Of Flutophones and Broken Records

A dog snores on the couch and, in a few hours, the off-key piercings from the neighborhood flutophone will sound from somewhere in the ‘burg and the AC will come to order but until then, here I am, typing into the ether because it’s what the discipline requires.

Another discipline: my meditation practice. Been doing it for almost 20 years, morning and evening, but found, for the first time last week, that moving to less time – from 30 minutes twice a day to 15 twice a day – was more beneficial: I feel less hurried, less harried throughout the day; I look forward to each session, something that hasn’t been the case for longer than I care to recall; and the broken records that have been thorn in the side of my brain for far too long seem to have stopped playing – though perhaps that’s a clearing of the deck for new records to sound. Maybe a flutophone cover band.

I’m not advocating that everyone should meditate less, rather that one should – must – find the optimal amount for themselves within the confines of the present; in my case, the tool of two 30 minute sessions was no longer effective – and possibly becoming detrimental, emphasis on mental – whereas 15 appears, for now, to be the right tool for the job at hand.*

*Note: as ever, subject to change.