Archives for the month of: September, 2012

Instructions for Beach Meditation

Sit comfortably with good posture on a quiet section of the beach.

Take a few cleansing breaths and then partially close your eyes.

Notice your breathing and hear it accompany the surf

and the breeze and the smell of the sea and the soft gong of

the buoy and the touch of the sand and the warmth of the sun.

*    *    *    *

Draw breath into the center of your body, in and out,

in and out, and let the sounds and smells and sights and

feelings slowly and gently lift from your mind.

*    *    *    *

Allow your eyes to stare about six feet in front of you

and perhaps soon your vision will focus

on one bright spot; all else falling into the darkened background.

*    *    *    *

Feel the breath enter and leave in a steady rhythm.

Count them as they come and go and know

that all sound, all sight, all thought,

all feeling is fleeting

and what remains

is simply


© Marty Luster 2012


A Nice Vacation


It was really a very nice vacation;

a road trip to Lion’s Head Ontario

on Lake Huron to visit family

and explore an area I hadn’t seen before.


I crewed on a sail around the peninsula,

watched the grandkids play on the rocky shore,

saw some limestone caves and perfected the art

of entering and leaving a hammock .


But where was the Annisquam Light and Coffins

and Wingaersheek and Good Harbor and

where was the aroma of the ocean, the rhythm

of the tides and the feel of salt on the skin?


Where was Fiesta, and the Schooner Festival,

block parties at night and dory races and whale watches;

or the Dog Bar Breakwater, Bass Rocks and

the light that adds such magic to our every day?


Coming home, we spent some time in the Adirondacks,

a place where, for years, I hiked and climbed and camped.

The peace of the inland lakes, the grandeur of the High Peaks

and the majesty of its old growth forests are dear to me.


But where was Dogtown with its mythic allure

and Ravenswood, high above the harbor

and the granite walls of flooded quarries

and  the wind rustling the marsh grass in Jones Creek?


Most of the people I met along the way

were courteous and kind and friendly and helpful;

but where were the toughened fishermen, the storytellers,

artists, poets, merchants and trades-people of Gloucester?


It was a very nice vacation, full of discovery

and relaxation, but where was my home?


© Marty Luster 2012