Meditation From my Front Step

The water is the indigo of my mother’s eyes.

Sunlight shivers at the horizon, so fierce a line, I can believe the world is flat.

The ship rocks, hums its heartbeat, nestled in a blanket of unfolding waves. The whitecaps of the ego; the surge of id below. Welcome, welcome to the breeze, the call of gulls so far from shore, insistent in their hunger and the hunt. I wonder where they sleep and when. I’m floating, emptying my mind of ports of call, visas, checkpoints, souvenirs, the clamor of tomorrow. I think of tea at 4pm, then realize it’s only ten. No need to wonder, worry, will there be scones again, blueberry jam, cream or honey.

Will there be a place for me at the captain’s table?

Practice. Practice patience.

The ship will go no faster if I plan ahead.

I was here yesterday.

I’ll be back tomorrow.

Rocking. humming, Floating.

On my way. Or not.