Tag Archives: Meditation


20 Mar

View story at Medium.com

Observe everything not

20 Mar

from any point of view, but from eagerness and openness to learn.


17 Mar

View story at Medium.com

This morning,

10 Mar

thinking of goals. New ones set, and how to get. Only two things to be done. Up before anyone else in home, but not for long. Vocal, be more vocal. Be more daring, more fearless, more spontaneous, more disciplined, see the results before they’re seen, felt. This morning’s meditation is prime realization. Just went further with meditation, ten pulses… seeing the results. Travel, writing, the people I’ll meet and speak to.

Before I get in the shower, 15 beats…. Done. The quiet of the house surround. Put yourself in a like-scene, setting, where you can see more of you, the you that you have to do.

Writing Prompt…

7 Mar

500 words on you, yesterday.

And, write in 3rd-person.


me now

28 Feb

New writing space as both adjunct coop and conference room were occupied.  No complaints.  Lovely, I thought.  I need some newness today.  Newness, always to be capitalized.  Never go against the moment, I remember I offered to students a while back.  This room, a quasi-dining room or break room, no lights which I love and a view of Elliott Avenue, all the students going in and out of this cafeteria building.  If someone walks in, I’ll take it in as part of the scene.  On break till I start my prep for next class but I don’t want to think about that.  My only focus now is this breath, the one after it, the in-between bites of the Chinese food from the caf’.  Wish I wouldn’t have ordered it but I did from hunger delusion.  Look outside to moving bushes, tree.  Think the rains near.  Would love to watch some drops, now.  I wait, though.  I meditate in this strange room.  What else does this room feel like?  Like a dentist office’s waiting room, kind of.  Or the doctors office’s waiting lounge area where we used to take Jack.  Or my high school, one of the Bio’ rooms, or labs.  Not sure what it makes me think of but it makes me recall all facets of my life.  I’m furthered into my collection and meditation.

Now I don’t know what I’m thinking.  Just that I’m thinking, about when I was a student at the community college.  Foothill.  The walk up those stairs, and I all the classes I took.  Years ago, but I’m there again.  This new start with this new perspective and approach, all my new projects and how I see things in this wild yay-say.  Done my lunch off you could call it that, now I throw self deeper into the collection.  With class in just over an hour and me in the room in about, well, 40 minutes, I intensify my meditation and collection.  What am I looking for… what do I want… how will I get it… thoughts of that speed and geography.  And I know just I’m headed for.  No need to continue but I have composition to that degree and key.

Look outside at traffic and see people leaving then pulling in.  Students pass but in less numbers than a bit ago.  Ruminating in this new room, this cafeteria tangent, this side quarter.  Can’t believe no one’s walked in to disrupt my sitting.  Sipping my Ginger Ale, looking up at a board meant to have messages and ads posted, but only one.  Something about some event on campus.  I don’t read for too long as I don’t have any interest in doing anything other than this, this freewrite, freetype.  Five minutes after when I should have stopped for class prep.

53 degrees outside my phone says.  Should just stay here, ditch since I’m a student again.  They’ll find me, I’m sure.  One of them.  Someone from the department or from class.  I guess I just throw self so far into this sitting and thought stream that I lose where I’m going.  But it’s free, oui?  No limitations.  Liberating.  Liberated.  With the breaths and moments, never against.



27 Dec

Could go back to sleep but why, I asked myself, then I could feel my frustrations foment, ferment, forward from my core. Busy day yesterday getting resettled in home and no writing being laid to page, its place, where it and I need be. So again, why sleep. Back at winery today, work, and I wonder how many people I’ll see. Don’t have any particular hope, for many or few. What I am hoping for is time for the day to teach me and me trap those sagacious bites.

Hating what I’m writing, but as I suggested just before the semester closed, delete nothing. Keep moving. Don’t think… my story, the writing/working/teaching/whatever-else father on the couch after little Ms. Austen evicted me from sheets. I’m seeing only pictures of the vineyard, not so much wine as I do those rows, the canes on the ground and hearing the birds singing from one area of trees across a little valley to another group. And me in the middle, just recording, agape. A writer… at a winery. But I want to be more than that, today. “What do you want to be?” Maybe the day can, or will, answer that for me. ‘Cause right now I have no response.

