The Buddhist Temple is just about a mile down the road from my house. About a year ago, I was tickled to be invited to join a Saturday morning meditation group. I was nervous at first that I’d do it wrong, somehow and find myself voted out of the Temple. But, apart from the aches of sitting cross-legged on my aging body, I quite enjoy the peace, appreciate the hour or so, unplugged and unavailable. I’ve been an on and off regular, ever since my first foray into Buddhism–sometimes, life and outside obligations interfere with inner peace.
The Temple is so close to my back door, I usually ride my bike; it seems a waste to drive the ridiculously short distance. However, this morning was so fresh, and I had some extra time; I decided to walk to the meditation center instead of biking. The warm breeze and silence filled me on my way down the road. My breath and stride matched rhythm and I fell into a peaceful place.
The buzz of insects, a rustle in the long grass on the right, and occasional cars passing became part of the percussion of my travel. Early morning clouds opened and sunshine broke through. My breath caught in sudden tears as the beauty of the moment filled my heart.
What else do I miss by hurrying by, I wonder.