A soft rainfall. I settle on the zafu in our bedroom. Pale light from the cloud-covered sky bathes my back from the window. I breathe. Sit. Breathe.
Center.
As each thought seizes my attention, I return to my awareness of my breath. Return to my original intention, to be present to the Presence. To bear witness to the action of the Presence. To be, instead of all of that incessant becoming.
The ants-walking-on-skin-tingling sensations. Breathe. The earworm soundtracks. Breathe. The subtle and unsubtle aches and pains of a Rheumatoid-arthritic body. Breathe. Scenes from Netflix’s Watership Down. Breathe. The desperation to do, to get up, to not wastet time just sitting here and doing nothing! Breathe. The image a flickering torch, like the Olympic flame. Breathe.
The timer on my iPhone chimes. Twenty minutes. An epiphany, like sunlight piercing through clouds, I recall as though remembering a dream.
low-lying mist
the sudden return
to busyness
for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt: Clouds #writephoto
Frank J. Tassone 
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