First Night
I’m wrestling with my sleeping bag. The plastic-coated mattress amplifies my restless fit.I should have brought my pillow. My list of excuses is thick: no room in my bag; I want to rough it; I’m practicing non-attachment.
If I had my pillow I’d feel at home. Where is home? My heart beats, like a knock on the door. Oh yeah, it’s right here. All this commotion looking for comfort. So simple, come home.
I close my eyes. I toss, flip and turn. I settle into the rhythm of my active sleep. Santosha, I am content.