In my novel,
the main character
is building a playhouse
and his driveway
is torn to shit
for the necessary
underground infrastructure.
In reality, the campus at
Macalester College
in St. Paul, Minnesota
is under construction
and roads and sidewalks
and large lawn swaths
are torn to shit
to make way
for the necessary
underground infrastructure.
We meditated to that.
Windows open so the morning
breeze could kiss our faces
while we breathed in and out
with our eyes closed,
while the machinery outside
raised holy hell all around us.
The beeping, the digging,
the drilling excavation,
a purposeful attempt, it seemed,
to undermine our silent practice,
a different type of way-making
for the necessary
underground infrastructure.
One has to be able
to fully invite, to feel the noise
into the meditation circle,
to incorporate that squealing
and that crunching and
the sound of heavy metal
on pavement into one’s
interior landscape. This morning,
someone suggested pretending
the squeals were baby
elephants, so I pictured that
as I took deep breaths
and felt myself smiling
in this new, necessary
underground infrastructure.
michael jarmer 