We know the truth, not only by the reason, but also by the heart.
-- Pascal

I never called it meditation

I never called it meditation

A 2009 YouTube Reading of this piece

I never called it meditation
Though I found in it my still point
I didn't know that it was meditation
Had I known, I might have stopped it

To my 15 year-old fundamentalist Christian understanding
Meditation was taboo
They'd TOLD me
could be dangerous
to my Immortal Soul
Why, It might as well be...
That's just how taboo it was
So I never realized it was meditation
Or I would have had to stop it

I never thought of it as practice
Or I would have put it off
Practice was a word that went with boring,
With tedious and obligation
Practice included struggle, scales, foul shots
Flash cards and failure
So I never thought of it as practice
or I would have put it off

I wouldn't have thought to call it renewal
But I knew it was some kind of bliss,
Nourishment, escape and solace
A mystery selecting me.
With rhythm and a private peace
Its building of a steady hand and finger-driven fluency
In a language I would learn and never speak

And that was just enough, sometimes
To churn and then turn loose a while
my worries and wondering
about girls and school
and church and god
and friends and sex
and cars and driving
and books and music and girls...
and the constant hormonal hypnosis of my age,
for which I had no names and even less real awareness.

The balanced space invited me
As strong as breath and heart beat
to close my door and
lean into this portal of eternity
The repetition stacked itself inside me and around me
till its rise and fall and round and round
and improvised perfection lulled me fast asleep
most weeknights with the guitar laid across me

I learned that it was magic
Its Clarity and flow
Brought order to my teen-aged brain
that soothed its spiral sparking
and all the hungry barking thoughts that tried
to think themselves at once
Competing for the lead in every show.

It gave them form and syncopation
The lilt and rise and fall and flow
the dance the dip the pause and curtsy
of string and wood and fret and finger
A simple, sacred, private show

Beginning then, but never ending,
the show has set my stage for life
In the mystery I found space to be, to trust
without demanding so much certainty
Later, as first one and then another brilliant beam of life
arrived in mine and changed my name to Daddy
I knew the songs I sang for them
Theyd brought in their delivery
My gratitude and joy had waited
For the space their lives created
And expressed itself just like it had before

Still, Id never thought of it as practice
And never called it meditation
Had it began as either one
Who knows what songs would go unwritten
And how much of my life unsung.

Randy Weeks
April 2006

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(This old site has been online since 1995... I'll redo it eventually, maybe...
Meanwhile, consider it a museum piece from the early web).

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