There is a saying in baseball that you can't hit what you can't see. Fastballs that is. Catching them is a bit easier if you're really paying attention, but ask any good catcher and they'll admit that it can be difficult...and painful.
If you imagine a monkey hurling fastballs for all he's worth, you'll have a pretty clear picture of what meditation has been like for me lately. This was the image that popped up as I sat there yesterday morning growing more and more frustrated and distracted. Obviously there were some lingering fragments from watching a playoff game on TV recently that helped fill in the blanks. At any rate, this began to come into focus and things started to shift. Other than the fact that I sometimes have a bizarre imagination, what does this mean?
Well, I know this little guy! I've willingly, even eagerly played his game for a long, long time. I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure I taught him the game in the first place. And he likes it! He's good at it! He's in a groove, as they say! And apparently he's not at all happy that I don't want to play anymore. So the more I tried to reject him and ignore him, the harder and faster he threw. Ouch! I turned my back and got nailed! But, when I turned around and stopped trying to deny that he was there, the barrage ended. Ok, he didn't just pack up and leave, and he's got a lot of stuff left. But he seems content, for the time being anyway, to lob one my way once in a while instead of trying to take my head off with it.
The Power of Vow
4 weeks ago