Health Musical Interlude


In which we find a quiet moment to drift.

The more I meditate, the more I realize that I’ve been meditating my whole life. I just didn’t know I was doing it. I wasn’t following a formal practice. I wonder if lots of people fall into meditative states and don’t realize it? How to explain… 

We’re on a hike in the woods. Or maybe we’re out on the lake. Or perhaps we’re on the subway. While we’re hiking/boating/traversing, we’re thinking of what happened that day or what we need to do tomorrow. 

Gradually, we become aware of movement: the feeling of our boots hitting the earth, the gentle bob of the boat on the water, or the sway of the subway car. Our bodies notice the rhythm and react in kind. Our breathing slows, our shoulders relax. Our minds perceive these signals from our bodies. In turn, our minds grow quiet. We let go of the to-do lists. Our eyes are open but we do not see.

We are stillness. And, as if adrift, we float. We rise and fall with the slow expansion and contraction of ribcages. Our awareness expands. There’s so much space here. We perceive something else too–depths, as if, while floating down a river, we’ve washed out into the sea.

I’ve been working on this post for several evenings straight. It’s been re-written twice now. It’s time to publish, whether it make sense or not.

Maybe this will help? Become Ocean by American composer John Luther Adams, performed by the Seattle Symphony Orchestra. NPR review