donderdag 26 november 2009


This is part of my journal about my 40 day meditation marathon

That is how it goes. Every time I write a definition about meditation, it will proof me next day that every definition is too small.

The other evening I wrote about softening. About a resting body and an open heart.
The next morning I woke up tensioned and full of the nightmare I had. No softening at all.
In my awakened heart were no blue flowers and pink hearts. Darkness was there.
I did not want to lie down anymore. I wanted to sit. I needed to be alert. Clear. Together with my housemate I sat in front of her window. I saw the candles on her altar, but outside it was dark. It was 7.30 am in the morning. I closed my eyes. Saw the night images coming by. A house full of small rooms where I lost my way. A phone call where I could only hear but not speak. A friend that was there but I could not see.

Breathing in, breathing out. Having a straight back. Going back to my sitting bones. Seeing the images passing by. But not drowning in them. Breathing.

The alarm clock rang. I opened my eyes. I was light. I was the bare oak in the garden. I was grey, but day. The sitting helped me to overcome the night.

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