Trusting Our Truth

My dad signaled when he was about to strike. His round, hairless head turned a bright shade of red while his lips pressed so tightly together, they lost their color.  Like a gazelle looking up in a nature film my body became aware of an impending danger. It was when my Dad’s upper lip virtually disappeared and his bulging, eyes shifted from green to a devilish red – that I knew I’d better start running.  His glare was so frightening; I literally felt the wrath of God.  I ran with the same fierce, life-saving determination of a gazelle that spots a salivating leopard ready to pounce.  Nothing stood in my way from trying to escape his rage.  I turned over chairs, moved tables, jumped furniture - all with the gripping hope of making it to the door in enough time to open it. 

Hello Stillness, Nice To Meet You

My formal introduction to the word meditation happened during my third year in college when I enrolled in a course entitled Mind, Body Medicine.  The course was a requirement for my Health Science major and, in hindsight, a fortunate obligation.  I was in my early twenties, on the brink of adulthood - somewhere between reckless, insecure teen and responsible, "in-control" adult. Everything in this world was possible, where you know the rules to success and you agreeably play the game. But where trepidation and inhibition keep you bound to perpetual self-doubt. And yes, smoking lots of pot and drinking beer through funnels seemed to be the most effective way to cope.