Meditation on the roof

Meditatiion tonite
sunset on the roof
building overlooking the river below.

Big mind setting,
small mind chatter.
Brought faded purple,
raggedy old backjack,
up to the roof,
got it,
now almost twenty years ago,
when my world
was falling apart,
meditation, my way
through my crumbling superstructure.

attention to breathing,
a distant rhythm almost imperceptible,
almost drowned out by small mind chatter.

Krishnamurti so long ago
but I remember something
about a presence
always there in life,
through meditation,
the presence in my memory,
a cloud, for me tonite,
ominous cloud encircling me,
my whole entire life,
something bad about to happen,
world shades of oppressive grey,
now surrounding me tonite too,
gradually lifting,
becoming a bit silly
as meditation ended.

Sounds of New York City surround the roof,
traffic down by the highway
like the waves of an ocean,
always present,
morning. noon and night,
rhythm of distant jets,
flying by,
the sound of soft breezes,
cool, but not too cool
against my hooded sweatshirt.

A soup of sounds, thoughts and emotions ,
backjack against my back,
fresh river air,
tar-smoky smell of NYC.

Eyes open,
backjack in hand going down the stairs,
acutely wonderful sharp elevator squeaks,
whooshing, dizzying feeling as it descends,
doors open,
the sounds of a baby crying
in the apartment next door

and home to my family.

#mindfulness #meditation #buddhism


2 responses to “Meditation on the roof

  1. Um, I think we are divided again by a common language, Zach. “blackjack,” to me means a 6-10 inch leather or rubber sleeve filled with lead shot, also called a truncheon or cosh. A close distance anti-personnel equalizer. Don’t think that is what you are meaning here, though. Could you explain, please?

    Otherwise, I quite found your poem quite expressive and meditation-like.


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