Come to Your Senses
I woke early in our apartment hotel in Cavalaire-sur-Mer. A strange smell had followed me through my dream, and the first thing I said, still half-asleep, was: “It smells weird in here.”
I got up, pulled on some clothes, drank a glass of water, did a hundred push-ups — and then sat down to meditate.
Cross-legged on the floor, leaning lightly against the sofa. Three deep breaths, alternating nostrils.
What’s the loudest sound I can hear? The refrigerator. The quietest? A child’s voice, far away.
What do I feel? The mat beneath me. My legs folded. The fabric of my T-shirt against my skin. The soft weight of my hands resting on my knees. With every breath, my neck loosened a little more.
What do I smell? Nothing in particular — just the room. Neutral. Comforting.
What do I taste? The trace of decaf cappuccino still in my mouth — warm, smooth, familiar.
What do I see, with eyes closed? Turquoise. Deep blue. White. Black. The colors of the sea.
I opened myself to all senses at once, inhaled deeply, and thought, as always: Wow. This is what happiness feels like.
My body softened. My thoughts slowed. Only presence remained.
Then I heard a sound — our youngest had woken up. She came and sat beside me. I reached out and took her hand.
A moment without words. And in that stillness, I realized: I was happy.