Two Leyland cypresses have grown to bracket the window I can look out when I meditate. If I meditate. If I look.
I’m not the sort of person who can sit still and meditate in the morning. When I wake up, it’s about getting going. Having that coffee and facing the day. Facing it fully caffeinated.
I’m a night owl and I prefer anything contemplative to be at night.
Some people say to open your eyes when you meditate, some say to close them, some say to half-open them. Once I lived a spiritual life that had so many rules. And then I walked away from it all. For me, it was good to walk away.
Matters of the spirit have been a part of my life since I was born. Generation upon generation moved through my DNA whispering of spiritual things. I’ve accepted that. It’s okay, but I needed a time away.
Now, I sometimes look into the mystery again. No rules except, as they say, “don’t be an asshole.” Now I sometimes meditate. Sometimes this is good.
When I meditate, if I meditate, I can look out this particular window and see my own high desert “Starry Night.” When I realized I was having a Van Gogh experience, it energized me. Not in my morning, jump out of bed, see what’s happening kind of way. It was more of an encounter with the desert that felt like a long-time familiarity, an affection.
My nearsightedness gives the stars and planets (well, Venus mostly) a blurring swirl around and among the foliage. The Leylands are brushier than Van Gogh’s cypresses, but the visual effect at night through my window is so much the same. Some nights, the view is breathtaking. I feel as if I’m halfway to the stars.