we are meditating all the time.
yet, time is only laughing stock.
meditation never leaves us.
we, as humans, get small in many ways.
experience is our veil of tears.
of ecstatic or downhearted, neither reveals.
our ego is preoccupational, taking notes,
but ‘the meditation’ never ends.
that meditation is a ‘the’,
is a distance believed as ours, in suffering.
as if, in a mindful ways
meditation would ask,
does void have volume?
would speech ever articulate the whole?
is their ever presence without frame?
as if our awareness is a proposition.
just imagine whales, in the dark of night,
surfacing from deep ocean dives
for the blessing offered by a breath of air.
all out of the sky,
from horizon line
in a 360-degree-span,
is pleased to provide that oxygen,
for that soul-searching whale of an in-breath.
lusty as that is, no audience is needed.
for in mindful ways,
meditation offers each of us
a sip up from that metaphorical ocean
and ever providing sky
that we know as whole.
where ‘know’ is tangentially celestial,
for we are in constant meditation
as if, for the breath of now,
and memory, as if sky,
serve us well . . .
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