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Tuesday, 26 February 2019

Eighteen

This is the glory of the Bow room
Bathed in sublime morning sunlight
Cascading, through Georgian windows
Reflecting, from the chrome on my pencil

Yet no sooner said than gone
Replaced by cloud-covered grey light
As if in readiness, or preparation
For the first guided meditation of the day

A body-scan meditation
With a quietly spoken teacher
Who said thanks for the beautiful morning
Who asked all to think well of themselves

I struggled a little bit
With the intake of white smoke
With the expulsion of black smoke
Though I was ok with breathing

I am ok with breathing
I breathe in
I breathe out
With eyes closed, or with eyes open


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