This morning I meditated
and imagined a garden of thought.
Sometimes busy with the sounds of growing leaves
and groaning trees, that react to the weather.
Cats visit and the grass shimmers with the breeze.
There are weeds of course, Nature's shock troops.
Some days I ignore the weeds,
the Holocaust thoughts
and psychosis memories
and they fade like dandelion seeds
on the breeze.
Some days I pull them from the ground
by returning
to the soil,
my breath,
grounded in the body,
grounded in the earth.
I let go of the gravity of my thoughts
and focus,
again and again,
on what I can hear, see, and feel.
The sensations of my body,
my breath or my big toe,
I am alive.
I wander in a garden,
I sit with my back against a tree.
There is colour.
There is life.
I am here,
inside my skull,
the meditation bell sounds
with its resonating reminder,
to come back
to my room,
to my home.