Meditation Number One

I feel terror. I feel dread.

I feel it in my body, in my gut, a rotten feeling, a bit like nausea, and in my mind, which is jittery, unfiltered; remedial.

I can’t focus on any one thing for long, 10 or 15 minutes maximum, before, I must move onto something else.

I can’t escape this feeling, except through movement, always forward, one foot in front of the other; just keep moving.

The direction does not matter. Forward-back. Left-right. Over-under. None of that matters, only the movement itself, to keep the fear at bay, hounding and howling, just a step or two behind; behind nonetheless.

Keep moving.

The terror is for the future, the immediate and after. Little and big. The future that is tomorrow, and the one that is many tomorrows — both are dreadful, like rancid meat, and maybe that’s what’s making my stomach hurt?

Rancid meat, w/worms.

Blackened around the edges but mostly grey.

You see, the thing about fear is that there is no escaping. You can avoid it, temporarily, like an unpaid bill you throw in the trash, but it’s coming, going to come right back around.

You can stop and look at it, since, you ain’t getting away.