Evening

Sitting in the meditation room. I notice that my mind is rehashing conversations from the day, with some amusement. So this may be entertainment for the mind. I am aware of the words in my head, like a voice, not audible, but just thoughts. I am thinking in words tonight. And then when I am able to detach from the train of thoughts for a few seconds and just rest in the experience of the moment, my breath, my feelings of sitting here, my evaluation voice comes up, "Oh, here we go, we're doing good now," which of course is not resting in the experience; it's judging and evaluating the experience. And then I got caught in thinking about what I might write after the meditation. Thinking about writing about my meditation experience is neither meditation nor writing . I notice the sound of the water running on the lawn outside, a sort of pulsing whoosh, the rhythmic sound of the droning train engine and the clacking of the wheels on the rails, the rhythm of my heartbeat. I notice small muscle twitches in my face. And then, as I begin to feel like I'm settling, the thoughts no longer dominating my experience, the timer goes off.

Evening

Sitting on the ottoman in the basement bedroom. The cat sits beside me and starts to purr. Feeling of comfort with him sitting beside me. I try to find the balance between being calm and alert, sitting straight and relaxing. I find myself slowly sinking into a slump. When I become aware this is happening, I make a small adjustment to straighten my spine and relax in that position. This happens over and over again. I notice that my breath comes easier when I am sitting straight. I become aware that I am clenching my jaw, and relax it. The room begins to feel cool, and I shiver. Thoughts of my swollen ankles. Thoughts of painting the furniture white. Almost falling asleep, losing awareness, and bringing myself back to awareness.

Off the Cushion

This morning I exited the bookstore and walked toward my car, thinking about writing, how it proceeds well as I write little by little, a little each day. Things seem to go along day by day without the necessity of the goal of a large project. I see how many things in life are like that: cleaning the house, exercising, meditation. When I tried to put my KIA key in the car, it wouldn't fit. I looked at the car; it's the same color of blue; the wheels look the same; there's stuff in the passenger seat like there is in my car. But, that's not my stuff. Oh, this is a Honda, not a KIA. My attention to finding my car had wandered while thinking about writing, a small wake-up call.

Evening

Before sitting to meditate, I had been reading a book about organic gardening. Thoughts come up about how I could make the back yard into an organic garden. Thoughts about composting, pest control. The cat comes in the room with me. I hear him walking around exploring this room that he doesn't often enter. And then he, like I, begins to settle down. Hearing ringing in my ears, my heart beating. Feeling my forward slump as a crowding of internal organs. I adjust my posture, and as I sit up straight, the organs feel less pinched and confined. Just as I think it might be time for the timer to go off, it does. I open my eyes to see the cat sleeping on the bed pillow.

Morning

Feeling relaxed and comfortable today, knowing I have enough time. The content of my dream comes to mind. Thoughts about the purpose of meditation. My breath seems never to come naturally, but seems controlled. Hearing the water heater go into a heating cycle, popping and gurgling, my stomach too. Heartbeat seems more relaxed, seems more to be felt than heard today. Momentary itching around my left eye. Thoughts that writing helps me to cultivate attention. I extend that attention from the time I am sitting and writing into my daily life.

Morning

The flowers on my altar are wilted. I may get a potted plant to place there, something that will live for a while. I light candles and sit. Mind doesn't want to settle, flits from thought to thought, wants to get running with my day. Hear the pounding of hammer strokes, the steady regular heartbeat. Feel the sun shining through the east window, my regular breaths, and then a deep sigh, giving up the tension of restlessness.