Torn Between Writing and Meditating

Having more than an hour before getting breakfast, I wondered whether I should write something or seek refuge in a “sitting meditation.”

I enjoy sharing my feelings, ideas and beliefs, but it doesn’t compare to the restful calm that envelops me as I surrender to the “nothingness” that halts the rush-hour traffic of my mind and lets me rest, even for a short 15 to 20-minute “time-out” in a parking space away from the ebb and flow of the so-called critical dealings of the world outside.

I like my love-seat that sits in my living room. I assume the “lotus” position, well, as much of the lotus position as my inflexible legs can allow while crossed on each other. Sometimes, I cover myself with a throw. I hate to have a chill disturb my thoughtlessness, pricking at me like a thorn as the cold air starts to irritate my bare arms, feet or other exposed body parts.

Eyes close.

Tension immediately starts to flee from my face, my brow and my jaw. Try it. Just close your eyes now, feel a certain relaxation wash over the smoothed over  eye sockets, the wrinkle-free temple, even the bridge of your nose, not to mention the relaxed mouth that can appreciate a brief “Buddha-like” smile as you close off your outward vision. My shoulders fall in line next, drooping to that restful place where the cares I had carried with my opened eyes are now gone. Disappeared into thin air.

Air. Actually, breath of air is what I focus on next. The intake and release of this underappreciated yet precious, life-sustaining commodity we call air. Where would we be without it?

Dead. Dead to the world, Dead to ourselves. And so I greet the breath as an old time friend, one that has been with me since my flight  from the womb. That breath, that instilling of the spirit within me will remain a faithful companion until the day that I die.

But, I get ahead of my self. As I sit  waiting for that connection with my inner light, I feel a visitor slowly manifest in my consciousness. It is no spirit or some other type of ethereal being, but my little Buddha Buddy, “Sundance,”  my playful little cat who has jumped to the love seat, gently rocking it as she stretch-walks back and forth on my crossed legs searching for that perfect spot to settle, begin to knead my belly and purr up a storm.

I keep my focus on my breathing as much as possible, as I feel the paws push into the slight “spare tire” that mysteriously grew around my belly, and I surrender to the moment, adjusting my stilled body only slightly to pull clothing over my bare skin where my feline friend has accidently just clawed me. Even this movement, however, is a slowed process fitting in with a spiritual ritual the two of us have created together.

Boy, just letting these words form has become a type of meditation. A “working meditation,” if you will. I write from a calm place about a topic I love and feel such a warm glow spread throughout my body. I am in harmony with the computer monitor that mirrors my feelings letter by letter, as heartfelt words join others to offer forgiveness and understanding of, as well as gratitude for, my Self inside.

I just talked myself into leaving this forum. My “intent” at this moment is to “take my seat” after editing this offering and to seek Nirvana.

Bliss awaits me!

2 comments on “Torn Between Writing and Meditating

  1. anjalichugh says:

    Hi Michael

    I’m glad I stumbled on your blog. I must say…very impressive. Hope to read more of your write ups.

    Anjali Chugh


  2. I am with you in your approach-approach conflict (sitting or writing). I resolve it with the simple Socratic dictum: moderation in all things and finding the sweet spot of balancing two wonderful practices. They are both meditation just forms of different flavors. They both express enlightenment in choosing either and just sitting/just writing. At the end of the day, it’s all the same thing isn’t it.


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