Thanks, Jim. It’s going going back into the incubator for a while.

I enjoyed your revision, there's nothing much I'd change about it. IMO, the essence of the poem is a glimpse into your experience with Zen, and in that regard I think it accomplishes what it sets out to do. It could be something more, but doesn't need to be.

If there are guts to be revealed, I'd be interested in more detail on the Zen aspect. A little more clarity on and detail about your meaning. But in it's current state the level of vagueness works too, it reveals enough to be interesting, but not so much that it reaches a level of mundane explicitness.

As a side note, I'm also a Zen practitioner but interestingly enough our style of meditation seems to be counterposed. If I'm reading this poem right (correct me if I'm wrong) you're eager to write while you're meditating, the dog is eager to be a dog. You've constrained the meditation with a timer.

I've always used Zen meditation to get me out of the boring moments. Some food for thought.

Nick, some meditations are better than others. That's why they call it a practice. This is about one that I couldn't escape my head. I do use a timer and as far as I know, everyone in my sangha and the Plum Village tradition does. It's never been a constraint or an intrusion to me. It allows me to forget time, to not begin wondering if it's time to get up and do this or that.

Thanks for the comment.

John,

Though I don’t have a dog to share it with, the rest of this approximates an experience I’ve had as a late blooming meditator. I occasionally get very hot and my sinews are amplified by a case of peripheral neuropathy that from toes to head echoes a powerful electric shock—so after your “until” I add, “I'm singing the body electric” (echoing Whitman).

Cheers,