Showing posts with label awareness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label awareness. Show all posts
Saturday, May 9, 2009
early morning meditation
My feet flat against the mat, belly rising and falling with my breath. The weight of my legs pressing down. There is heat and a rawness on the soles of my feet, almost as if a layer of skin is peeled away. Not painful but raw. I feel my feet as I breath, layering on the other things I can add to my awareness. The chatter of birds. How many conversations can they have in the span of my one breath? Feet? Yes. Are my toes pressing to the mat? Is there a seam between parts of my sole and the earth where there is only light or shadow? I hold all three - breath, feet, the sounds of birds. Did I lock the car? Would someone notice and steal Marcia's purse if I didn't lock the car? Birds nesting, carrying twigs in their beaks or talons. How is that decided? Is it sorted by size? My feet are still hot. So many songs in one breath. Deep listening. The bird feeds her young. Imagine if we fed each other mouth to mouth. The distance we add by using a spoon to feed our young. Would it be more intimate to use our fingers? Breath full and easy. In and out. How large are the creases and spaces of no contact and how do we bridge them? Feet, breath, bird song. Are they filled with light or shadow?
Saturday, September 20, 2008
tipping point
I've never heard this sound before.
Sitting on a bench facing a mangrove of algae-covered water, coated green, more than 50 ducks are pecking at the water's surface. I close my eyes and listen. Almost like heavy raindrops falling in a pond.
A woman walks by, glances at the carpeted water and mutters, "disgusting."
How differently we see it. I find it beautiful, here in the center of a city yet feeling as remote as last week's vacation on the Cape.
If there were just one duck pecking for food, I'd never hear it. But multiplied by 50, it's almost deafening against the backdrop of train horns and interstate traffic.
When is that tipping point of sound, the shift from silence to cover-your-ears loud? At what point do I take notice? What am I missing that's right before me if I would only stop to listen?
Sitting on a bench facing a mangrove of algae-covered water, coated green, more than 50 ducks are pecking at the water's surface. I close my eyes and listen. Almost like heavy raindrops falling in a pond.
A woman walks by, glances at the carpeted water and mutters, "disgusting."
How differently we see it. I find it beautiful, here in the center of a city yet feeling as remote as last week's vacation on the Cape.
If there were just one duck pecking for food, I'd never hear it. But multiplied by 50, it's almost deafening against the backdrop of train horns and interstate traffic.
When is that tipping point of sound, the shift from silence to cover-your-ears loud? At what point do I take notice? What am I missing that's right before me if I would only stop to listen?
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