Vipassana

Light the tealight in the oil burner. Light the red candles in the tall silver candlesticks.
Breath in through the soles of your feet, feeling the energy rise in your legs. Reach up to the heavens and pull down the stars. Sit.

Here, white heaping of angular crystals; a king's ransom in salt, once upon a time.
Here, smooth glassiness of water in its bowl. Light is not so much scattered as captured, played with, re-broadcast.
Here, the Myrrh is heating, sending vapours of ancient rites into my nose, my hair,my eyes.
Here, the flame rises a long way above the other three elements; my Will is stronger than all.

No deities are invoked, no ancestors summoned to the circle, no spirit totems coaxed into attendance. The world exists upon closed eyelids, red and black shot through with yellow.

Carpet-padding of paws behind me - that's a distraction, let it go.
Hiss and pop as Myrrh overheats in the oil burner. Let it go.
Pentagram floats in space behind my vision. Image, let it go.
There goes a thought...that was a thought...that was...gone.

Two spheres start to move toward each other - unacknowledged, they move of their own. The Vesica Pisces opens at their intersection, and I am enveloped - not moving of myself. I am here and the portal is there, and then the entrance and I are both here.Without thoughts.

The thoughts, when they reappear, form as a cloudiness across the darkness. namaste, and rise, offer breath to flame and bow.

Pic: Vipassana, Mike Scofield