Sitting

I was sitting tonight
Meditating that is.

My gaze was low
My outbreath dissolving thoughts.
There was discipline and precision
And I secretly congratulated myself.

And then I placed my hand on my heart
Out of habit surely.

But with that simple gesture,
Fear, something close to panic even,
A sense of struggle, confusion,
Conflicting emotions
Washed over the innocent posturing
Of the good meditator.

I felt how fragile I was
How small and groundless
How wide and chaotic
Was the world lying under my wrinkled hand.

It felt so profoundly humane
To let it all be
And to let go of me.