You know that
stones are hard. The dying
octopus comes apart, her white flesh tailing off, arms waving apart
from her brain and mouth. At meditation I sit beside an older
Vietnamese woman, her make-up neat, her breathing hard. She never
expected her stepmother to ask forgiveness. She was good to her
children, especially her own. The
Vietnamese woman misses her stepmother. Afterwards
she says that when she writes she tries to get her nouns and verbs to
agree. Another woman calls out the word “if,” as in, “if I have
hurt you.” If the other knows if to be true, then if is a dodge.
That's true, the teacher says. It's complicated, she adds. Go
back into the hurt before you forgive.
I add my name and email to
the list at the door and return to my
loop. I'd get closer, but
there's no road or GPS for
that.
Volcano
--4
June 2017
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