Tirza ~ May 16

 

Meditation and the Lone Ranger

 

Today I began the day meditating, a daily habit that had fallen away.

I don’t why I was surprised to find things clogged up inside, like a dense gray fog that I had to clear away.  There was a lot of it, and with attention, it became more substantial than fog, like a viscosity. 

Was it grief?  A buildup of inner dust and debris? A reflection of the doom and gloom in the world?  Who knows.  And my body wasn’t even asking these questions, abandoning the mind to its own analytical devices. The goal was to clear my passages, so the channel between earth and sky through the center of my body could be clear.  I sat there and tried to let more light in, but was it even making a dent?  There was so much, I gave up.  I decided to take a different tack. In my mind’s eye, I crouched into a squat, made sure my big wings were attached, and took off, flying in spirals higher and higher, until I no longer felt the pull of gravity, flying and letting the air at high speeds clean out the gray density, trailing out like plumes of smoke behind me.  I flew until I was filled with light and my wake was clear, took one more loop-de-loop before landing at my feet.  

During my time away, B. had joined me in the room with his cup of coffee.

He too had slipped into a meditative state.  He was moving his head in the four directions, working out something in his neck. He opened his eyes and looked over.

Do you have an appointment this morning to cut your hair? I asked him, assuming he’d forgotten.  Last night we talked about his father-in-law, who had become more of a father than his first father, his trouble breathing, his pain, and his loneliness after his wife died just a few months before.  B. was planning to accompany his father-in-law through the emergency room today, in the hospital he knew well as a doctor. 

Yes, he replied after pulling out his phone to check. Timing works out.  

And without a beat, he said, I was Nefertiti just now.  Strange how she held her head…

Can I call you Titi for short?  Or do you prefer Nefer?

Ignoring me, he went on, Then I was in Israel, and I took in a Palestinian family into my home feeling terrible about their unbearable plight.  And then I appeared as a little boy.  I was on a black and white pony, dressed in my black Hopalong Cassidy outfit with a white hat and gleaming chrome six shooters hanging from my plastic belt …

Wow! I grinned, imagining the adorable little boy I sometimes get glimpses of in this man.  Wow, I said.  

The phone rang.  I was hurtling into my day.