mindfulness meditation, edit

wow. therapy today.

i’m not sure where i ended up. heh. started out good and then i gave her my journal to read. which is not abnormal. nor abnormal that i’m trepidatious about her reading what i’ve written.

so today i was curled up on the couch and just. meh. she wanted to talk about things and i just. i was cold and the heater was on so i got up and went and sat on the register. unfortunately it was blowing cold air. but the music was close, so so close, and that’s what i wanted. the music.

eventually j came and sat by me and eventually the heat started blowing and eventually i left. but. lah.

-edit-
too, j gave me some jon kabat-zinn meditation cd’s. i came home and listened to them. hehe. fell asleep towards the end of the first one. he has a lovely calm voice.

second one has a lovely poem on it:

Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

And say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was yourself.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

Derek Walcott
—-
which reminds me of a poem i wrote a while back. heh.

To Be Continued

Twenty-three years lost in everybody
else to avoid yourself, two for this
epiphany to strike [and stay lit],
one [this year] for tripping,
dipping toes in anise-
tinged recovery
ascension.
Two
decades
spent passing
mirrors as if they
were windows meant
only for the looking out,
never the looking in. It is time
to see every window as a mirror:

your image super-imposed on each
sunrise. Learn again [for the first
time] to take asylum in the
silence. Grasp the hands
that have always been
reaching. Listen to
each wrinkle,
memorise
every freckle.
After, make lucid
all the lines written in
your own limbs so those
who study your hands learn
of imperfections begetting beauty,
of ‘weaknesses’ begetting wisdom.
4.9.05