Vipassana Meditation March 20
All about the right hand, arm, wrist. Not so much shaking this time but minute by agonising minute, tight in a fist. Images of schoolboy fights but mainly white light as my face scrunched, a kaleidoscope of limited palate: whites, yellows, greys, shiny grey stars. In the hand such inground pain, right in by the bones, even white fire in there. I no longer know what’s in the hand and what’s in the mind. Deep tension. Held. Is it the hand holding or the mind? Both. A mutual pact that is now being renegotiated by this neutral observing newcomer. Of course the pain isn’t from fights but from the use of the dominant hand on mouse, trackpad and keyboard over the years. Before that, wrapped around a pen or pencil or joystick or controller. And now, only now, it has a chance to change. And I’m letting it as best I can. Same for all so-called gross sensations. Not so many thoughts at three-something, deep in the night at my girl’s house.