Click-click, a metal zipper taps against the drier drum.
Click-click, the house birds have come back to reclaim
their timeshare above my window.
A fledgling creature clicks and mewls from the upper branches of a tree
outside my window.
A crow creaks a greasy call across the street.
The whoosh of tires on asphalt, wind parted by metal hulks.
The cool swish of air on the in-breath, the warm puff on the out-breath.
Drawing air up to clavicles, I hear the click-click
of spines expanding along my upper back.
A thin click as lips part then close.
The muffled click of a wooden bead as a mala passes through my fingers.
Many beginning meditations instruct practitioners to listen to the sounds that come and go outside the room where they are sitting. We notice the sounds rise and fall away, without labeling them or trying to find out what is making the noise.
We then focus our awareness on sounds in the room where we are sitting. The point is to notice how sounds come and go, just like feelings and thoughts come and go. In between the sounds, feelings, and thoughts, we continuously draw the mind back to the breath.
I found that today I kept labeling the sounds. I knew I was going to spend time writing after I meditated, and so my mind kept sifting through the sounds and placing words on them.
But when I think back to all these tiny moments of small noises, I remember a gentle popping, clicking, humming– these are the continuous sounds of life. They are always there, rising and falling like waves in an ocean. We swim in a broth of sound waves.