"Meditation"

Footsteps on mulch
Creak of wooden bench
Dull thud of a heavy bag

Breathe in.

Vivid colors: greens and grays
This’s and that’s of Blues
Spattered hints of pink
Rush of air through lungs
Through whirring greenhouse fans
Through sun-scorched leaves

Breathe out.

Rush of air out of lungs.
Rush of feeling out of skin.
Rush of pain out of heart.

Don’t rush.
Don’t.

Waiting for the moment
With eyes shuttered
Open but not seeing
Blind by choice

Don’t.

Heart drumming on ears
Blood lurching through veins
Lungs want the air back
Warning light in brain

Breathe in.

Vivid colors: Forest and charcoal
Steel and cobalt and slate
Rose and powder and flesh
Sounds of life drown out the rush
Cicadas, tree frogs, bird on the mulch
Lizard in the bush, fly in the air
Beetle on the toe tickles
Breeze through hair soothes
Humidity as heavy as a wet towel
Smells like rain and lightning
And fresh cut grass
And a hint of orange and rose

Breathe out.

Nothing fades this time.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Now start looking.

Shuttered eyes, thrown open wide
Inside the mind, eyelids shut
Every detail etched precisely
Turning sight from there to here
Rush. Whirr. Creak. Rumble. Thud. Shuffle. Scuttle. Breathe.
Back behind the pain and guardrails –
Sturdy protection for the inner temple –
Past layers of memory as thick as dust
Barely visible behind a panicked defense
Of laughter and confidence and words,
Oh, so many words,
Soul. Me. Whole.
Breathe. Shuffle. Creak. Rush. Whirr. Scuttle. Thud. Rumble.
Exactly the way I left it.
Exactly the way I knew I’d find it:
Not a dent. Not a chip. Not a bruise.
Shrapnel around it, and shells and blood
Limbs and bodies from constant attack
A bodiless hand left dead after the first assault
Forgotten flags from countless sieges
The Materialists and the Conservatives
Mammon and Self-Pity
Thud. Rush. Rumble. Breathe. Shuffle. Whirr. Scuttle. Creak.
All those attempts to claim it.
Soul. Mine.
Whole or part, they wanted it
And I refused, so here it sits.
Turning back, I organize the confidence
Shelve the words in their proper places
Hang the laughter where it will light the temple
Put the dust in urns, and file the past
Away from the path to
My Soul. Mine. Me. Whole.
Rush. Whirr. Creak. Rumble. Thud. Shuffle. Scuttle. Breathe.
No barriers now. I stand guard
Open eyes to a rush of colors.

A drop of rain. Splat.

A misplaced scent recalls memories –
New memories – that make me smile

Splat. Splosh. Rumble. Whirr. Shuffle. Scuttle. Thud. Creak. Rush.

Sigh.

Breathe.