9-5 To All Flesh

Practicing meditation is most difficult; I have a quiet basement den where I do this.

To All Flesh

 

“[Life] consists mainly of the storm of thoughts that are forever blowing through one’s mind.”

—Mark Twain

 

As soon as I sit and shut my eyes in solitary meditation,

beta brainwaves storm, tumult through my consciousness—

 

a nor’easter of images deluges and lifts me, thundering

toward ocean horizons until I sigh, mindfully whisper:

 

*Be . . . silent . . . O . . . all . . . flesh . . . another surge of thoughts

crest and I, a gull feather, sail over whitecap froth

 

until Spirit breathes and becalms me . . . before . . . the . . . lord . . .

 

. . . Be . . . silent . . . O . . . all . . . flesh . . . before . . . the . . . Lord . . .

 

. . . Be . . . silent . . . O . . . all . . . flesh . . . before . . . the . . . Lord . . .

 

*Zech. 2:13

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