Meditation

Yesterday I was filled with rage and frustration, so I ran. Up the hill, through the gates, across the campus, and to my favorite local spot for solace. I stopped long enough to spot blue damselflies and a ghostly white moth hanging from a branch like a gothic Jesus, but not long enough to sacrifice myself to the black flies. I ran up another hill, gravel this time, then through a grassy path of low-bush blueberries. I stopped at the top of the ski slope and watched two raptors careen, one after the other, across my field of vision. I walked backwards down the slope, gentler for my aging knees, hips swaying, surprising tiny American copper butterflies. A green darner danced across the grass, and I gasped. At the bottom of the hill two huge, prehistoric pennant dragonflies flew through the air, mating and casting ominous shadows on the meadow. I refreshed my playlist and ran back up, dragging as I passed Pole #9, another dragonfly skipping ahead like an impatient child. Back down again. I waited and watched, dripping with sweat and sunscreen. The green darner returned, and allowed me a brief moment for a photograph. I thanked it softly.

Impotence and discontent replaced by appreciation.

When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain, Before high-pilèd books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain; When I behold, upon the night’s starred face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love—then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink. ~ John Keats