I light some incense. Blue Rose. The smoke begins to rise from the small cone as I set it into my Aladdin's lamp of an incense holder. I sit down on my ground, legs in the traditional pose. I put my wrists on my knees, close my eyes, and meditate.
They say that when you first start meditating, to get into the proper "level" you should concentrate on a word and synchronize your breathing with it. Like Re - breathe in - lax - breathe out. Over and over again, for five - ten - fifteen minutes. Breathe the impurities out of your system, and draw the good inside.
I tried to do that, but it seemed too mechanical. I'm a visualizer, myself.
I concentrate on an image, until it hovers before my eyes. Usually, I concentrate on a cross, a crucifix of blue smoke. With my third eye, I see the smoke of the incense I lit rising and twisting into the air, like white clouds or watery steam. Together it twists around like so many snakes and forms the cross I've concentrated on. Sometimes Jesus hangs from it - other times the cross is empty - sometimes a word or verse is inscribed on it. Whatever my subconscious feels like bringing up.
When the cross has been formed, and is solid, I reach out and hold it. The smoke reaches out and surrounds me as I become one with it. Silver, light as air, child of the sky. I'm a Gemini, an air elemental. I am carried away, into the sky and into the clouds, into a land of crystals and magic and rainbows. Always clinging to my cross, which is now a shining gold that radiates more light and love than the sun herself.
But always, eventually, my grip weakens. Foolishly, I let go. Down through the clouds, away from the stars and the light, I fall. Back to my body, back to my room. Back to the Earth.
I open my eyes. My incense has burnt itself out. Half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes have passed.
And I am both inspired and at peace with myself.