By Dave Bonta on July 3, 2024
Perhaps I have meditation all wrong, and it isn't about finding the off switch. The way
trees swaying in the wind stay so firmly seated makes me think I too need to delegate
all decision-making to mushrooms. Collecting sunlight could be my whole vocation; never mind
the masked vigilantes running riot in my imagination. Not every trip unfolds according to plan. But
I have acquired an apparatus dearer to me than any pet with which to concentrate the mind.
So sleek a device—plastic married to metal. If only I could remember how to turn it on.
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