J Hahn Doleman
Caught in the Moment
Sitting half lotus, hands in mudra, head bowed with eyes on the floor, I glimpse the spider crawling toward me. I try to stay focused on my breath and observe my thoughts: that book by E.B. White, all those black widows I kept in jars as a kid, the field guide photograph of a brown recluse.
The spider creeps closer, nodding its head as if to confirm my fate. The next second it’s a blur, springing onto my ankle and scurrying up my pant leg, and before you can say om I’m standing on my cushion, the collective eye of the sangha staring in my direction.