Helpless

Ok, so I failed to mention yesterday that between seated meditation sessions, we got to do 15-30 minute walking meditations. This was a great relief to my knees, back and shoulders -- not to mention my psyche. During that first and toughest day, I'd spotted a soda machine at breakfast. During a walking meditation, I wandered down toward the dining hall with a dollar in my pocket with the intention to purchase what felt like an illicit beverage -- they served only water, juice or milk at meals. (This was not the indicated use of the walking meditation time, mind you.) When I arrived, I found the machine unplugged, and this song drifting out of the kitchen:

Blue, blue windows behind the stars,
Yellow moon on the rise,
Big birds flying across the sky,
Throwing shadows on our eyes.
Leave us

Helpless, helpless, helpless
Baby can you hear me now?
The chains are locked
and tied across the door,
Baby, sing with me somehow.

Helpless I was -- but I nonetheless savored my encounter with this always delicious, but not usually illicit substance, both because it felt naughty and because the lyrics were so apropos of my situation:

And in my mind
I still need a place to go...

Or I would, as soon as this walking meditation period ended and I was back on that damn cushion.