This is a short short story -- almost a prose poem -- that came to me after participating in a guided meditation. It may not be for everyone, but it paints a picture of the experience for me. Hope you like it.
A man sits in the meditation group, cross-legged. Soft thrumming – he thinks it's drums – paints a background of pulsing colors for his closed eyes. Others surround him, all sitting, hands in laps, waiting in silence for something to happen.
He forgets them after a few minutes. Images of his wife, children, friends, screaming boss -- pass by. No profound revelations, just people.
After forever, a gong sounds, and he rises to leave, disappointed.
In the car on the way home, wipers clapping against a misty rain, he pulls over in the park. He turns off the car, waits for something to happen, then tells himself, “You’re an idiot.”
He quits trying and simply listens, enjoys the pat-patting raindrops on his hood. To his surprise, the rain speaks. It says, "Come." He peers through the blurred glass, and another world opens before him, beckoning. Again it says, "Come."
He hesitates, afraid, excited. Then enters.
It lasts maybe a quarter hour. Rain still pat-pats when he returns. Nothing has changed. But at home when his wife asks, “How was it?” he embraces her and says, “Perfect.”
No comments:
Post a Comment