What makes that so difficult?  Watching feelings, sitting and allowing them to move through the body without reaction.  It is like my body is a tinderbox, filled with explosives and that any little spark will create a blow-up.

I’m certainly better than I used to be.  And there are those times when I feel like a huge sponge, soaking up other people’s feelings, swallowing my urges until it squashes all over me in tears or pouting or being sick.

I stand in satisfaction–no matter how boring it seems.  I sit in being filled up.  I vibrate in fulfillment.  I am that I am that I am.  How long must I chant that to feel as good as when I believe I feel better with one aspirin or one fast swallow of a whole Mt. Dew.

Welcome to the monkey house.