Mosaic Meditation

Meditation is a mocked sport

Staring at a wall, ridiculed

Chastised as wasted time

Until

It becomes art

Kissed with color

Or stripes

Or shiny things

And spectators stop

Hold their breath

Let it out

The wall silences them

And they enter their own body, as if arriving home

At once aware of their lungs and heartbeat and fingertips and the soles of their feet

Suddenly sensitive to what it stirs inside of them

Unified in submission to the color, stripes, or shine

Spectators become one

In a presence that ripples outward from the piece

Exposing, if just momentarily, our harmony

Each a tainted tile in a vast mural

His magnum opus

Tangible to us only

When gazing upon the wall