Spring break. My days have slowed down. I have now been coming to my meditation rock for the past three days. I sit and shift uncomfortably every few minutes, adjusting my posture, but ultimately succeeding in quieting my mind for brief stretches of time. The to-do list waits at home while I fill my spirit with fuel. Quiet, the only sounds are the birds, breeze and dried grass rustling. Monument Mountain is in the distance. This boulder is a chunk of history. How long has it sat here, on the edge of this pond? How long has it been on this earth? It is covered in lichen and the tiny insects that feed upon that lichen. The sun shines on this rock all afternoon; the shade from nearby pines recedes as noon arrives. My to-do list beckons, but I need this time with God. I need quiet moments when my mind stills and I feel the energy, the vibration of total attention to the present moment. I hold onto this peace until the list and the mind return. I can see the bottom of the pond today, dead leaves decomposing, grass, twigs, a pine cone appear after the ice has melted, it is in the process of receding, thinning each day. The surface of the ice picks up the sunlight and millions of specks of light gleam. A few months ago I skied across this pond and a month from now, my dogs will swim in its depths. Soon the heron will return, dragonflies will hover over cattails and tiny fish will surface to feed on insects. But today I sit here, in peace with God.
After sitting in silence the world that surrounds me fills with sound. The rustling grass is louder, the ice cracks, a leaf skips across the surface of the ice, scraping its edges until it plunges into the water along the shore. Each crow, depending on the distance from where I sit has a different call and the wind blows louder across my ear. Perhaps the first frog, neighbors from across the way, an occasional car, all take on a different quality. Eyes closed, bright orange from the sun which is reflected on the water. After each car passes I feel the urge to retreat further into silence, to go deeper into the woods, to leave behind any human noise. But today I am sitting here, on this meditation rock, in between the "silence" of the world and the voices of us. Each passing car pulls me closer to the list, the homework assignments that await. It seems so mundane after my time with the sparkling ice, the dried grasses and crows. But it calls and my God reminds me, gently through the song of the towhee, that this spot is always here. This rock, which has sat here for thousands of years will be here tomorrow.
After sitting in silence the world that surrounds me fills with sound. The rustling grass is louder, the ice cracks, a leaf skips across the surface of the ice, scraping its edges until it plunges into the water along the shore. Each crow, depending on the distance from where I sit has a different call and the wind blows louder across my ear. Perhaps the first frog, neighbors from across the way, an occasional car, all take on a different quality. Eyes closed, bright orange from the sun which is reflected on the water. After each car passes I feel the urge to retreat further into silence, to go deeper into the woods, to leave behind any human noise. But today I am sitting here, on this meditation rock, in between the "silence" of the world and the voices of us. Each passing car pulls me closer to the list, the homework assignments that await. It seems so mundane after my time with the sparkling ice, the dried grasses and crows. But it calls and my God reminds me, gently through the song of the towhee, that this spot is always here. This rock, which has sat here for thousands of years will be here tomorrow.
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