Meditation
As I finished one lady said, “Me too.” The room felt warmer, somehow, after we had all spoken. Our teacher explained more about mindfulness, how it could help with stress.
As I finished one lady said, “Me too.” The room felt warmer, somehow, after we had all spoken. Our teacher explained more about mindfulness, how it could help with stress.
“Do you recognize this man?” One of the officers held out a picture of Jack. His toothy smile was unmistakable, although I noticed, even in the low-quality mug shot, an unfamiliar wildfire in his eyes. I nodded.
It is that stillness I search for in the transcendental north. The quiet amidst the buzz of living that I haven’t discovered in the nooks and crannies of my own hum of days.
A friend confessed that she could easily pour all her money into eating at GR restaurants. Another, smiling wryly, said quickly: “I couldn’t. I’m not sure I have the wardrobe for it.”
I don’t drink coffee, I’ve taken ibuprofen exactly six times, and I believe that a healthy dose of germs is good for your immune system.
Mumbling “what have I done” to myself in my closet-sized Queens apartment with my suitcase only half-unpacked on the floor is not exactly my proudest life moment.
Growing up, I occasionally went with my dad to both the hospital and the mission. I saw the way in which he interacted with the patients of the hospital and the clients of the mission.
Never mind the over-caffeinated flight attendants, the screaming babies, the person in front of me reclining their chair into my lap—it’s really the air that gets me.
I have an operating theory that boredom proceeds greatness almost as often as the phrase “hold my beer.” I think in a culture of convenience we never challenge ourselves to wait.