Tonight’s meditation was extremely vivid. I drifted away to a racing yacht far out at sea. The sun was setting on a bitter cold day, its light bouncing off grey clouds set between the darkening blue sky that rises from the horizon ahead as one’s world turns toward the night. The shadows of the clouds turned the sea black. As the yacht raced forward the waves broke and covered the deck with shards of whitewash. The yacht heaved toward the breaking seas ahead, vibrating from the excessive speed and literally screaming with a rage as a long trail of displaced water rushed away in streams of blackness topped with more of the whitewash that adhered to it as it left the deck, penetrating the souls of the crew on its way. I stood and took it all in, letting the wind and the water go straight through me, feeling shredded by it all, like my cells were displaced and I was only held together by the forces between what was left of me and myself. There were bags on the deck in front of me. They were labeled, “Biodegradable Expectations,” and “Biodegradable Roles,” and “Biodegradable Drama.” There were plenty of each. As the yacht charged forward I grabbed a bag, and holding on to a railing with one hand, bracing myself from the body slams the passing sea gave, I swung it over the side and watched as it was carried away. It was gone in a moment. I did that again and again, and each time I reached down the sea acted as though it was neither helping or hindering me. I just took the hits and unloaded my burdens. Soon there were no bags left, the yacht was light, and it raced above the wash, screaming and shuddering and storming forward into the blackness of the night.