Space

Sitting in the space where nothing needs to happen.

As I sit in the residue of a transcendental meditation, I wonder.

There is no goal to this wondering.

I’m just following it.

I wonder why I chose to write.
What wants to be said.

Interestingly, nothing much comes up.
I’m still swimming inside an emptiness.

I don’t feel compelled.
And that’s quietly refreshing.

But I’m here, nonetheless.
Always here. Doing. Not doing.
It makes no difference.

Not really.
I used to think it mattered.
Got caught up in the busyness of it all.

Now, I feel my body.
Note how relaxed it is.

There is room to allow whatever wants to surface.
Space becomes the air that I breathe.

Doing nothing no longer feels wrong.

Lazy.
That word doesn’t land the same anymore.

Without anything much to say, I write.

And now I don’t.

Photo by Laura Cleffmann on Unsplash