Small Stone #19

From Writing Our Way Home
From Writing Our Way Home

“Boong, boong, boong.”  The timer signaling the end of the 10 minute meditation chimed across the room.  I rubbed my hands together, then cupped them in front of my face, eyes closed, as the teacher instructed.  “Drink in the energy,” she said.  “Now open your eyes and look at your hands.”  Late sunlight was filtering into the room through the thin, bare trees outside.  I was surprised at how quickly the ten minutes had passed.  I was surprised to find myself having just finished a mediation class.  I was surprised at my ability to be still, if only for minutes at a time.  I was delighted.

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