i was meditating today and found myself attempting to draw in comfort and stillness through my breathing, alarmed at the flashes of dull light that were happening beneath my eyes. they were startling and seemed to increase in speed the more i focused on them. so i stopped trying to focus and just took in deeper breaths.
i was then in the passenger seat of a car. the window was down and there were green hills and mountains everywhere.
somewhere i’d already been.
my brain went back to the flashes of deep light — jagged and sharp / pummeling the process. so naturally, i was back in the car. inhaling the wind passing and embracing the breeze with my arms and shoulders.
and of course, since i was attempting to meditate, i allowed the thought to happen. trying to give it a name or a time or a place — some label to secure this obvious memory. something i didn’t want to let go of or try to erase.
the flashes eventually subsided as my lungs filled with me remembering the warmth of American air. the knowing of my childhood outside; camping and fishing and unaware of the disgruntled cold or constant rain, garbage-lined streets or double-decker buses. people, everywhere. all the time.
i found, in my head, the stillness i was searching for. not even trying to find it. just realizing the wind in my hands. the honesty of the trees. the west texas smile on your face.
“i was a television version of a person with a broken heart…”