Prompt #14

Sundays Meditation 

I get out of bed, walk across the apartment, kiss my dad good morning, whack Simon in the back of the head as he watches TV, tell them not to bother me and grab a glass of water. I head back to my room, which is painted like a tan tomato. I sit on the floor—no rug this time—and tell myself that I can do this. I look at the clock: 8:56 am. My back is as straight as could be, my shoulders relaxed, and my chin flexed. I close my eyes; take a deep breath, and begin counting. “One, two, three, four, five, six, HOLD, one, two, three, four, five, six,” and repeat. This goes on and I try to get everything I can out of my mind, and when things enter with no invitation, I tell them to leave me alone, just for a moment. I watch them walk out with frustration and slowly give me the stink eye as they turn around for one last look. I then lock the doors so no more can enter, and re focus of my breaths. Without any idea or notion of time, I just sink. I sink into this state of calmness. I have nothing on my mind except numbers, which begin to fade. Then something strange happens. I begin thinking of this place and of colors, mostly blues and grays. It seems like my eyelids are an array of watercolor symphonies dropping tone with each breath. I feel this temperature change, and slowly get colder and colder. My breaths get deeper and become more apparent and my eyes flutter open with really no intention. I feel like I just woke up from a nap that lasted either forty-five seconds or forty-five days. I then look at the clock and it reads: 9:10. This is the longest meditation I have ever been able to sit through and really embrace. This is the first time I have blocked out my surroundings and watched colors surround me. This is the first time I have listened to my mind in pure silence, the first time I have touched my soul and the first time I have experienced such internal peace. I stand up and walk out my door and onto the deck that rests above the Boston Harbor. The blues now seem to make sense—considering each tone of the ocean and of the sky this morning is either a shade of grey, like slate, or a Caribbean or steel blue, a misty or muted blue, or like a blueberry, or a blue tuna and a blue bird, like blue jeans and blue angels, and like silver and the sky and the surf and then the sea breeze. I guess I touched nature this morning, but I’ll never really know for sure the reason of the colors, will I?  

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