Last week's news is this week's reality. I can't bring myself to write about anything except what happened this past week in Boston -- the explosions and their devastation on Boylston Street at the finish line of our cherished Boston Marathon on April 15, and the helicopter hovering over our condo, whirring all day long just last Friday, April 19 -- until Suspect #2 was captured.
For anyone who has suffered a loss, you know that no amount of nice words can heal the sense of grief you experience every day. As I began to grieve, I noticed something very familiar arise in how I related to this process: My grieving patterns mimicked patterns often perceived as obstacles to meditation.
Twelve years. An entire lifetime ago. Whether by plane, car, ship, train or other means, most of us have taken a long trip of one kind or another. While in the midst of traveling, our habit tends to be to constantly check the time or the mileage to determine how far we have to go until we get 'there,' wherever 'there' happens to be.