Last night I caved in and ordered a meditation cushion. It’s winter here in Australia and I meditate in the cold, dark garage downstairs from our apartment. And I love it.
As I mentioned in my previous post, I sit on a concrete floor and face a brick wall. It’s quite uncomfortable but as I’ve been meditating daily for a few months I reasoned that the cushion was not an extravagant purchase.
Because right now, meditation is probably the only thing tethering me to the ability to work for an abusive, narcissistic ogre and not let the illusion of self, permanence or ego interfere with making a living.