Meditation.

Acrylics on canvas.

My mind is a mountain, covered in snow.
Sleek and white. Pristine. Silent except for the gentle, icy flakes.
A large man in orange overalls enters from stage right, a snow blower roaring.

My mind is on a screen, flickering. The soundtrack is soft.
My consciousness that's part of the great consciousness is observing, but not engaging.
An ad featuring a hot, shirtless guy drinking a can of beer breaks the scene. My mouth waters.

My mind is a tree, deeply rooted. It soaks the energy from the earth and reaches,
high and wide, into the heavens. Its branches are substantial, flexible, fresh.
I contract with a man to cut it down, and I pay him $1,500.

My mind is a river, flowing. The sound is a thunderous roar, but it's a peaceful thunder.
It cascades into a waterfall of torrential possibility. I float along, beautifully unmoored.
My children scream from the river bank. They want a snack.

My mind is a single heron, fierce and focused. Poised with perfect vision,
intent on the next right move. Wings folded with restraint, but ready to expand, glorious.
A large dog, off its leash, bounds at me, slobberingly, as its owner shouts behind it in her flip flops.

My mind is a ripe fruit. It is full of seeds, bursting with potential.
In its right time, the seeds will fall and find rich earth to help them grow.
An improbable orangoutang, escaped from a nearby zoo, eats the fruit.
The sheriff later shoots the orangoutang, and its remains are incinerated.

My mind is an aquarium. It is teeming with life. I have cared for it, added plants.
Adjusted the acidity and alkalinity. Kept it warm with a gentle light.
But then I got busy and didn't take care of it, and everything inside died except a few rogue crabs.
They leer from the murky water.

My mind is a double rainbow, reflecting itself eternally. Promising hope.
It is beautiful, clear, and infinite in its meaning.
It is an oil slick on a mud puddle. An illusion.