Stay on the page…. hear myself in the classroom, advising students in their last days of composing an essay. And those papers… when will I get to those? Tomorrow, hopefully. Need always ‘wake early like this. How many times I’ve said that… my life would be different I’m sure if I had actually risen every time I said I would. Made coffee last night. On the little docking station of the keurig. Too into what I’m writing to go get it. And I think I hear Jack waking. Please just give me ten more minutes! I type faster and about everything around me… boxes and little plastic parts that latch to air vents to direct the heart or cool one way or the other. Shouldn’t the painters have reattached them? Now I am just taking up the page– page robbery. But I’m not. The morning, this cruelly early hour tells me to always relay and reiterate my reality as this writing daddy.

No shirt, cold, even with the heat. Probably the coziest most comfortable blanket I’ve ever owned around my leg and torso, keeping me somewhat composed temperature-wise but chest and shoulders a bit shiver. Heat off, and I get more uneased. Write through it, remember? Today is more than one of those ‘trap everything’ days, and more than just writing down some silly or obscure, strangely and obscurely poetic babble about wines I taste. I will capture my Now. In all its specificity, boring or intriguing, entertaining or educational. Right now, up as early as I am, there’s too much opportunity to get ahead of the day, time itself. I’m ahead of it. Now. Battle the clock by refusing to stop. Learning from this, yes, I guess, but more so enlivened, uniquely. So quiet in this house I think I can hear the cars driving up and down San Miguel, blocks away. This house, now, my studio, my creative box where I think galaxies outside any “box”. I’m educated by this sound void, the no-light sight of it principally, the cold slithering over my upper immediacy.

I’m learning that waking early not only solves and propels a day, notably for a writer hoping to be more disciplined and sell his work, but for Personhood, general enrichment and spiritual assembly. I nearly never use that word, or any form of it, denotatively or connotatively. That’s my realization, though.  And it is ‘spiritual’. There is a specific recomposition of my character’s composition in this sitting, in me forcing myself to wake, stay awake, sent my functioning what it wants. I’m forwarding. New discipline. The morning taught me, then I instructed myself.

Someone’s awake upstairs, and this collection could cut, interrupted at any minute. Keep going. No stopping. No pausing. Nothing that blocks or pauses me, and certainly not stops. So many hours left in my chapter– this day, this installation. I will write in the vineyard, no matter how cold… blow apart the regularity and pattern of just going to the office as I always do. Going over in my head things I have to do after that but why… see yourself where you want to see yourself then take yourself there. You deserve what you want, as that’s a need. Need to be there and take yourself to that There, without excess meditation, deliberation.

Someone’s up… think Jack. Or wife. Someone. But you can’t stop, don’t listen, just write. Finish that book, finish that other book (shorter one), and SELL. You don’t have to wait… What would you be waiting for, anyway? No answer ’cause there isn’t one. Typing on my phone like some high school or JC student but for different sakes. Sales. More than that but that is part of the aim… managing myself as were somewhat managed at the winery, me “training” to be a manager, learning as I progress to manage my paginated acts here, or try. The morning gives me a break in the lesson, meditative collection, but I don’t want one.

Heater about to come on again, I look at the time… 06:12. Whoa, I think. Time’s fighting back. Adorable. Well…. time to intensify my assault. Hit the day from more than just multiple approaches, or angles. Multiply my manuscripts… creative efforts. Delete nothing. NOTHING. Be as one manager said the other day, “bold and unapologetic”. Yes… you know, hearing those words from him, I knew he was speaking to me on more than one note, for more than one purpose, in a way he didn’t even fractionally intend. I’m intrepid this morning. We all are, if we just make ourselves GET UP. You have much later in life to rest, to have real reasoning behind NOT getting out of bed. Why am I just now seeing this, 2 days and 5 months before turning 39. Makes me sick, makes me motivated, a bit angry– hungrier. I will be There, soon. We all will. We have to show everyone around us how horribly we want it and that no one deserves it more than we do.