Sitting in a chair whose history is long and poignant, my eyes gently shut.
Feeling my body vibrating, parts pinging their presence, settling in.
As usual, it’s a bit shallow, never quite reaching my belly, but with attention, it lengthens and deepens into the belly and through the back. And again. And again.
Its pace slowing on its own. Unwinding, breath by breath.
A scene starts to play out in my head. A movie I must have made in my sleep. Characters arise fully formed. Bits of dialogue.
Finding the breath again. “Start again,” as one of my favorite Leonard Cohen songs advises. I wonder when Leonard Cohen is coming back to town. The man puts on a damn fine show. “Don’t dwell on what has passed away,” I start to sing to myself, “or what is yet to be.”
Coming back yet again to the breath. Finding my home in the equanimity of a quiet mind. There we go. That’s it. Damn, I’m such a good meditator.
Shit. Lost again.
The pain in my lower back sidetracks the trip back to the breath. That’s okay, I can investigate that. Stupid pain. Can’t it see I’m trying to meditate. No, sense it. What is it? Tight? Sharp? Deep? Shallow?
Screw it! This sucks! Why does this always happen to me?
Oh. Where did that pain go?
Okay, back to the breath. Feeling the coolness of the in breath right at that spot between my nose and lip and barely sensing the subtlety of the out breath.
Opening once again to this moment. I really should write about this some time.
Editor: Sara McKeown
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