The Window Washer

He comes from Peru,
and reminds me of the Incas
with his short compact body, round face,
brown skin, dark eyes and straight jet black hair.
People connected to the earth, to rituals.
Images of the Andes and Machu Picchu drift by.
This is the second time he washes these windows
that expand space into redwoods and sky
transforming this flat into a tree house.

I sit at my computer while he works.
He comes out of the back room
Usted medita? Do you meditate? He asks in Spanish.
I pause, surprised, wondering what brings up this question.
Oh, I think quickly he saw my altar, the images of Amma and the Buddha.
Yes I do, I reply.

I love to meditate, he says.
It feels so big
like opening my mind to a wide space
so quiet and calm.

I hardly meditate anymore though.
I got married, my wife is Christian.
Christians don’t meditate, he adds.

I feel dumbfounded, at a loss for words,
confused, wondering who these Christians are.
I think of meditators
who have found solace in Christ for centuries.

Christians don’t meditate?
I ask
No, he responds
She says meditation is brujeria – witchcraft.
I miss it, he says
heading towards the kitchen window.
Pero que se le va a hacer?
But what to do?
We argue about this a lot
and I don’t meditate anymore.

My heart aches as I hear his words,
and witness him give up a precious part of himself
in an attempt to create peace with another being.
The cost seems so unbearably high,
one that is paid
by many of us
time and time again.

 

Coming to

Autumn afternoon

Soft light touching branches and leaves

Sitting in Starbucks

A star with antlers

Star, like a wild horse, bucking across the universe

Cacophony of noise

Chairs being dragged

Voices in a myriad of languages

Competing with music for space

A blur of sounds

Orders called out

Mysterious, unknown

I am consistent with a green tea almond latte

Extra large, extra scoop

Afternoon treat

Coming alive

Chocolate chip cookie melts in my mouth

Senses awaken

Closed eyes everything is distinct and blurred

I write for the first time since …. when?

Who will read, who cares?

Just do it

For life

The light is bright

The pain is absent

I breathe as if coming up from the depths of a dark lake

~

Letting this go

No edits

Raw, alive,

Starbucks