MONDAY EVENING SAMADHI
Loading Map
St. Florent,
France
Monday, March 26, 2007
On the day after I arrived in Corsica, I had my best meditation yet.
I´d finished a writing task, and so my mind was unencumbered. The air was dark and silent, and I sat on a wild, grassy lawn facing St. Florent´s bay. I slowly ceased thinking.
Lights from St. Florent´s village, far across the bay, cast a mystical illumination on the trunks of slender trees near me. For thirty minutes, the cool bay air floated around.
The bare, white, fork-shaped tree to the right lulled me will-lessly to standing position. The tree´s base was a hardy, glowing cylinder; its middle contrasted against the dark plants behind; its two forking fingers pointed sharply upward, twelve feet from the ground. Its middle glowed. Its bottom bulged up through the dark-green ground. The middle was sturdy, strong. The top´s glowing points dazzled in the air.
And then, Justin was gone. The tree´s form was felt. And its form, in many ways, was defined by the form of the air and plants around it. The air and plants around it were me. I stepped around the grassy lawn, feeling the forms of lit-up plants and glowing trees. It was like being in a museum: observe but don´t interact. If one would´ve painted a picture of the scene from afar, I wouldn´t have been in it.
I got too excited by this successful meditation, and so my mind returned me to my ego. Peaceably, I slept in my tent.
- Modern Oddyseus
"Perfect Ecstasy is possible at any time, for any length of time." - Kerouac
