Immediately on waking, before even getting up, mediated for an hour, following the breath. Some time in, a voice: “why are you trying to get rid of me?” For a long time I thought it necessary to be rid of the self somehow, and of course this set up a subtle or not ‘me vs it’ approach. Having seen the folly of this years ago there is nether the less some kind of continuance of this war (and it is a war) inside, and today the accused was at least able to meekly appeal to an end to this.

Later in the meditation, breath getting shallower, tighter, I was back on the shaded end of the beach, which is now more like a cave in my memory, and I’m circling and looking at the dead body, the distorted face, the too pale skin, the rotted mouth, congealed blood. I’m reacting with terror and aversion, and yet I’m still casually circling and looking, still not quite understanding why she’s so tiny. The scenario soon passed and thoughts returned along the lines of: what happened to her after she was last seen? What did she do for two days before parking her car at the camp site? Was she alone all that time? Was anyone else involved? Where did she jump off the cliff? Why did she feel the need to do that, if she did it herself? And to the police: Why did they not take a statement from me? Why were you so off-hand or short with me? Angry at that. It would have only taken a minute or two for one of them to stay behind with me a little, while the other two went off along the beach.

And then the hour was over, seemingly a quarter of that time, and it was time for the activity of the day to begin. (Work, rest, visit C)