Monday, March 16, 2015

Not Very Good at Meditating


Woke up worried
my boy, the gutter, the roof,
my boy.
Rain out the broken gutter
woke me
too early.
my boy, alone, TV
video games
marathon video games
not enough time with friends
busy friends
my boy sitting, not going.
The roof repair
sitting, waiting for an estimate,
holes seem to widen
as we wait,
rot gets more rotten
while waiting.
The leaning tree is gone.
I can give up worrying
about that.
Finally, a relief washing over me.
But could they paint the house,
fix the roof,
put up the gutter,
fix the drawer and pocket doors?
Could they put new planking
on my deck?
Could they turn off the TV
gently so the boy
in a coma
doesn't notice,
so the boy will slowly awaken,
wander outside
and take a long deep breath
of life in the trees,
in the air,
in the rain?


Fog, protective, to hide from the world. A balm of damp, fresh, weaving into trees, showing layers. Hidden in the open, safe, blanketed in white, 1200 threadcount. Part of the clouds, as if I am flying. Close my eyes and I am a bird in the clouds, taking a drink.

Canteen and food. Food so I don't get lost in my weak blood. I need my kayak at dawn. Grandpa went to the lake before dawn to fish and see the morning come, for the solitude. Like me. He had his own boat, like me, something he could manage on his own. He went to the lake at dawn for solitude, for silence, to gather thoughts that might otherwise stray. If only he wrote, I could have gathered them to me and not lost them myself. I could have had them when I was older than he ever was.

At the lake now, at least in my mind, floating quietly, hearing my paddle drip, the chitter of an eagle above, an osprey dropping to the water. I've imagined this scene so many times, especially since Todd gave me the dream for my birthday. Floating, flying, paddling through the reflection of the sky, finding something new every time, no need to search out new places. I find newness right here if I pay attention.

Class, pay attention.

MIB. Not that kind of attention. Open, find a universe lies there. Up close. A droplet, a scene under the surface, under the leaf studded with tiny brown dots of hope, spores. Just look and breathe in air near the water, so different than air five feet off the ground.

On the water, floating, flying, paddling. Losing track of time.
Floating, flying, paddling.
Floating, flying, paddling.

Thank you for listening, jb

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