Balanced Mind with Julie Potiker

Classic Loving Kindness Meditation
Whenever I have a dream about Poetry,which is not very oftenconsidering how much I think about her,she appears as a seamstresswho works in the window of a tailor's shopin a section of a provincial cityladen with a grey and heavy sky.
I know the place so wellI could find the dimly lit shopwithout asking anyone for directions,though the streets are mostly empty,except when I saw a solitary manlooking in the window of a butcher's,his hands in the pockets of his raincoat.
Poetry works long hoursand rarely speaks to the tailoras she bends to repair the fancy costumesof various allegorical figureswho were told by Thrift how little she charges.Maybe the ermine collar on the robeof Excess has come loose
or a rip in the gown of Abandonneeds mending, and no questionswill be asked about how that came to pass.
A little bell over the door ringswhenever a customer enters or leaves,but Poetry is too busy thinking about her childrenas she replaces a gold button on the blazer of Pride.
Dream Life, by Billy Collins, from his book of poems; The Rain in Portugal.
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