The Room

At noon I am finally ready. The first day is for practice: I lie on the mat and read, not committing myself to work, or even to thinking about work. I sense the four walls, get used to the emotional tone of the space, draw the curtain halfway across the window so the view outside is obscured. The cat cries to come in; of course—we forgot the cat, who knows full well I am here and cannot be dissuaded from crying at the closed door. So she is allowed in, and lies with me on the mat. She sleeps; I read. It is one o’clock in the afternoon. I feel unsettled. I know my first job is to come to love The Room.