Meditation

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Meditation

Skipping meditation class

I leave the house.  My sanctuary awaits,

a lawn to mow, winter’s dry branches to cut.

Prepared for enlightenment,

I slip my camera in my sweatshirt pocket

and start pushing.

 

One row done.  May all beings be peaceful.

 

Why does she always complain about what will happen tomorrow?

Oy vey, I have enough kvetching of my own.

Gutn tog!  My distant Jewish ancestors wave.

 

One row done.  May all beings be filled with Loving Kindness.

 

My paid job has become like walking across burning sand,

which might not be half bad if you have a camel and a guide

like Paul Salopek circumambulating humanity’s Eden.

 

Two rows done.  May all beings be safe.

 

Push, push, push.  Three rows done.

 

Observe last year’s fuscias that should have been cut back in fall.

No time like the present.  Stop mower, pick up shears.

Look at these bluebells and grape hyacinths full color, doing what they do best.

Honeysuckle needs a tendril trim and whatever this crazy fan-shaped plant is here.

A whoosh and twitter in my ear.  I look up to witness a red hummingbird

summit the cherry tree, and distant mountains.  Oh the mountains!

Almost twilight, the snow caps are pink.  Time to capture their light.  Click!

Back to the beastly mower.

 

Push, push, push.  Two more rows. May all beings be free.

 

Tired of being my own superhero, saving myself over and over.

This lawn won’t mow itself, you know.

 

Two more rows.

 

Never brave enough to commit to a single religion, I commit to practices of several.

Maybe I should be a nun.  You know what the Dalai Lama says,

“Practice kindness whenever possible.  It is always possible.”

Do you suppose the Dalai Lama is ever unkind?  Unintentionally?  To himself?

Would it not be a superhuman power to be kind every single waking moment of a life?

Sounds exhausting, though possibly not as tiring as this mower.

 

Five more rows.

 

Observe the fading light.

And stiffness in the back from the mower’s awkward angle.

Mind is stronger than body.

 

Two more rows.

 

Control is an illusion, so why do we carry visions?

What we want to do and how to be.  What to do with those

experiences we did not want but had anyway?

 

Life is some ginormous schoolroom universe,

hurling lessons from the asteroid belt

and the occasional programmed orbit of a satellite

Looking down on this smooth lawn.

 

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About Erin W

A sensitive plant, bamboo strong.
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