Sitting practice    

I love train station platforms. The staccato flutter of pigeon wings, the deep churn of engines, anonymous informative voices from speaker phones, and the overheard conversations of individual realities. Life passes by; arriving, departing, waiting, moving through and on, moving through and on. The platform stays still and constant, and its bench is the most deeply grounding cushion a meditator could ask for. In truth I could satisfy my life’s longing to forever move on into the unknown adventure by simply sitting on a platform, or airport waiting lounge; there really is no need to go anywhere. The deeply treasured excitement of a 16 year old lives inside – memories of leaving alone to travel to french families, university, or around and around the world are stoked and a creative fire burns. And now age 35 this teenager gulps in wise awe that the excitement is here through the most simplest aspects of commuter life. I board the train this morning only traveling a short way home. The view from the window momentarily fools me – a ship at sea?! The driver announces that due to high tides we might experience some waves splashing through the windows! Smiles and laughter like a child who hopes we might get carried out to sea on a magical voyage.. I arrive to my home station and catch a sensed forecast of the mundane ahead. It needn’t be that way. I begin by sitting on the bench, I feel very at home here.

Landing    

The streets of London carry the scents of cigarettes and traffic dust. I stood by traffic lights in a haze of jet-lagged confusion, staring at the white walking man – now green. Oh yes, this is Britain. Once walking, I noticed I was singing, and moreso that I was dancing with each step. Life has changed. And so, on waiting for my friend, my host, to arrive home and let me in, I danced on the doorstep. The traffic warden joined briefly, then the builder. My friend’s friend arrived, he commented there was somehow more about me than 2 years ago, and I realized that this current cocktail of Leela in London is an entirely different recipe. Phew.

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