The Patience to Sit and Hold

The feeling was back, stronger than ever. In my stomach at first, searing with its caustic quality. I caught myself wishing for the warmth of yesterday. Wishing. Thinking. Clinging. Using the breath to ground myself in the reality. Irritation, constriction, yes, that's what I am stuck with, this morning. Aversion. I relax into the frustration, the weight in the midst of my body, that's taking more and more space. Touching my heart, moving up to my throat, tight. I'm holding the thing, in the stillness of sitting, patiently breathing in, and out. Tenderness, and tightness. Image of Buddha's four similes, mentioned by Gil, yesterday. The probing surgeon, the gatekeeper, the watchman, the goat herder. All decidedly male images, that do not fit my feminine experience of holding mother. Mother patiently waiting, attending, gently to her brood, in this case one very unhappy child. Breathing in, and out. A bit of loosening. The clock's chiming in with the comfort of its ticking. Liking. Bitterness, the thing's got a taste, and it ain't sweet. Outrage, sadness, frustration, . . . Urge to solve, put an end. Thinking feeling has to do with ingrained urge to be constantly doing, and proving myself. No, I am just to keep on noting, and breathe. Save investigation for later. I notice a slow melting, not sure. And the bell rings.