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  • Writer's pictureSarah Saxon

On Meditation

April 23, 2020


Footsteps downstairs stay the motion of my movement.

Tossed about on the tide of my spine.

A swirling ocean breaking, crashing and gaping between my shoulder blades.

A slow yawn of my tightened nerves,

Set free upon the rolling crests of my breath.

Unaware of stillness. All motion released.

I sit. I sat. I breathe. I rock and swirl and the rains come pouring once again.

The drops collect to form small rivulets that jostle their ways to the tributaries.

A cascade, a steady flow, a burst of energy, comes tumbling down the main artery and the nerves buried along the river banks respond to the reverberations of this thunderous volume.

Stagnation is gone, movement is here and with it comes hope, and a fresh breeze.

I'm crossed legged.

My spine no longer aches. -S.S.

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