By Camille Goodison 

This piece is partly a response to practicing in the midst of constant sirens on the twenty-first day of the quarantine as I live next to a COVID-19 hotspot in a New York City neighborhood, where hundreds have died and thousands have been hospitalized. It’s also inspired by my reading of Eihei Dogen’s “Fukanzazengi.” 

I part the curtains for my room to flood with sunlight. For sitting meditation, I prefer a room warmed by the sun or moon. I open a window so fresh air enters; it refreshes the senses and allows the world in. I attend to my altar by lighting a candle, followed by incense. I bow to my altar, prepare my seat, and lay out a thick mat. I make sure it’s free of dusty footprints and lint. I fluff my cushion, then place it in the middle of my mat. I bow gently to my seat. I turn. I bow away from my seat and to all the world sitting with me. When I bow, I go slow. I’m patient.

I heed tendencies toward ungentleness. I place my buttocks on the front edge of my cushion so both knees touch the mat. I form a triangle, where my knees are the base and my head is the apex. I cross my legs so they lie on the mat in a relaxed position. I place my hands on my knees for solidity and ease. I move noiselessly as I center myself on my mat. I rock to the left and to the right, to the front and the back. I rock gently into place.

Now I rest my hands by my navel, right palm over left palm. Palms facing upwards, thumb tips touching. I relax my shoulders. I keep my ears in line with my shoulders, my shoulders in line with my hips. I feel my center of gravity and imagine a string attached to the top of my head pulling me towards the sky. My hips weigh on the cushion, sinking into the earth. I lower my gaze to the floor, a few inches in front of me. I keep my head upright and my eyes a quarter open. 

I’m present for the world coming through my window. I allow space. I’m open for all questions. I expect nothing in return. 

It’s been three weeks in quarantine, and the unending stream of sirens hasn’t let up. In fact, the sirens have grown in frequency. Now I hear two, three, and sometimes four ambulances all at once. I feel like doing something, so the wailing reminds me of my mother’s restlessness, her inability to be still. Once I said to my dad, “I inherited Mom’s restiveness. What do I do with that?” He said, “Use it.” 

I remember complaining to a Sangha friend about this habit energy. He lets me finish before saying, “I wish I were you.” 

Is this why I don’t sleep much? I want to get up and do something. And my relationship with food. Is it to mollify? Damp down the excess energy? 

My body tenses. My jaws tighten. I hear planes overhead. My teeth are clenched. I hear the delivery trucks. My body tightens. More sirens. My breath becomes short. My hips and legs clench. Sirens sound like a person howling in distress. Someone told me that what I am hearing is the sound of people rushing to help other people. Right now, all kinds of people perform great acts of mercy and compassion. I hear the birds. They’re closer, and they want to be heard. 

The birds’ trills match the sirens’ staccato alarms. My body receives the birds easily and joyfully. Can I welcome the sirens? I welcome them. Welcome. Welcome. They are welcomed. Welcoming the sirens, unlike the birds, takes effort. I smile at the one who makes the effort. Welcome. After an hour, I am welcoming the birds and the sirens equally. Easily. Welcome. 

Another delivery truck goes by. Welcome. Another plane flies overhead. Welcome. My breath goes long and deep. Come. I feel my feet on the mat and my butt on the cushion, the cushion on my butt. I smile to the sensation of the breeze kissing my face. I feel myself sinking into the earth as the earth sinks into me. 

I am here for the birds. I am here for the sirens. Again, I notice both sound the same. The same trilling chirps. The same rapid trills. I feel my limbs go heavy, sinking to the floor. 

There’s the bell. 

I chant for a while. I practice touching the Earth. I walk to the altar and put out the candle. I feel like for a short walk today. Am I escaping to a cooler zone? One with no constant sirens? Then I realize I need not answer that question now.

Camille Goodison, Deep Awareness of the Heart, practices with the St. Marks Mindfulness and Love Circle Sanghas in New York City, New York, US. She teaches at the City University of New York.