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Poem: Meditation

It doesn’t matter if
there are no fish,
in streams or rivers
that I pass.
I often stop,
and stare awhile,
where they might lie,
behind which rock,
or run or riffle.
Sometimes I think
I almost see them,
even though
they don’t exist.

It doesn’t matter if
there’s only this
one breath breathing
in and out.
With each breath,
I often stop,
what lies ahead,
or else behind,
not fish, but fears,
quick-silver darting,
tails flashing.
Sometimes I almost
think I see them,
even though
they don’t exist.

—Sarah Rossiter

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What is Mindfulness

Thich Nhat Hanh January 15, 2020

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