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June 25, 2012

Think of an Encounter

The process for this piece of contemplative writing was a bit different in that we were first given the prompt and then we meditated for 10 minutes. Usually, we would mediate and then receive the prompt, putting pen to paper immediately after receiving it. The prompt: Think of an encounter. I immediately thought of a client I had worked with on the colon therapy table earlier that day. As I cleared my mind and focused on "silent awareness," I was suddenly aware of my lower legs and feet: "running" and "not my own."

Again, the prompt: Think of an encounter. Put pen to paper for 10 minutes and write without stopping, without lifting the pen, without editing, without looking back at what your wrote prior.

Hours later, I ran across this piece of almost blank paper with my pterodactyl feet. Well, actually when the page was blank, my dinosaur feet and strong muscular legs, were running under the table, then I jumped up here to the paper. The flowing ink didn't stop me, the line across the page didn't stop me, nothing stopped me. I couldn't see the rest of my body, but I knew I was real and I wondered whether or not he had cancer on his lungs in my little reptilian brain – run, run,brun. There was no such thing as tiredness, no, none.

Would he find out on Wednesday, 36 hours from now, that he had a malignant tumor on his lung? After all, he had coughed up blood a couple of weeks ago. When he was on my colon therapy table today, he cried, "I don't know what to do! I'm so overwhelmed. It seems life gets harder and harder no matter what I do." That last line hit me over my little green head; it did. "It seems life gets harder and harder no matter what I do." How do we climb out of that? Facing cancer after years of work on oneself -- a divorce, quitting the office job to become a Reiki Master, seasonal fasts. And, there were those five beers per night since his son moved in full time in September. Oh, right, yes, he quit smoking years ago, but had smoked for 15 years.

Run. Run. Run.

I am no longer on this piece of paper; now I can feel my feet against the hot sand, my large claws digging in with each step. Now, I am hitting against cooler, more moist sand.

Run. Run.

Would coffee enemas do the trick? Today was day twelve of fasting for him on soup broth and vegetable juice; day twelve of two coffee enemas per day; day twelve of despair, effort, anger. Now, here he was, crying on my colon therapy table.

Run. Run.

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