I'd been meditating for slightly over 10 years now. But it's not often I write about it. Not because there wasn't anything to write about, but because what I see and experience when sitting are hard to put into words. Only imagery, metaphors, visualisations and poetry work in this space. And so here it is:
Here and there
Or is it?
Light of zeal
Dawn of inspiration
Show me how
Trying not to try too hard
All I see now, in my mind
Are splutters and star bursts
Sit through those storms of restlessness,
Come on... Sit.
Sit with that feline body
Built from strength to strength
to hold stillness in, within
Come on... Sit., to sit.
Not to wait.
Sit and water the blossom of the mind
And watch how beautifully it blooms!
Waiting for a sign......
I think I'm still waiting for a sign
A sign to tell me I'm on the right way
An omen to assure, to sooth
the tender soul earnestly searching Itself.
But the sign may never come
And it likely will never come, if I wait.
Caught between wanting and waiting
neither right for the Way,
how can the tender soul find rest?
Thoughts, visions, images, feelings, words -
they come and go ceaselessly.
Like a stream, at times a river,
ever-flowing and without rest.
I used to try to swim against the currents, or tried to dam it all up.
But now float and go along I do, un-conflicted, easy-going, I soar.
All I want
is to site and meditate
forever and ever more.
Today, there was joy.
A lightness in joy.
And there was hunger.
A starved sense for God.
Meditation is the silent serenade of the soul.