A Visit of Meditation

Welcome, my friend; I have been expecting your arrival. Yet one does not visit without a reason; must there be matters that accompany you around. Indeed, unease I have sensed within you, much anxiety. The eye of the storm has well taught you a lesson, in which you have learnt that the great aspiration lies beyond the magnificent ones. And we have seen so much; and we have visioned afar. With the many journeys undertaken, I shall believe an enhancement over you.

Much as you stated, I have recovered from wounds and scar, those left by the deep sorrow of mind. Indeed were they once overwhelming, mountains inside my dreams. Smog of hatred blinded my vision, so that I lost my way and my sanity, as if an earthquake took its place upon. Alas! I woke up in ruins, disappointed. Fallen columns cracked apart, fountains shattered, lone man wandering. I observed as much, yet the perception told no more than pieces of skies with clouds hanging, expansive fields, humid air. Skies were the answers — they form shapes and patterns; they create vibrancy and diversity, those longed by the thirsted souls. My friend, I woke up in ruins. Memories torn asunder, all but I walked. Yet the atmosphere never fell that quiet, a thousand opportunities lay ahead. Well have you mentioned the reasons for my visit. Indeed, with a cause comes a man, with the man comes his thoughts. Anxiety was but a falsehood of my mood, for that the ruins have depicted their outline, yet the true sense lies within.

So have I come for meditation. Experiences of journeys have we had enough, sights visioned. The raw scenes, however, are yet to be purified, for that they yet lacked the enjoyment of mind and the tranquility for which we pursue. One does not reach an understanding under the sceneries; his mind does. From whence his mind draws upon the art of thoughts? Meditation is the answer. Truly has meditation been the answer of all: for the spectacles seen, let them be enlightened. My friend, much have we seen. It becomes the time for us to stand still and think.

Educational, your word is. For many years have we been observing the greats, astounded by their vast. And for each summer we quietly rest, meditating. Fields are its place — back in three years before when the light shines still, we stood upon the grass field, chanting. Perhaps when the wind blew across our soul, we ascended. Alas, how I have wished for such feeling for once more! Time has flown, so have we. Then, my friend, please focus and fulfill our aspirations.

Skies and clouds are to be observed. Well have they appeared many times in my vision, yet each time they become the unique inspiration of mine. Should I say skies are the blossoms of summer, whose fragrance descends from the celestial realm; then clouds are clutters of speckles that decorate a blended brush on its smoothness. Or will I refer to it as an elegant piece of music work, so that the firmament is a long stretch of melodies, and clouds, its chords of harmony. A friend of mine, indeed, who waves her arm and invites me to her magnificent artwork. For more than once was I imagining the city above clouds, as if one becomes immersed into a state of mere happiness and rejoice. Ah, the sky reaches no limits; none becomes impossible there. So have we visioned across the firmament during the storm. Something we once failed to understand: the storm astounded you and me with its great expansion. When the sense of sacredness and reverence became evoked in my mind, I could be no more thrilled or startled by the mere appearance of the storm. So was I imagining the castle above the skies, above the storms — a comparison never known until now. My friend, memories have worked well, and with those thoughts collected, we shall understand.

But the meditation reaches far more than the storm. With the sky cleared, clouds shown, beauty has only begun to reveal itself. Things have not shown clear until the advent of summer, whose mere heatwave rouses a nostalgic yet recurring feelings toward the past. Echoes of mere heat resonate with one’s soul, a troubling voice, yet a burst of blossom embracing the loner. And when the wanderer attempted to hear any sounds, he failed: summer is as silent as a whisper of breeze; none is heard but the birds occasionally singing. At the suburb devoid of city noise, tranquility forms within. Those before the storm, those after; those heard, those seen. My friend, meditation lies within, for that nowhere can it be found on purpose. Only upon the inadvertent encounter, should its essence be discovered.

Months ago I read a book of library. The mere description of its atmosphere yer became more than authentic and attractive. Only when summertime arrives shall I experience that particular feeling on my own — ubiquitous heat, omnipresent atmosphere. Sunlight shines upon; sunlight shines within. Only by the magnificent skies painted with white clouds, the heat that belongs to summer, the sense of library becomes visible.

Shall we touch it, then. For many times have I imagined of immersing in shelves of books, sense of summer. With our meditation attained, so let it be achieved. Walk through the shelves, randomly pick a book, and start reading; so emerges the essence of library — in silence.

My friend, you have found the residence of your consciousness, where you lay down and rest within. So has it been the meaning of meditation: all but to find the tranquil state of mind. A visit of meditation, indeed, it is. Bless you, me, and the many sights we have seen.

A welcomed visit, only with a cause:
Fear, unease, anxiety, it remains.
In the state of searching, much as I was,
The vision of skies, clouds, and winded plains.
But the sights are yet to be purified —
Meditation shall reveal its essence.
So let the firmament act as my guide:
Skies of flowers, canvas, caught by my sense.
Alas, silent summer, noiseless place!
Yet is inspiring, hidden ones revealed.
Scenes of library, of books, and of grace;
Upon the meditation, my minds healed.
At last, I found the residence of mind:
Tranquility; so let it be refined.