Tonight, after I dozed off reading on the sofa, I woke with the realization that I hadn’t done my daily 30 minutes on the zafu yet. This has occurred several times in the past couple of weeks, which have been full of change and wonder.

My late evening sittings have brought more familiarity with the state of fatigue.

I sit late, aware from the start that my brain is slowing down at the end of a day, accepting that.

If I’d been lying down, I would have fallen asleep in no time at all. Sitting cross-legged with no back support does tend to keep one awake!

I tune into what fatigue feels like.

Fatigue feels sweet when you just sit with it, because of the stillness and silence. Fatigue can rest in that. Fatigue can settle into that very well.

Fatigue feels slow. Slow like your slow Uncle Joey. I am not at my best in terms of mental alertness. I sense a vulnerability in fatigue, an inability to strategize, to plan, to make wise decisions. Not exactly torpor, though, because there is this curiosity about fatigue.

Fatigue is body centered and feels sluggish. Fatigue can fill my whole body with gratitude for inertia as my mind slowly checks out my whole body awareness, which is duh, a no-brainer when fatigued!

I feel tender toward my fatigued self.

And then, the bell rings, and I get up, and somehow, I’m refreshed, have gotten a bit of a second wind.

Squeezed in a sitting between work and a meetup tonight. I had had a difficult interaction with a colleague earlier and was in a perturbed state.

I don’t think I ever completed my body scan. My thoughts and feelings were very attracted to this incident and what it means.

Yet I could just notice that I was unusually distracted, with a lot of emotion centering around this incident, and be with those thoughts of being misunderstood, being wronged, and imaginging having a confrontation about it or just leaving my job. Noticing how much my ego wants to be on top and have everything my/its way.

Feeling compassion for my small self.

There were a few moments of being able to clear these thoughts and feelings and just be. In contrast to the agitation, those moments were precious.

I enjoyed later hearing from a friend who told me she really enjoys reading my blog because it’s been instructive for when/if she ever decides to start a daily practice. Thank you, Victoria!

Now, many hours later, I feel better, more capable of dealing with it well, of finding a positive solution, of asking the right questions.

I’ve noticed for a couple of weeks intermittent new and pleasurable sensations running from my sacrum down the outside of my left leg. Then I felt them on my right leg.

Thoughts: Hallelujah! The chiropractic work is really working. The S2 nerve is coming back, and my GB meridian is finally opening up. Patrice will be so happy!

Generally what I’ve been noticing is feeling more sensations on the left side of my body. I feel more tingly and alive.

I also realized recently that I’ve been habitually walking with my torso slightly bent forward from the hips. That’s to avoid pain in my SI joint, which is almost gone! I’m learning to rebalance my torso on my hips.

Last night I spoke to someone who occasionally reads my blog posts on Facebook. (Hi, Dale!)  It’s gratifying to hear from readers — in person, on Facebook, on this blog. I appreciate your interest and spoken and unspoken support. I know you’re out there, those who don’t respond. That’s fine.

Sometimes this blogging is lonely. I basically am an explorer reporting back on my explorations, a journalist of sitting meditation. Although millions around the world engage in this practice, no one has been here before, because it’s my journey, my guesthouse.

I wonder if people who read this blog have been surprised by the number of issues I have with my body — with pain, recovery, frustration, ignorance, stability, confidence, and so on.

These issues for me are part and parcel of learning how to sit for 30 minutes. Sounds simple enough, huh? Yet I have been told the physical issues never go away.

So it’s about developing skill. For that, I have to pay attention. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the point.

My zazen this morning started with a body scan that progressed well with minimal wandering of attention.

Then generally a diffuse, moving attention to my whole body.

And then my attention was drawn to that sound I hear when I meditate and at other times when I focus on it. It seems to be constantly present but something that I usually filter out.

Do others hear this? Does anyone know what this is?

I noticed that it sounds like a cross between a whisper and a hum.

I noticed that it is not a single pure tone. It is a variety of tones in the way that a piece of yarn consists of a variety of fibers twisted together.

At times I noticed energetic pressure — at the entrance to my ear canals, at the point between my eyebrows, and between my brain hemispheres.

I brought it to the foreground of my attention, in essence turning up the volume.

I let the sound fill me, permeating my body, immersing myself in a bath of sound.

Toward the end of my session (not knowing how close I was to the end of the 30 minutes), I felt some pain at the back of my hips. I brought that pain to the foreground of attention, inquiring about it, being with it, finding its center, outlining the area, noticing it shifting.

That’s it for today, folks. Thank you for reading.