Sunday, September 4, 2016

Writing Prompt: Meditation

Spiritual Journey in the Modern Age
by Janin Wise  (the equivalent of a doodle for writing)

Bethany sat quietly in the center of her wooden floor, her mat warm beneath her, her knees bent in lotus.  She could feel the slight warmth of the candle she had burning beside her, the only source of light in the room.  It cast a warm glow of comfort about the space, sanctifying it.  Offering up purity.  She also lit a stick of incense she’d picked up at the Dollar Tree on her way home.  She’d heard it was good for smudging, and she could certainly use the spiritual cleanse after the week she’d been having.

Focus.  This is about inner peace.  Not dwelling, Bethany.

Back straight, shoulders down, she closed her eyes.  She thought about holding her hands in prayer at her chest, but she was afraid she’d just turn it into a plea, so instead, they rested, palms up, middle fingers tip and thumb pads touching, resting lightly on top of her knees.

Breathe in.  Breathe out.

Breathe in.  Breathe out.

Focus on the breath.  Breathe in positivity and light, breathe out negativity and frustration.  Let them melt always through grounding.

She watched the orange of the back of her eyelids, shift a little bit towards yellow…and was that navy blue off to the side?  Maybe it was the candle.  She stared a little bit harder at the back of her eyelids and the yellow went a little bit brown, then very much green and the blue was moving.  She couldn’t quite focus on it—where did it come from?  Where was it going?  Seriously, maybe it’s the candle.

So she peeked.  

But only with her right eye.  

The left one was still meditating.  She could just see the candle beyond her nose.  She’d actually have to turn her head to the left to look at it directly.  But she knew it was just the plain white candle she’d lit when she sat down.  Flame cheerfully dancing.  Warm glow still glowing.  Wax well contained and would be caught by the plate she’d placed underneath it for exactly that purpose.  The room wasn’t on fire.

Focus.

She closed both eyes, squared her shoulders, and shook her head just a little bit to clear her wandering thoughts.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Focus on the breath.  Breath in positivity and light and she really should have gone ahead and had dinner first.  Did she feed the cat?  

Of course she did, otherwise Sebastian would be in the room winding his tail around her as a reminder and voicing his objections loudly.  But that didn’t change the fact that she was certain she could hear her own stomach growling (Her stomach had made no such protest). 

Breathe in, maybe tuna helper, she was pretty sure she had all the ingredients in the pantry.
Breathe out, or she could always make the pork roast in her slow cooker!

Breathe in, no, it was too late at night for that…but it would make an excellent dinner for tomorrow!  She made a mental note to start the pork roast for tomorrow so dinner could be eaten -before- she started yoga.

Breathe out, but if she was honest, it was probably going to be leftovers from yesterday’s Chinese takeout with a good rounding out of the remainder of the family sized bag of Doritos she had just opened this morning when packing her lunch.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Focus.

She pictured a budding flower, small, delicate, frail, tentatively reaching for the world, trusting in the sunlight.

Breathe in positivity and light.

Breathe out negativity and you know, in the real world, someone would just pick it.  They wouldn’t care if it belonged to someone else or that picking it would be the end of it.  They would see something beautiful and unique, and they would want it for themselves, and they’d just take it.  And clearly she pictured a stranger’s hand plucking her innocent trusting bud before it had truly flowered.
Bethany opened her eyes, huffed in exasperation, and put her hair up into a ponytail from the elastic she kept on her right wrist for such a purpose.

“This is MY vision, Bethany.  Try it again.  No one plucks our flower.”

She took a deep breath, fidgeted on her mat (her left butt cheek was starting to go to sleep), squared her shoulders, and closed her eyes, again.

“Oooooommmmmmm!”

Breathe out.

“Oooooommmmmmmmmm!”

Breathe out.

“Ooooooooooommmmmmmmmm!”

And back to the bright garden, with a fresh bud tentatively reaching for the warmth of the sun.  Through patience and nurturing, the bud begins to open, delicate white petals tinged in pink, with a bright yellow center.  I wonder what kind of flower that is.  Is it a real one?  Could I look it up on the internet?  Did I make it up?  I wonder what it smells like?  If it’s real, I bet I could get one to grow in my flower box outside my bedroom window.  Wouldn’t that be something!  To actually grow your meditation flowers!

And now her stomach really did protest, after all, she hadn’t eaten dinner before she began.  And it rumbled in harmony with her “Om”, while her right ankle itched, and her left butt cheek felt like ice.  The air conditioner kicked in and the vent blew the smoke from the incense towards her face, and she decided that was enough spiritual advancement for one day.

Time to celebrate with Doritos and left over General Tsoa’s.

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