I think of a story Wayne Dyer tells about a tribe in Africa. When a person of that tribe screws up, everything stops. Everyone who knows that person comes to surround them. One by one they go before the person and tell them the happy memories, the great qualities they have, and recount each time they remember this person acting in kindness. The idea is that if we can remember who we truly are, if we can reconnect to our essential Self we will only act from that place. If someone messes up, it is only that they have temporarily forgot who they are. It is the job of the family and whole community to remind that person of their greatness. In this tribe these episodes of "crime" happen only about every 5 years. There are a couple thousand people in this tribe...
Meditation is working it's magic. There is space around myself and the lesson I am in. A space that liquifies or gels time and judgment into a clay of sorts. Without the push of time or divisions of judgement I sense possibility. Pain is rich with possibility. As the wave crests and swallows possibility I can cry. I can feel my way through it emerging into possibility again, this is the rhythm.
