Sunday, June 4, 2017

4 June 2017

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.

--4 June 2017

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