Fine, I’ll admit it: I do not understand
mindfulness. Probably not in the sense that you think I don’t understand it,
though. I read the books, I read the articles, I went to class (when I could),
and for the first couple of months, I meditated every day. It helped then, sort
of. I was calmer. I could get rid of the anxiety and restlessness for long enough
to get some work done. I even made some new friends. Then my life went to pieces.
I don’t want to recount the whole
incident again. I’ve done that enough times. I couldn’t go to class for two or three weeks.
Even after that my attendance was sporadic. I tried to keep meditating. I read
all the books I was supposed to read.
I can’t meditate anymore. I keep
trying. It doesn’t work. I sit down, I let my mind go empty, and all the things
I never want to look at again rush in to fill it. I know what I’m supposed to
do: understand my anguish, let go of its origins, realize its cessation…
I can’t do that. I don’t expect you
to understand. It’s not that I can’t let go of it, it’s that it won’t let go of
me. I want to let go so badly. I don’t
want to have to look at it anymore. When you’re forced to write down and retell
a piece of your life every other day it gets burned in, somehow. Then the
questions start. I hate questions more than anything. I have enough of my own.
There are so many details I’m not sure of myself and when the questions start
you wonder if you’re the one who’s wrong, just like he wants you to think. I
sit down to meditate, I let my mind go empty, and then it fills with questions.
All I ever wanted to do was tell the
truth. “His name is known to the Advocate’s center,” they told me. Later I
found out there were three other girls. They never gave their names so nothing
ever happened to him. I thought I
couldn’t let this happen to anyone else. They could’ve stopped him. I don’t
know why they left it to me.
I tried to tell the truth and then he
came after me for it. There was never anything direct, no overt threats. He
just made sure that people I knew heard him talking about lawyers, and libel
and slander and lawsuits… and me. He knew they would tell me.
I can’t meditate because I sit down
and all of that fills me. I’m supposed to let go. What does that even mean?
What do I let go of? This matters. I’m the only one who can hold on to it. I
have to hold on because otherwise I won’t be able to keep going. I sit down to
meditate and I see him and hear him and I can’t make it stop, I start twitching
and my breathing gets faster no matter how hard I try to slow it down and I
can’t meditate because he’s there.
Everyone kept telling me how brave I
was and I wasn’t brave, I just didn’t have any choice. I couldn’t let him think
it was ok. I couldn’t let anyone else get hurt.
It’s not that I decided to do a brave thing, it’s just that there wasn’t
anything else to do. There wasn’t any decision. I just couldn’t let him get
away. It didn’t matter, anyway.
I did all the “brave” things that
weren’t really brave things, they were just the only things, and it didn’t
matter anyway. I went and I told the truth and the police didn’t do anything,
and the university tried to do something but didn’t believe me enough. The way
they do it is to put together a panel. The two loudest ones didn’t believe me,
I could tell. Then they cite him for “harassment” and he gets a warning. He has
to help the Women’s Center develop some programs. He doesn’t understand why he
even has to do that.
Do you understand yet why I can’t
meditate? Do you understand why I disagree with mindfulness? All being mindful
does is hurt. The only safety is in blankness. It isn’t emptiness. Blankness is
a nothingness. I am not anything. I am gone. I am somewhere else. There is
nothing left in me. I am not emptying my mind. I am simply not there anymore. I
am not anywhere anymore.
The hearing finished and they made
me leave and said “you have seven days to appeal” and of course that’s not
enough time. I have to do all of this again, if I want anyone else to be safe.
I can’t do this again. There’s nothing else I can do but do this again. There’s
nothing left to do.
I left and I knew there wasn’t anything
left to do so I went home and I drank a quarter of a bottle of vodka and I got
a knife but I passed out before I was drunk enough and when I woke up the knife
was gone and the vodka was gone but I wasn’t.
I’d told everyone goodbye already but they didn’t know it, but maybe
they did since the knife was gone. I left and it was raining and I walked until
I didn’t know where I was and then someone came and got me and put me in a car
and took me home and made me put on dry clothes and eat half a graham cracker
and go to sleep.
I wanted to be gone then but now I
know that I didn’t even need to bother, there’s nothing left of me anyway.
Being alive doesn’t mean you aren’t gone. I’m gone now and I’m still alive. I
can’t be mindful because to be mindful is to not be gone (to exist?). Maybe I understand the tradition but that
doesn’t mean I’ll agree and it doesn’t mean I’ll believe.
