She sat upright. Just like a bolt. Cold and steel-like with a vertical uprightness that reached for the ceiling.
How can there be such trash she asked herself. No wonder she hadn’t been able to get into a book for the better part of the last few months. Except for that one book by Susan Lunney ‘Do They Speak English Down There’. It was because she felt the author was talking with her as if they were out to lunch, or sharing a train ride to Windy Wellington.
Three books sitting on the floor each to be attempted. She decided to give each book a chapter and if they still held her interest she’d keep going. She started with Salmon Rushdie, perhaps it was his 1988 ‘The Satanic Verses’. She found it was over her head; the jargon, the locations, the people, the bizzare falling out of the sky from a blown up jumbo and falling singing to the earth too bizzare for her mind to carve a wilingness to go beyond the first chapter.
She thought she might be able to get into the second book when she read in the dedication that the writer was grateful for “the telemeres from” somewhere she couldn’t quite remember. Her instant thought was anyone who knows what telemeres are is worth reading. But, another disappointment. Her brain did not want to chase itself around and around in the mind of another.
She’d rather sit and meditate on her meditation bench and fly off into realms of colour and compassion. Meditation gave her space to perceive arising anger. The anger can then relax and begin to loose interest in a marathon of injustices. Especially, the many injustices the International Tribunal for Natural Justice was uncovering of torture, the sex slave trade, child trafficking and other heinous crimes across the gorgeous blue planet. But that’s another story for another time.
As she sat she noticed pet peeves arising one after the other as quick as Jack Sprat. With anger in the hot seat she had difficulty focusing her mind. With annoying familarity she and the anger knew so well she channeled the futile rage into fuel for creative action.
She was in her sixties and in a gap year as was commented to her by a teacher.
A gap year at sixty! What on earth was she taking a gap from. Oh yes, the business that was struggling, past relationships that went through painful death throes, decaying and finally decomposing in the stench of unspoken unhappiness.
She’s been around long enough to know when she feels aggrieved with and at the world an inner nudge from a deep and wise part within her voices the prayer she created decades ago.
May I be well and happy.
May you be well and happy.
May we be well and happy.
May all beings be well and happy.
May the whole earth be well and happy.