Belinda Dale
Meditation in Ten Movements
 
I
The forest breeds
out of control,
vine-choked.
No light reaches
the interior
only ants, ants
and spiders
wriggling through
the rotting
undergrowth.
 
II
Indecision bars the way.
On either side
a door,
in each door
a key.
Choose a door,
turn the key,
go
where it leads.
 
III
Listen to the water
running
over pebbles,
over weeds,
over fishes,
into the seas.
 
IV
Ache,
ache and
emptiness inside.
A grumbling stomach
disturbs the peace,
the body
clamours for
attention.
 
V
In the vacuum
of space
we exist
only
in our own
space.
 
VI
Behind the wall
a secret.
 
VII
The oneness of being
is breath
and breathlessness,
sense
and absence,
awareness
in the vacancy of
thought.
 
VIII
A veiled moment slips
into dusk.
There are no stars
where you are.
 
IX
The sun splits
land from sky,
rising
with violence.
A wound is opened.
The bird’s cry at the pain
of existence, 
at this light
and its rending.
 
X
This is the way of things.
The way it is,
the way it has been,
and the way
it always
will be.