I come into this small room and take a seat on the floor.
I don’t expect miracles.
But I have given myself a sacred space,
and now I simply offer myself the even greater gift of time to use it.
Someday, perhaps, something will happen here.
For now, I love this room,
this emptiness, the fading light, my own quiet company.
I am learning, by sitting, to become,
in the words of Terry Tempest Williams,
“a caretaker of silence, a connoisseur of stillness, a listener of wind.”
~ Katrina Kenison, Magical Journey: An Apprenticeship in Contentment
Notes:
- Photo: Journal of a Nobody
- Related posts: Katrina Kenison
and just comfortable with my own breath.
love that last line
Yes. The punch line.
A listener of the wind. Friday I took my grandson to “listen to the wind” as it blew through fields of dried corn stalks as it said goodbye to summer. A moment of Zen…for me.
“Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter.”
– Carol Bishop Hipps
I keep coming round to the idea that if I could just carve out a little zendo in my tiny apartment, I’d meditate more. But I don’t have that space. It’s sitting at the foot of my bed or not at all. And anymore, not at all.
Smiling. Little or big zendo, many have same “not anymore” issue going on.
Lyric….why, oh why, is sitting quietly so damned difficult? (For me anyway….)
Oh, for me too!