Breathe.
Let the torrent of thoughts come. The to-do lists for work that never get done. That hello to the boss left unreturned. The wild apathy of the few in that one class. The coming commute. The restlessness of the repetition of it all.
Let the flood of feelings come with that torrent of thoughts. Anxiety, a whailing banshee foretelling doom around every corner. Bite-the-bullet determination exercised through gritted teeth, knotted shoulder muscles and a contracting neck spasm. A foaming-at-the-mouth pit bull of leashed rage awaiting a lax hand.
Let them come. Then let them go.
Breathe in the moment. Breathe through the torrent and the flood. Breathe.
Until a small, still voice that sings in silence emerges. Listen, and breathe in that listening.
And in that breathing, in that being, experience the rest of the soul, at last.
flickering candle
a slow stir from the zafu
into the day
for Poets United–midweek motif–psyche/soul, posted by Susan.
Frank J. Tassone 
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