February 21st, 2011. I unroll a freckled pink mat onto the dusty concrete, my footprint tracked in gold sand. The match in my hand flicks, shooting up a jet of smoke and I light the incense, perched on the back of a turtle. The turtle sits beside me, oriental designs curling like the twists of ashes and burning wood transformed. 4:52. My eyes close, flutter, my legs cross, hands in a loose ball, birds screech in voices I don't recognize, frequencies in keys changed. I hear their taloned toes tap on the pieces above, the blue plastic awnings, flaps from streetlamp to chipped railing to trunk dripping in vines.
Breathe, in, out, in out in, these birds are obnoxious, I wonder if I screamed, would my zen be broken? The people three stories above, the ones with a soft white curtain pulled close, would they wonder at the white girl with bra-strap peeking under a loose sweatshirt, let me fix this, oh, right meditation, breathe in, out, in, out.
My thoughts wander, my mind, unhinged at women carrying cloth under pale arches, the boy and the other and the girl now too, playing ball and catch and loudly whispering, I cannot see, I hear, in circles and squares. Is there a mind? I ask, my science urging me to disavow perceptions, neurons firing, muscle contracting in my left leg, and I twitch, breathe, breathe, breathe.
I gather the distracted child, every flag and tan line and spot under my eyelid cause for wander, for wonder. I gather, release slowly, without permission, and collect again.
I click the button on my iPad. 4:59. Is it possible? Breathe, again, diaphragm contracting, releasing. In my statue form, I live my verbs.
No comments:
Post a Comment