The Meditative Space

Nothing but your own warm flesh

Blanketed by misfiring

The meditative space

Stretching and stilling

Allowing the ticks of muscle

Beat of heart and ease of breath

To pass and cycle

And then watch thoughts fly

Which can surprise

Order, alarm, please

Drift you off to sleep

To heal, to alter state

All in the shell

The gestalt form

And its energies

Processing, refining

Burning and spawning

With the thoughts roiling

Conscious and unconscious

The inhuman sensations

Of a human being left alone

And their sense of everything

With one’s own form.

By J.W.H. Hobbs.