Meditation: Expectation v. Reality

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Meditation: Expectation v. Reality Expectation:

  • Behind the silence, exotic instruments resonate soothing vibrations – imperceptible, impalpable, yet affecting. An intergalactic intersection of my childhood music box and an Arabian Philip Glass.

Reality:

  • From the day I was born! I had that music box and she just threw it away. Like my pog collection. Like everything, garbage. But that! Delicate wood, a carousel, a stork? that blue. Always there, it was, always; trashed, by my own mother. Knives scrape at the staples in my heart.

Expectation:

  • Focused only on breathing, I create more space in my lungs, more space in my chest, more space in my throat. This openness ripples outward to my extremities. The cosmos within me expands. I am infinite. I am full of life.

Reality:

  • It’s not getting better. Is it getting worse? No, it is getting a little better. No, it is. Just stop smoking! I will. I have! Healing white light. Healing white light. Esophageal cancer. That's how I will die.

Expectation:

  • I float in the sea of life. Calmly, it rolls through me as effortlessly as the tides held tenderly in the Earth’s basins; even when suffering, even when thrashing wildly at the surface: held. I dissolve and sink to the bottom of this ocean. I snuggle at the bosom of the warm heart there. The center of gravity. I float in its stability.

Reality:

  • A million tons? What was it? Over half a million, tons of plastic in the oceans. Where did I read that? A dead seabird split open, its body full of plastic, blue and red and yellow and dull. It never disintegrates. It just breaks into tinier and tinier pieces. And I’m part of the problem. Every Bic lighter and bottle cap I’ve ever touched will go on poisoning the next ninety generations of whatever species are even left in five hundred years. I hate humanity. I’m sorry for being born.

Expectation:

  • Stillness is created from the outside-in. Sensations at skin-level do not, can not penetrate my decision to be still. Behind softly closed eyes, the still of the night: a night safe, a night that protects you while you rest. I do not sleep. I do not dream. I am the moon.

Reality:

  • It’s just a sensation. It’s just a sensation. No, I have to. Uhhh! Healing white light. Itchy! You can do this. It’s just a sensation. I can do this.