a free for all

A free for all

There was a performance artist, Bill Harding,

Who used to carry about a briefcase filled with sod.

He'd surprise everyone by opening it,

Setting it down, removing his shoes, and stepping into his

Own private park.

Meditation's like that.

My parents used to fly private airplanes.

It always amazed me that down here it could be

Grey and miserable and full of car horns and traffic lights

And up there, up past the clouds,

Petty problems disappeared and everything was always peaceful.

Meditation's like that.

You've maybe heard about creating a special place

To hold in your mind, at the dentist's, in traffic, under stress.

I used to always use the linens department at Sears or Penney's.

Among soft folded towels in coral and turquoise,

among display beds piled high with throw pillows and matching comforters,

Who could be worried?

Meditation's like that.

Your own private park you can slip off to whenever you need

A quiet moment to reconnect to the Earth and all that turns with it

and all it turns in.

Your own blue sky above the rain clouds you can fly off to whenever you need

To rise above the trivial rain showers of the day to day,

to become the sky itself.

Your own perfect image of calm and order,

not necessitating terrycloth or combed cotton or 100% down

a realization that everything is in its perfect place and time,

including you.

It's all yours. It's all mine.

Any time.

Meditation's like that.

by Wendy Winn

Second-place winner

Spirit First Poetry Contest 2010