Earlier, I felt inspired to write about a few experiences I’ve had while meditating lately...⠀
But after some time passed—singular moments seemingly strung together in a cohesive, linear line—I realized I didn’t want to. It felt too personal. Too intimate. Not revealing, but...something I wanted to keep for myself. Something I wanted to be all mine.⠀
I drafted it. It would’ve been good. Even beautiful. Poignant and poetic. But I didn’t want to share it. I don’t and I won’t. I realized I wanted these moments to be only my own.⠀
For someone who considered myself a writer for almost my entire life, I have a tendency to want to put words to everything—to attempt to explain, describe, and define—even that which I intuitively understand to be fundamentally, beyond description; intrinsically undefinable. ⠀
Sometimes words can’t describe what we sense or we feel. And, even if they can, maybe they don’t have to; and, even if we know how to do it, maybe we don’t have to try. ⠀
Maybe, we can just leave it alone.⠀
Maybe, sometimes, some moments, are meant to be solely our own.