The Lazy Yogi

A young buddhist sat in the shade of a tree on a summer afternoon. It was a park and the buddhist wasn’t alone. Children raced around with frisbees and dogs, the elderly sat observantly on benches, and parents doled out cash to ice cream venders. 

The young buddhist noticed the endless joy that children found in things like rocks and bugs. To them, everything was an opportunity to enjoy one’s self. The buddhist perceived the continuous worry and concern of the parents. It wasn’t their emotions but their minds that were in turmoil, caught in endless projections of future plans and dwelling on those previous. And finally, he discerned the detachment of the elder onlookers. They who were close to death and largely ignored by the glaring eyes of pop culture. 

Here the buddhist sat, aside, looking on as well. Not thinking, not dwelling, but feeling.

With a deep breath in, the young student’s eyes closed. No conclusions were drawn. No judgements made. Simple openness and acceptance. That breath exhaled and those eyes opened. 

Nothing had changed. The student beamed.