And Sometimes It’s Like This
Last week I posted a poem by Jane Hirshfield that seemed to express something of what it it’s like — sometimes — when I meditate. For today, I’m posting another poem, this one by Czeslaw Milosz, which seems to capture another feeling I sometimes get when I meditate (but only sometimes).
Gift
by Czeslaw Milosz
A day so happy.
Fog lifted early. I worked in the garden.
Hummingbirds were stopping over honeysuckle flowers.
There was no thing on earth I wanted to possess.
I knew no one worth my envying him.
Whatever evil I had suffered, I forgot.
To think that once I was the same man did not embarrass me.
In my body I felt no pain.
When straightening up, I saw the blue sea and sails.