A Peter Pan Meditation

Damp, dark forest dust flits past your nose. An angel in green who doesn’t take you seriously.

Your muscle twitch, your stiff back, your stapler…it all falls away. Down into the darkness and you fling to the treetops. The canopy takes a deep, deep breath and tosses you sky-high, space-high, magic-high.

Space is cold and sucks at your cheeks, but you are safe on the page of a storybook. You hold on tight to the angel.

The angel gets farther and farther away from the world, a flickering leaf in the blackish-blue. You trail as a speck at their toes. You open your eyes and feel dirt and cake scrunch under your nails. The trees here are happy and old. This is a green you have never seen.

You splash and climb, forage and snooze. You are a beautiful ghost cloaked in moss, running and scraping and slicing.

And now we come back to our desks, sleek and smooth, back to the hot grill, back to the buttons. Now there’s a tattoo on your back you can’t see, deep beneath the surface.

Damp, dark forest flits past your nose.