-- Rumi |
I never called it meditationA 2009 YouTube Reading of this piece I never called it meditation Though I found in it my still point I didn't know that it was meditation Had I known, I might have stopped it To my 15 year-old fundamentalist Christian understanding Meditation was taboo They'd TOLD me Meditation could be dangerous to my Immortal Soul Why, It might as well be... Masturbation That's just how taboo it was So I never realized it was meditation Or I would have had to stop it I never thought of it as practice Or I would have put it off Practice was a word that went with boring, With tedious and obligation Practice included struggle, scales, foul shots Flash cards and failure So I never thought of it as practice or I would have put it off I wouldn't have thought to call it renewal But I knew it was some kind of bliss, Nourishment, escape and solace A mystery selecting me. With rhythm and a private peace Its building of a steady hand and finger-driven fluency In a language I would learn and never speak And that was just enough, sometimes To churn and then turn loose a while my worries and wondering about girls and school and church and god and friends and sex and cars and driving and books and music and girls... and the constant hormonal hypnosis of my age, for which I had no names and even less real awareness. The balanced space invited me As strong as breath and heart beat to close my door and lean into this portal of eternity The repetition stacked itself inside me and around me till its rise and fall and round and round and improvised perfection lulled me fast asleep most weeknights with the guitar laid across me I learned that it was magic Its Clarity and flow Brought order to my teen-aged brain that soothed its spiral sparking and all the hungry barking thoughts that tried to think themselves at once Competing for the lead in every show. It gave them form and syncopation The lilt and rise and fall and flow the dance the dip the pause and curtsy of string and wood and fret and finger A simple, sacred, private show Beginning then, but never ending, the show has set my stage for life In the mystery I found space to be, to trust without demanding so much certainty Later, as first one and then another brilliant beam of life arrived in mine and changed my name to Daddy I knew the songs I sang for them They’d brought in their delivery My gratitude and joy had waited For the space their lives created And expressed itself just like it had before Still, I’d never thought of it as practice And never called it meditation Had it began as either one Who knows what songs would go unwritten And how much of my life unsung. Randy Weeks April 2006 |
Copyright 1978 - 2024 by Randy Weeks
(This old site has been online since 1995... I'll redo it eventually, maybe...
Meanwhile, consider it a museum piece from the early web). :)
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