At this morning’s meditation, the still-fresh news crawls my skin like a tiny spider — down the neck, the right arm, until it drops, gently threading down from the tip of a finger.
Departure of imaginary spider creates a ghost imaginary spider. Her double-absence haunts the mind more.
Trayvon’s killer has gone free. Black lives again mean nothing. 9am morning meditation, I sit powerless. Fatigued. Trying to get free, be nothing. I know I am doing it wrong.
…powerless for now.
Thanks Katie. Yes.