Sitting this morning, I watched as various ideas of self came and went. The dutiful wife, the good meditator, the competent therapist, the concerned mother, the smart presenter, the unsure woman, the insightful blogger, . . . all taking turn to interrupt sweet flow of breath, and simple hearing of bird sounds.
Then, fear. Into the heart, down the arms, in the guts, down the legs, in the throat. I remembered Mingyur Rinpoche's talk on panic:
Relaxing the body, and being friend with fear. Fear receding.
Then, irritation . . . and awareness of the irritation about the irritation. Irritation relaxing a bit, making room for an edge of sadness. Mind's urge to want to know, explain away, interpret. Frustration of no answer.
Sitting with discomfort of stinging heaviness, and not knowing.
Sitting . . .