So I resolved in the new year to try
a meditation practice once again
after a two-year mindfulness dry spell.
Not entirely mindlessness, but close.
For whatever reason, I could not sit
and my cushion languished without me.
But during that whole episode, I knew
something was wanting, something was amiss.
It’s not enough to write a ten-syllable line;
no amount of focus served the same need.
That silence was missing, that deep quiet,
a stillness that comes, breathing in and out.
Most days this year have found me there again
getting reacquainted with this good friend.
michael jarmer 