Thank You Meditation

      The Thank-You Meditation 

Thank You, Universe, For My Years in Retrograde [and Fast-Forward] 

 To make life zen is to make life not zen. 

 This is a thank-you note. This is a green letter. This is a blue one. 

How am I supposed to assign color to rain drops? Thank you, America. Thank you, elementary. Thank you, college. Thank you, raindrop. Thank you, raindrop(s). Thank you, love. Thank you, big dream. Thank you, small chair. Thank you, student. Thank you, teacher. Thank you, music of bugs and leaves. Thank you, music of metal and string. Thank you, mother and father people. Thank you, angry ones. Thank you, sad ones. Thank you, laughing ones. Thank you, ones that say what I want to say. Thank you, ones that say nothing.

Thank you, hand prints in the dirt. Thank you, dirt in my shoes! Thank you, particles. Thank you, pollution. Thank you, shovel. Thank you, axe. Thank you, coffee bean. Thank you, mountain next to the sea. Thank you, sea next to the mountain. Thank you, tiredness. Thank you, alertness. Thank you, senses. Thank you, the unseen.

I saw the tree and I cried. Saw the bird in it and laughed. A lung is a bird like that. I did it the old fashioned way. Did not pray for results. There were some, they told me. Their faces went clear in the evening light. I believed I saw the inside of their head. It was nothing. It was like Noah's Arc. It was like static electricity. It was like TV and hollandaise. It was like a vacation. The picture frames are elsewhere. Take down your poor rafter, your poor rafter holds up. Let's go.