Guided Meditation for When the News Won’t Let You Breathe (Mixtape Rewind, S1)

New episodes return Thursday, January 22. Until then, here’s a curated Season 1 rewind for your nervous system. This one’s a sort-of guided morning meditation for when the doomscroll hits before you’ve even brushed your teeth.

Transcript

Lloyd Dobler here. Quick programming note: today’s episode is a Mixtape Rewind from Season 1—Episode 3, a sort-of guided morning meditation for when the news won’t let you breathe. I’m taking a short production breath this week, but regular programming returns Thursday, January 22, back on the usual Monday/Thursday rhythm.

Welcome to the Tao of Lloyd. It's me, Lloyd Dobler. I know: you just woke up, and without a thought, opened that dopamine slot machine you call a phone—a leash made of memes and microdoses of panic. And suddenly, whatever fascist diarrhea just exploded out of Donald Trump's face is coating your morning scroll like toxic whipped cream.

And you haven't even brushed your teeth yet. 

So, let's start over, shall we? This is a sort of guided meditation for when you open your eyes in the morning and feel like a handful of blueberries tossed into a blender in a cafe inside a horror film timeline where they only serve up dystopian smoothies.

Let's begin.

[Bell chime]

You don't have to fix the world before breakfast.

Close your eyes to start the journey within. 

Just be here. Just breathe. Sit or slump or curl up fetal in a hoodie you haven't washed since MTV played actual music videos.

Don't rewind, don't fast forward. Just sit in this sacred present moment. 

Take a breath in through your nose—and sigh it out like you just had to lick Donald Trump's undercarriage after he played 18 holes of golf.

Good.

One more deep breath in, breathing in the here and now

And let it go, breathing out the sudden stab of regret for the drunken rage tweet you sent at Stephen Miller at 2 am last night. 

We're going to ask ourselves four sacred questions today. 

First, let's ask: Who am I?

Who am I?

Sometimes answers will pop up. And allow this dialogue with the universe to continue.

Who am I?

I'm a guy who once held a boombox over his head and didn't see how stalkery that kinda was, you know?

I'm the human version of a cassette tape that got chewed up in a dashboard stereo in 1994 and got taped back together with hope and old Ram Dass quotes.

I am, in the immortal words sung by Stephen Malkmus in the Pavement song Conduit for sale: "trying."

I'm tryin', I'm tryin', I'm tryin' and I'll try!

[Pause — deep breath cue]

And now, let's ask ourselves:

What do I want? What feels like water to my spirit? What do I want?

Maybe it's universal healthcare.

An end to the genocide in Gaza.

Debt relief.

The simple pleasure of eating a pear without thinking about algorithms or pesticides or whatever disaster is trending under late stage capitalism.

Maybe it's a nervous system that doesn't sound like a dial-up modem.

And maybe—just maybe—it's someone touching my face like I'm real.

Not like they're swiping me away.

But mostly… it's the pear.

[Pause. Softer now.]

And now let's ask ourselves: What is my purpose? What am I on this fucking planet for? What is my purpose?

I used to think my purpose had to be revolution.

Or resistance.

Or at least a righteous blog post that got picked up by Jacobin and then quietly ignored by everyone I went to high school with.

Dianne once said, in an email after she read that I was working for Barack Obama's presidential campaign in 2007: "I hope he wins. But imagine the blowback from the racists in this country if he does."

I said, "Damn girl, that's deep."

She said, "It's not deep. It's just not shallow."

And here I am. Still holding it. Still figuring out what the hell 'it' is."

Finally, let's ask ourselves What am I grateful for?

What am I grateful for? Who am I grateful for?

I'm grateful for you. Still here. Still listening. Still breathing.

[Soft inhale / exhale cue]

LLOYD (quiet): You might be wondering why we're even asking these questions. I mean, the world is burning, the billionaires are breeding disaster, and Trump is openly musing about the possibility of deporting U.S. citizens. What good is meditation in the face of the Tsunami of this historical moment we are living through?

I'll answer that question with another question. Lao Tzu said: "Do you have the patience to wait until your mud settles and the water is clear? Can you remain unmoving until the right action arises by itself?"

And now just take a long, slow, deep breath in with me— and as you exhale, let it all go. Release all the questions, all the answers. Now, let's invite an intention into our awareness. What is one thing you can make unfold today? Select it. Plant it like a seed in your third eye. Keep it simple. Something you can help make happen. Visualize it unfolding in every part of your day, and invite that seed to take root in your heart.

No, take a long, slow, deep breath in. 

And release it. Let go. 

And for two minutes, just sit in silence and witness your breath flowing in, and flowing out. I'll ring the chime and see you on the other side in 2 minutes for some closing thoughts. 

(Bell chimes; 2 full minutes go by; bell chimes)

Open your eyes and see the world anew. You've set an intention. You've asked the sacred questions. The asking is the protest. The breath is the barricade. The stillness? That's strategy.

Now take your intention out in the world. 

Flirt with that cutie at the coffee shop, convince an ICE agent to quit their job, or lob a mixtape through the Overton window and pray it hits like a prophecy.

From the edge of empire and the center of self—this is The Tao of Lloyd.