Dangerous Compassions

waiting room vision

Yesterday in the waiting room of the GI doc, I was just sitting there.  Well, first I filled out my new patient paperwork.  It was so loud in there with people talking, I could barely concentrate enough to answer the questions.

I’m getting really annoyed being around people lately.  I have little tolerance for asinine conversations about movies, girl scout cookies, ice machine mold, Hobbit homes.

Well, I did hear an interesting story yesterday.  This lady went to the ER and barfed on her paperwork during triage, so they put her in a room by herself (not the regular waiting room) and told her to wait there.  Then they threw away her barfed on paperwork and forgot about her.  So she waited for hours and then went home. 

I wonder how true that story is.  It was always my fear in the hospital that they would lose me.

Back to my story.  I filled out all that paperwork, and then I was just sitting there.  Most people were on their phones.  I just sat and closed my eyes, breathed, and enjoyed breathing.  Enjoyed life, being alive. 

I realized it was like meditation.  Who knows what I’ll be doing in a hour.  But here I am now, breathing.  What a pleasure, to breathe.

When I decide to meditate and sit on a cushion and set a timer for 20 minutes, it become tedious or scary for me, a big deal.  Like there are expectations.  Sometimes–well, sometimes it’s ok.

I used to meditate in the Rice Room.  It felt good, something to do for myself, for my well-being.  I had a little digital timer I liked.  I would bring my birthday amethyst as well.

Maybe I should do that again.  I think it’s okay to have phases.  Do that for a few weeks and then not.  It’s okay to change.

Well, in the waiting room, after I was enjoying being alive and breathing, I tried to pray.  I always think I need to be in a peaceful mindset to pray and a quiet place.  I started talking to God in the way I do.

Then I had a vision.  It wasn’t really intense and vivid, more like a daydream maybe, but it came unbidden. 

It was of a lady, kind of floating there, and she put her hand on my heart, comforting me.  I think it was Mother Mary, but she looked white.  I thought Jesus was Black, so Mother Mary would be too?

I guess my imagination is inaccurate.  Or else it wasn’t Mother Mary but was some other comforting lady.  Well, I liked it.  I just enjoyed that for a while.

Afterward I told Ming about it.  He’s cooking up some veg sausage for my breakfast.  I survived another night.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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