This week I returned from 30 days of volunteering at a meditation retreat in the Rockies.
At times it felt that my heart was replaced by an insatiable hole.
I imagined packing my bags and leaving not long after I arrived.
This was not the blissful, om shanti, cucumber water, chenille-robe getaway that people seem to imagine with the words, “meditation retreat.” It was a kick-your-ass, look-at-your-shit, wanna-be-anywhere-else marathon.
What my heart holds I dare not reveal for fear it will float away. It is, you see, a tender dandelion puff.
Somehow, this small, delicate thing has dipped my world in honey—everything viscous, sweet and a little shiny. I have no interest in attending to the commitments of my days as I want nothing to do with actual doing and instead to lie naked wrapped in blankets reveling in this glow happening inside and all around.
What this puff contains I will not convey, but I can’t help but feel.