Waiting for Zen

When will it come?

To sit quite contented,

With my feet firmly on the floor.

Counting breaths,

And nothing more.

When I was a child, I wanted to be an adult, because adults could stay up late.

When I raised little ones, I looked forward to a time when I could have a few solitary moments to myself.

When I was inside, the rain running rivulets in the yard, I longed for sunny summer days.

 When it was hot and dry, the orange sky filled with smoke from wildfires; I looked forward to the cooling savior rains.

When I was besieged by the chatter of the city, I longed to camp near the spray of a gentle creek.

When we camped, I wanted to be rid of those jabbing rocks beneath me and sleep in my own comfortable bed.

When I was in the boat fishing and on the water far too long, I wanted to be on shore.

Now that I am at home and indoors, I remember longingly the many days salmon fishing on a blue-gray endless ocean.

When I was at a party, I longed to be alone; and when I was alone, I longed for people

When we were working, I looked forward to retirement.

When will it come?

To sit quite contented

With my feet firmly on the floor.

Counting breaths

And nothing more.