parker enrolled in an eight-week meditation class at UCLA's Rhonda Fleming Mann Resource Center for Women with Cancer.