Desert Meditation

Close your eyes.

Find a comfortable seat and feel the ground beneath you.

I sit cross legged on my cold floor and close my eyes. My finger tips sit lightly on the fake hardwood flooring.

Listen to the sounds around you.

I hear the sounds of people moving around in the morning. Car doors opening and closing quietly. The click click pop and then whisper of gas stoves coming on. The quiet rumble of someone hand grinding coffee. I hear accented English good mornings. The upward bracing lilt of an Australian greeting collides with the mellow downward tone of a cheery Canadian ‘Hello!’. The long ‘o’s and drawn out ‘a’s make a tune out of the ritual.

Now scan down your body, take note of your physical and emotional states as you pass by them in your mind.

I feel the sun on the crown of my head, it’s the only place in the van that is warm. I scan down. My eyes are tired, and closed feels nice. My lips are chapped and bleeding at the edges from too much sun and not enough chapstick. I lick them compulsively as I continue to scan down. I feel a tickle of a cold in the back of my throat. Too much yelling, too much drinking, and it’s damn cold out.

My shoulders feel relaxed, strong. The jacket I’m wearing is keeping my body heat close to me. My arms are sore and my hands are worse. Climbing is taking its toll on my body. The bones of my fingers ache. The small raw spots on my skin are entryways for the cold. Like holding your hands under icy water for too long, there is an ache in my bones that never seems to go away.

My chest is blissfully warm. The muscles stretched over my ribcage and around my back are sore and it hurts to cough. My heart feels tender. The longing for home and the longing for my partner pulls the small muscle into creative shapes. The ecstatic joy of being in Indian Creek and existing alongside this strange red desert inflates my heart and the two forces make a mush of it.

My belly is full of hot coffee and I can feel the energy rising up into my veins, forcing the lethargy up and out. My legs are bruised but sturdy. The inner thigh on my right knee feels delicate and I suspect a green blue bruise will be blossoming there shortly.

Finally, I scan down to my toes. They are cold in my shoes, but relaxed. Snuggled up in my socks, I flex them briefly to see if they’ve fallen asleep.

Now focus on the breath. Breath in, and out. Count to ten breaths and then start over.

I breath in. I feel the cold desert air fill my lungs.

I breath out. I push the warmth in my body out through my mouth.

I breath in. The desert is a part of me. I take it in and hold it with me.

I breath out. The old me moves on and flows out in a warm puff of air.

I breath in. If burnt orange sand could be a feeling, this is what it would feel like.

I breath out. Out with the sickness. Out with the cold. Out with the pain.

I breath in. Bring in the silence. The stillness. The blue sky contrasted against the jagged red skyline.

I breath out. Let the heart go. Release the pain into the sand. It doesn’t have to feel this way.

I breath in.

I breath out.

I breath in.