On the day after I arrived in Corsica, I had my best meditation yet.
     Iīd finished a writing task, and so my mind was unencumbered. The air was dark and silent, and I sat on a wild, grassy lawn facing St. Florentīs bay. I slowly ceased thinking.
     Lights from St. Florentīs village, far across the bay, cast a mystical illumination on the trunks of slender trees near me. For thirty minutes, the cool bay air floated around.
     The bare, white, fork-shaped tree to the right lulled me will-lessly to standing position. The treeīs base was a hardy, glowing cylinder; its middle contrasted against the dark plants behind; its two forking fingers pointed sharply upward, twelve feet from the ground. Its middle glowed. Its bottom bulged up through the dark-green ground. The middle was sturdy, strong. The topīs glowing points dazzled in the air.
     And then, Justin was gone. The treeīs form was felt. And its form, in many ways, was defined by the form of the air and plants around it. The air and plants around it were me. I stepped around the grassy lawn, feeling the forms of lit-up plants and glowing trees. It was like being in a museum: observe but donīt interact. If one wouldīve painted a picture of the scene from afar, I wouldnīt have been in it.
     I got too excited by this successful meditation, and so my mind returned me to my ego. Peaceably, I slept in my tent.

- Modern Oddyseus

"Perfect Ecstasy is possible at any time, for any length of time." - Kerouac