Driving home after teaching yoga, the sky was a reach-less blue, and I felt the same expanse inside my chest, in the heart space, that seat of consciousness Buddhists call the root mind. Clear, cloudless, light.

Coming around a curve in my neighborhood I caught sight of a small man in a black parka, a fluffy coat that inflated his presence. He wore a black knit cap that accentuated his bushy, steel gray mustache.

He stared at me intently as I rounded the curve, and I felt a sudden tightening of my heart, like I had been pierced with a poison arrow dart.

The feeling passed, but I was left wondering what was true about that fleeting encounter. I had met that man briefly many years ago, and I have been wary of him ever since.

Am I sensing his energy, or am I projecting my negative expectations of him? For now, I will continue to steer clear of him. Sometimes the best way to avoid harm is the path of least resistance.

Day 3 of Mindful Writing Challenge, Small Stones, Writing Our Way Home.