Things don't seem to scare me anymore. I'm talking about the little stuff: a homeless guy suddenly appearing from behind a tree (where he most likely was taking a shit) in the cemetery; a roach running across my face in the middle of the night and waking me up; falling down because my foot seems to have acquired this habit of forgetting how to stand.I told Brianne about this and she said it sounds like I'm depressed, but that doesn't sound right. I feel calm. Maybe my mind is helping me get ready to die. Brianne doesn't seem to want to talk about Death.
We have long conversations -- she comes over most nights -- and she just listens and doesn't have much to say about that. She says she meditates for me. I told her I don't want anybody praying for me, and she said that's not it at all. "Buddhists don't pray," she said. She does this thing she calls "Loving-Kindness Practice," starting with herself, saying in her mind, "May I have happiness and the causes of happiness," or something like that, and she repeats it over and over again for a while. Then she pictures somebody else -- her aunt or a girlfriend or one of the people she gives massages to -- and one at a time she repeats the mantra for them: "May Aunt Laura have happiness and the causes of happiness," again and again for a while before going onto the next one. She said she includes a bit of "May Randy have happiness..." in the process. It sounds kind of like a prayer to me, but I guess I don't really have a problem with that, and it doesn't really matter, does it? because she doesn't need my permission. But seriously, I thought meditating was supposed to be about being quiet, and that sounds pretty noisy. Whatever.
I've been writing a lot. Stories, I guess I would call them, some play-like stuff. Some of it is about August, some of it is about me/my family, some of it is random. I don't really have a handle on writing a novel about August. What I'm writing doesn't really seem to have any kind of cohesive thread. They're not really what you would call "chapters," but I guess that doesn't matter. It's not like I really have time to write a novel! It feels good to be creative, that's all, and maybe that's why I feel calm. Brianne likes to read my stuff, and that makes me feel really good. I hope she knows that.
She mentioned a couple of times that she would be happy to come home and pick me up if I want to go to the Shambhala Center (where she works in the afternoons) to try meditating there. On Wednesday nights they only meditate for 30 minutes. Only?! The thought terrifies me. I don't know if I could "sit with my thoughts" for one minute, much less 30. By way of an excuse, I told her I wouldn't feel right making her come all the way home just to turn around and go right back to work, and I also said some pretty pitiful sounding stuff about not being sure my leg would allow me to sit on the floor all crossed legged and Buddha Style. She said I can sit in a chair if I want, OR she would also be happy to meditate with me, talk me through it, right here in my apartment, if I would be more comfortable with that. I said Maybe, but I didn't mean it, I don't think!
