Skipping meditation

When I first held her, I fumbled. She didn't come to me for I was not deft. I looked around to see if anyone was laughing. Assured, I returned to my endeavor.

I find myself nearly voodooed by her. My days are spent yearning for the evenings. All day, I long to get a grip of the witch. She sings to me, waves to me and smiles to me every time she passes my eye. It's as if she tempts me, and teases by disappearing for a split second. I crave not to let her off my sight, so I roll my eyes with her. But once she's behind my back, I'm restless. So I turn my wrists with fiercer animation and my legs have to oblige. I hop, I land, I hop, I land. My legs like it when they can feel the ground. But I can see her only when I'm off it. My heart is anxious. I don't want to lose sight of her and this fuels me to go faster. The firmness in her voice grows as she begins to whiz past me. The music now flows. If I close my eyes and listen to it, it's as if I'm being served lashes. But the pain is sweet.

And once the sweat begins to trickle down my forehead and wets my eyelashes, she grows resplendent. The feeble light of a setting sun, filtered by the sweat pearl impregnates the space between her and my eyes with colors as brilliant as a rainbow's. And the tale of striving turns into a saga of gratification. Now I can't feel the pain in my legs. I can't see the faces or hear the voices around me. My world has spiraled inwards. She emerges in her glory and I smile and lick bliss off my lips. She has kissed me. I have touched the zenith and I'm quenched. I halt. I'm panting. I lay her on the ground and sit by her side. Her passive self is serene and I touch her gently. Then drawing a deep breath in, I twitch my brow and rise up.

When I joined the neighborhood gym last month, for the nth time in last 5 years, once again with a 'firm' resolve to round my shoulders and flatten my lower abdomen, the trainer handed me a skipping rope. "3 sets of 100 and then come to me". I fumbled withe the first few. I looked around to see if anyone was laughing. Assured, I returned to my endeavor.

In three weeks' time, I have grown so fond of the rope and enchanted by what she does to me that I long to hit the gym like never before. The few minutes of insane skipping prepares not only my muscles but my mind to hit the machines. The routine is tiring and energizing at the same time. In my earlier attempts to learn meditation, I had come to associate stillness with the art. But this recent experience with the rope has taught me what I now call 'skipping meditation'.