Open Arms

I’ve been a total slacker about meditation lately. My daily practice turned into an every-other-day practice, then weekly, then every now & then. The semester got the better of me (literally), as I scrambled to teach three literature and composition classes, work on a couple of new poems, grade sky-high piles of essays, run off to conferences or poetry readings, and fall exhausted into a chair every evening. But I’ve had a brief, glorious breather the past few days, and this morning, I went to the cushion, lighthearted and grateful, after a long absence.

I won’t tell you how hard it was to rein in my toddler mind, or how twitchy my muscles were, or how distracted I was by the combines harvesting corn across the road, or how much it all felt like starting over. I WILL tell you that toward the end of the 20 minutes, for one fleeting moment, I had the impression (vision? imagination? memory? I dunno…) of open, outstretched arms. I FELT the arms—their warmth, their enfolding welcome, their unconditional love.

I accept the impression as a gift. From this split-second sensation, I know without doubt that it is perfectly fine to return to my daily practice and to completely let go of my recent non-practice—no guilt, no regret, no despair over losing ground. Just this:

Here I am.

Thank me/you.