Periodic Calm

Thank you everyone for asking my about my periodic engagement with meditation. It’s a wonderfully centering if not essential practice and I’m new– as I was born new and will continue to be new and die new–so I’ve joined a very periodical, playful approach to regular moments of quiet and reflection.

I am grateful, always, that the practice is grounded, guided. Our mentor opens with structured, generative discussion and observations about our goals and practice. Then we sink deeply into a full 20 minute space of silence, of freezing and discarding the frenetic entirety. Now you are upon yourself, your body stock still and upright, and the unwavering lights and moons of the conscious at raging battle behind softly glazed eye-lines.

I make lists. No– I notice that I want to start making lists. Then I work (but what is work) to dismiss the list-making effort as yet another false flag to pull me out of my true self and then, only then, once settled back into the true calm of intention setting and the wash of cerebral time over our addled minds… Yes, It’s true. Because I am a failure: I go back to making lists.

I’ve been better. I really have. Tonight I was just so good with the fact that I showed up all against this strange dance of illusion and poverty for such is the only formal, ballroom exchange that most dedicated writers ever will and truly know. I am not a bad person. I am not an exceptional person. O, I am not a shallow person, but even the ocean has its floor.

What brings you most into the present? When do you feel yourself to be so fully focused– not only physically, but psychologically, emotionally, cerebrally? The life of the mind. How we must all, finally, contend with the fact that we are run and organized by an organ we will never fully understand, whose bidding we do, who grows us, nurtures us, even as she leads us to the gallows or beyond, to a blackberry bush– for a snack. But then back again, too– the gallows. Do you see how there is no let up? Nothing.