Floating Snowberries

I'm taking Vishoka meditation training (an ancient technique leading back to folks like Buddha) and it's all about the breath.  My classmates and I practiced Nadi Shodhana last night via Zoom.  Simply, you close off the right nostril and then the left in a very systematic way as you breath.  Balances the nervous system.  Last night after practice I was slightly high but very alert.  So I settled in at 5:50am this morning to practice alternate nostril breathing (Nadi Shodhana).  About three minutes in, I heard my husband, who can sleep until 9:00am but he usually doesn't get up until the 7:30 alarm, rustling and rolling in the bed in the bedroom next to my meditation space.  Let it go. I remind myself.  An image of little pink snowberry blossoms floated through my head. I took a deep breath in and began practice by closing off my left nostril using this weird hand technique (fancy name is mudra) which cramps my right hand.  Be present and focus on breath.  I instructed my wandering mind and reluctant fingers.  My breath is quiet and subtle.  I reprimand myself as I attempt to drop into some ease.  Shortly thereafter my iPhone alarm goes off at 6:00am.  The first one or two rounds I am distracted by a beautiful melody.  The phone is downstairs and I am upstairs so I try to ignore it.  I am sure this will stop soon.  Be like the snowberry. I tell myself when I should just be breathing.  In yogic terms this practice is called pratyahara, withdrawing the senses.  Which means ignoring the little wake-up melody repeating endlessly like toothpicks are being jammed under my toenails.  I grab my mind from it's meandering and continue to practice alternately nostril breathing.  After two rounds my attention is drawn away from my nose, out of my head and into the hallway.  I hear my husband pad across the bedroom to the bathroom, pee in the toilet, flush the toilet and then fart.  Loudly.  The wake-up music on my iPhone carries on in the background.  Jesus. Is the music getting louder?  When is that gonna stop? I try to focus on my breathing.  I remember my meditation teacher of long ago saying, "Put those thoughts in a little basket and let it flow down the river."  With a struggle I fling those thoughts into my imaginary basket and reach for the river.  Who is that? Shrek?  I turn my head to hear my husband schlep down the stairwell to the first floor.  Shortly thereafter I no longer feel my bloody toenails. Thank you thoughtful husband for turning that off.  I thank him in my head and return to my breathing.  And then I hear the clanging and banging of ice cubes as my husband loads up his stainless steel cup the size of a giant Bubba jug with five pounds of ice.  He loves that he can get ice from our refrigerator door, I think. Maybe I should just get up, I wonder out of frustration.  Snowberry, snowberry, snowberry. I grasp back at my morning peace as the empty basket which should be full of these annoying thoughts flows on down the river.  And then the sound of streaming water follows as Shrek fills up his ice-filled Bubba mug with water.  I am being tortured.  Focus on the breath in and out.  Where are the damn snowberries!  I finish with breath practice and withdraw my cramped hand and start to meditate.   At the moment I hear ceramic on glass as my husband puts his coffee mug into the microwave and turns it on.  Pay that all no mind.  Let it go.  I remind my unsettled self.  Be the snowberry.  The fucking snowberry.  The microwave beeps five times.  I take a deep breath in and blow loudly out.  I reset and focus on my subtle, quiet breath as a rhythm to quiet my mind, body and soul.  My husband is now quiet sipping his water and coffee right below me at the kitchen counter.  I finish my meditation is peace and vow to relocate my meditation space far away from Shrek, ice-filled Bubba cups, and snowberries tomorrow morning.