I had this excellent dream where I’d become, by the usual sort of dream-magic, a world-class spin-bowler. I was the slowest, trickiest, most accurate spin bowler in the world.
I was a zen bowler.
It wasn’t about the batsman, or the wicket, or the bails or even the match itself; it was about the moment of release; the disengagement of ball and bowler. It was about that specific moment when everything is possible but the outcome is already inevitable.
Sometimes, when I meditate I focus on the image of my finger, half-immersed in a glass of fresh, cool water, and I contemplate the sensations in that part of me that is neither wet or dry.
Maybe next time I’ll focus on a cricket ball as it leaves my hand.