Daily Meditation

I stand in.

Which is to say, I scuff and kick in the box. First, my back foot. Pushing it out pointedly erasing a little more chalk. Heel first. Next, I curl my toes hard under as if they were an additional set of cleats to grab the dirt. Then the left foot sets. A shoulder apart and flared out toward the gap in right. Curl the toes again. Tighter. I rock my hips a couple or three times – I try not to count – just feel the right number, then come to rest – knees slightly bent. Butt half back like on a high stool. My hands close one above the other in tender grips. My head is perfectly still and my chin scratches against the material that bunches at my shoulder. I believe that I can see the whole yard from where I stand here at the center of the universe.

 

 

I close my eyes on a slow long inhale.

And open them again with a pronounced puff of air from lips pursed into a ball. I stare down the green-black tunnel locking in on the red stitches rushing at me. My hands are tucked back as the bat head sweeps ahead first. It is such an easy swing. I stand and watch the ball sail away. I do this every morning.

 

 

Always my very first conscious thought.

I don’t get out of bed until I have driven the ball – far and hard. Sometimes to center. Or left. Even right. Never a dribbler back to the mound. Sometimes a monstrous fly I lose in the sky. Mostly a screaming line drive gone almost before I even hit it. I do this again – and again – during the day. As many times as it takes.