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The Untitled Gary Hilborn Project - A Blog

A Meditation


I can hear the birds. By the sound of their chirps and squawks, there are at least three different kinds. This is the first morning of the year I can recall hearing them. But that might not be true. I take it to mean that spring has arrived in practical and noticeable ways - not just in the technicalities. The birds tell me more than a date on the calendar. They tell me more than the sliding of a clock forward. Hearing the birds assures me that Mother Nature is now heralding the new season's dawn. Now, it feels true.

I'm sitting in our second bedroom-slash-home office with my desk chair swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees away from my laptop and my notebooks and my pens and the play-lined shelves which float above my work station. These are all behind me. My legs are bare from the knees down, as I'm still in the gym shorts in which I sleep. My legs are bare and stretched out straight onto the guest bed with my feet crossed. The guest bed is my footrest, and I have a throw pillow on my lap. I like to settle my hands here while I meditate.

This is my routine nearly every day. I awaken most morning before six a.m. I rarely have to set the alarm. The regimen is cemented in my psyche. Two years. I awaken before six and prepare my coffee - two sweeteners and two-percent milk. I head back to the office, stealing a few sips of the café as I pad down the hall. Careful to not spill. I take my place in my chair and set my phone's timer. I'm at fifteen minutes now. At one point I was up to twenty-five. Fifteen feels right. Time is a funny and elastic sort of thing. The same quarter hour can either zip by or stretch into forever depending on how my mind is inclined to fill it. Depends on the day. Depends on what I'm processing.

This morning, I take deep breaths. My breathing is centered. It is the focus. That's not always so. Sometimes, I just know I'm not doing this right. But I don't even know what "right" is. Today, I feel as light as the birds singing outside. There's a gentle breeze that drifts through the window and over my bare legs as I inhale and exhale. We're in sync - this breeze and me. I'm feeling easy and unencumbered. That's also not always so, but today it's true.


featured photo credit: "Spring Green" by Gary Hilborn. Copyright 2019. All Right Reserved

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