I meditated outside this morning.
I learned the practice of meditation from books but I learned the art of meditation from you.
I remember all the dawns and dusks we spent together sitting in the back yard. I would watch you spend an hour just communing with nature in a state of pure bliss. There was no past, there was no future. There was only the eternal now that we shared with each other, with the birds, with the squirrels, and with the wind.
You taught me about the peaceful, eternal now and how that peace opens the door to everything else - to joy. To love. Your time with me was a short eternity.
I was watching a television show and one of the characters said the following:
When you love someone, you give up a little piece of yourself to live within them.
And they give up a little piece of themselves to live within you.
And thus, when you died, that little piece of me, that lived inside of you, died with you, leaving a gaping hole.
But conversely, a little piece of you lives within me still, and when I meditate in nature, in our back yard…in your back yard, that little piece of you lives again, for just a moment refilling that hole as we step into the peaceful, eternal now. And you once again revel in the sheer delight of feeling the wind on your face and the sounds of birds frolicking.
And all rational thoughts I might have disappear for a few eternal minutes, and in that ethereal space, we are again together and we are again happy.
That made me blink rapidly on the train. Good words.
This was beautiful, you reminded me about the an important part of living, it includes giving pieces of ourselves to loved ones for as long as we can.