100 meditations and a troubled heart

I have been meditating for 50 days, every day twice. Be it two minutes or fifteen.

Once upon a time there was a heart that chased the sun when there was hardly any light left on the horizon. The heart lived in turmoil by a mind dressed in storm.

Every day, twice, something from the maternal Earth rooted the troubled heart. What she wanted and what she would get out of it was not a mystery, but rather something unspoken, experiential.

Each time the troubled heart acceded to the firm insinuation, it drops to the cold, hard Earth. The heart in turmoil, warmer and more sensitive, upright and relaxed, weighs and weighs. Hips, knees, hands, belly, chest, chin, forehead and crown.

Dark eyes magnified the sounds and felt dimensions spread out there, beyond. The muffled mind gave way to deep breathing up and down. A sea of two ships. Earth, sea and sky. World, body and God. A sea of three ports. If two and two are four, two and three are a thousand. Reconnecting with what is real, what is important, what makes sense: to come to terms with the small details.

Sometimes, when she smiled, the breeze would come and the heart would return the detail with messages more than words: I trust, joy, peace, health, love, openness. And at the end, he always added three prayers of thanks: one to God, one to his own heart, one to the whole world.

The return trip on a serene sea was like a sea breeze that draws salt paths in the sand.