I’d been meditating for slightly over 10 years now. But it’s not often I write about it. Not because there wasn’t anything to write about, but because what I see and experience when sitting are hard to put into words. Only imagery, metaphors, visualisations and poetry work in this space. And so here it is:

-–

The ego

Is but a petty, little man

Behaving like a child

Screaming, pounding, crying

Throwing tantrums

In between your ears

Just so to get your attention;

to be pacified;

to be satiated…

momentarily.

But if you would simply 

not react and just look; stare!

watch his antics,

observe his manners.

And soon enough

the little man would

become ashamed and embarrassed

And finally slink away quietly

To leave you in peace.

Then it starts to quiet.

Little by little, the silence grows. 

Till only the sounds of your breath remains

Like waves lapping upon the shore, 

again

         and again…… and again.

Wave after wave.

Rising and subsiding.

        Arising and passing.

Upon the throne of the Breath,

the Mind sits.

Down comes a flower, floating with the wind.

And

without adornments nor stains;

in the absence of repulsion and awe,

the Mind apprehends the 

whimsical blossom

as it really is.