Vipassana   On day seven I tried to tell him — all this cross-legged sitting — my knees, my back, the pain is intense — I try to sit tall,   stay focused on my breath, but pain hijacks my mind — I’m no Buddha, I’ve hit the wall, I can’t do this, I just don’t have the knack —   He nodded, said calmly, Look at the pain. His smile told me there was no more to say. I bowed and left him, thought, This is insane,   what does he know about my pain? On day eight I considered how misery hung over me, a steady drizzle. Okay,   I thought, I’ll look. Pain was a nimble monkey, darting out of view, furtive, a bat flitting into darkness, a bell unrung,   a word on the tip of my tongue, a cat slinking away, a murmur down the hall, a ghost. Pain doesn’t like to be looked at.     © Michael Fleming Dummerston, Vermont April 2025