I sit in Vajrasana, my knees kiss the earth, my eyes not seeing but spectral of lights, bringing in the Silence. There are birds singing on top of my head, daring not to peck on the crown. A helicopter approaches the roof. Seriously? At six am in this metro? I return to Silence. She presents you with: a rooster crowing from a distance, a motor bike whisking by, crickets’ leftover songs hours after sunrise. Some cannot just get enough of the night’s glories. How a neighbor can’s whistling kettle sound so loud? Mine’s done at dawn, for tea. My breath whistles, too. Should it not be like the wave?

 

Inhale: more nameless birds tweet and chirp.

Exhale: a dog barks from another block.

Silence rushes inside me like warm rain.

No static, only soothing disturbance.

 

Inhale: the crisp air, the coffee, the leaves, the dew.

The lights just keep marbling.

Some tingling, like trickles of water, from my temples down to my ears, down to my nape, down

to my shoulders.

Exhale: grateful for this casing of a body.

This is to be alive, to smell, feel, hear, taste, see everything all at once yet one, by, one.

 

I sit in Sukhasana, at ease with the absence of movement, only breathing. I bring in knowing: here and now is what matters, here and now, I breathe in weaponry and royal cape, a crown of light on my head, its roots stretched, attached to my heart. I breathe in stillness and surrender for the there and then.

 

I breathe in allowing children screams,

dirty dishes, stained floors, and blank pages.

I breathe in flow, like eventual fading of crickets songs,

The passing of the helicopter, the neighbor now sipping her hot drink,

the kettle cools down. The roosters and dogs slowly take their turn to listen and watch as motor bike sounds build up their way into the day:

a gate squeaks to open for a car going out of the garage,

Another motor bike passes by.

 

The morning chorus stops

paving way for the city noise.

I breathe in adversities: the packing

and unpacking of baggage, the selection

of what to bring

and what to leave behind.

Have I forgotten?

 

I sit in Sukhasana,

at ease with leaving.