Thursday, November 4, 2010

Walking Meditation III

I am not walking today.

I am sitting.

Sitting, grieving. Reflecting on loss.

Sitting inside and looking at the gray.

I am sitting and thinking about a very missed friend. Winston, my bunny, passed on his energy in October 0f 2008. He was seven and a half.

I am sitting and thinking about how when he was about five months old, I bought a harness and Flexi-leash for him and we would go out outings. I would stop at Jimmy John's and get myself a sandwich and soda. Winston would get my alfalfa sprouts, sometimes a cucumber.

I am sitting and thinking how I am -- finally -- not sad. I just miss. I miss the garden and the snuggles and the playing-in-grass. I miss little rememberings and chin nuzzles and happy-chuck-chuck noises. I miss time.

I still hurt.

I am sitting and holding my hurt. I look at it. It is silver and gauzy. It fits in my hands like a six pound medicine ball. It is a weight I forget is there because it is not cold.

I am sitting and imagining our energies intertwined deep into our roots. When I too go into the ground, our energies will be a fall breeze that brings the scent of leaves and change and apples.

I notice small movements in my hands and think about small creatures and small breaths. We have to be gentle with these creatures. Secure, confident, and gentle. A steady holding. Be willing to make ourselves appear to be smaller to gain their confidence. Prove through consistency in our actions that we are to be trusted. Learn that exploring does not have to happen quickly and with profound movement, but slowly with smell, soft whisker touch, little lips and tongues and toes.

Be gentle with all creatures. Secure, confident, and gentle.

A steady holding.

I am sitting inside, looking at the gray.

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