Like a butterfly resting on a flower, rest on the breath. It's always been the thing I would avoid. Sitting still. " Don't just sit there. Do something" this command echoes down the halls of my mind. In this morning's meditation, the din of Barcelona elementary school children screech in the back ground and resonant off the 19th Century tile floors of the apartment I am staying in. It brings up nostalgia. Longing to have just one day back when I could pick up my boys at school and stand there watching them play before they realized I was there. Why could I not have been more present with them when they were little. Always this pushing to do something that had not been done. Until then I could not rest. What was that unnamed something to do? This tangle of questions smooths out returning to my breath. With kindness I can inhabit my body. I can welcome myself in. The get ready, get set, go muscles always clenched are quivering on the edge of letting go. Right under my arm pits. I hear one child crying above all the others. I hover around the question of who has been pushing me. I return to the breath with out the answer.
I'd like to call "all-y- all-y in come free. Everybody that's hiding come out so we can begin the game again. Start over."