At a crossroads.
In life.
Literally.
I was visiting my recently departed home town. I was there for the funeral of the wife of a business partner. I had gone for a ride and stopped in a local park. I wanted to just sit for a moment. To contemplate. To reflect. I stopped under a beautiful fig tree that shaded a bench seat under it. it wasn’t hot, but after riding my bike I was warm so I took off my shoes and rested my feet on the grass. The cool grass and the warm of the sun felt amazing. I had recently found a meditation that had simply focussed on listening. Listening to all of the sounds that you could hear. It started with a story about a master that had asked his student if he heard the sound of a creek in the distance. The student had not heard much other than immediate sounds like a dog barking and his own thoughts. The master pointed out that the student should try next time to listen underneath the loud noises and look for what else he might discover. I decided that this sounded worth trying as I frequently feel like a bumbling student during many of my meditations.
Here is my experience, sitting in the park just before attending the funeral.
Stop, Listen, Do you hear it?
Close your eyes. Stop. Listen…
Under the roar of the plane;
under the rumble of the truck;
under the clank of the train
and under the hum of the cars.
Below the whir of the mower;
below of the barking of the dog;
below the whiz of the garden blower
and below the splashing of a sprinkler.
Beneath the giggles of cartwheeling children;
beneath the clang of a crashing scooter;
beneath the cries of a scared child
and beneath the calls of a loving mother.
Underneath the vroom of the mailman’s motorbike;
underneath the squeak of a front door;
underneath the click of a mailbox
and underneath the jangle of an opening gate.
Under the thud, thud, thudding of a jogger’s shoes;
under the swish of a frisbee;
under the flapping of a kite
and under the swoosh of a cyclist.
Below the laughter of the playground;
below the creaks of the seesaw;
below the slip of the slippery slide
and below the shrieks of playing children.
Beneath the singing of the birds;
beneath the croaking of the frogs;
beneath the chirping of the crickets
and beneath the buzzing of the bees.
Underneath the song of the wind chime;
underneath the rustling of the leaves;
underneath the whispering of the trees
and underneath the breath of the breeze.
The rise of your chest;
the flow of your blood;
the expansion of the universe
and your oneness with existence itself.
Stop…
Listen…
Do you hear it?