This is Meditation: This is Not Meditation

(McCormick sits alone on his living-room rug, trying to recapture the peaceful feeling of the Ashram days…)

His crown chakra—the Lotus Throne—spreads open. Surge of bliss: breath rising, belly lifting, ribcage spreading. He looks for the Blue Pearl. Then stops looking, so it will come. He remembers not signing the permission slip. Damn. June was so ready for zip line. His eyes pop open, admitting the cluttery pile of papers from the last article. And Julie’s diamond teardrop, under the couch. He burrows back into the stillness, chin lifted to heaven. He sneaks a peek at the spot on the ceiling where paint always cracks. Then he gets up and calls the ceiling guy.





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