Dear Meditation Cushion,
Yes, like an awkward encounter with a castoff lover, I have been avoiding you. You sit there and call to me, day after day, and I walk past with a twinge of guilt.
Some things just feel too real to look at that closely. Some things need an almost pre-processing, a buffering, before I can even come close to looking at them through that lens.
It’s like that for me, recently, as I try to process my recent death. Obviously I’m alive now, but I wasn’t for 20 minutes.
There is so much pain. So much fear. So much hurt and anger and bitterness and injury. So much to process. I sit with it for as long as I can, though sometimes that is only long enough for a single tear to fall with a breath.
But I just can’t bring myself to formally come back to you quite yet.
Some days I may ignore you. Some days I may briefly brush across your surface but flit away just as quickly. But I love knowing you are patiently waiting for me. Faithful and loyal and true. Waiting for the day when I can return. That brings me comfort, just having you there.
The truth is, I’m waiting for it too. Though I sense that day is coming closer.