Friday, October 10, 2008


I was meditating tonight in the bathtub. I like to meditate there. It's safe and warm and quiet. There aren't dogs around poking me with cold noses or wet kisses. I always visualize things in the bath tub. I'm not sure why.

Tonight, I couldn't focus on the quiet. I kept hearing the words to songs, kept wanting to sing along, kept thinking about how much I'm hurting and how afraid I am. The voice that sometimes speaks from the quiet, still place said to me, "Go ahead. Sing. Think. Feel. I'll still be here."

So I did. I thought about my worst fears. I thought about what it would feel like if my husband were to die. I thought about how awful I'd hurt if he were to kill himself or overdose or otherwise die tragically. I pictured his body, broken and cold. I pictured myself looking at his dead body. It hurt awfully, and I weeped and moaned, but behind it all was the quiet voice.

It was still there. I was still ok. I was hurting, but I was still ok.

Then I thought of how awful it would be if my husband found another woman to take him in. I thought of the terrible betrayal and the heartache. I pictured him with his hands all over another woman, and I felt the rage and sadness fill my heart...but again, the quiet was still there. I could still feel myself being carried in the palm of my God's hand. I knew I'd be ok.