I've been meditating for almost 3 years, on a semi-regular basis. The benefits are rewarding and challenging (I'll know why it's challenging in the future). They recently did brain scans of people who meditate and found that they are more in tune with their negative emotional states—being able to overcome these states and giving their head trips a name.
Enter batz…
I was watching one of my favorite shows on Discovery called "Dirty Jobs." I love the host/social commentator extraordinaire Mike Rowe. He was watching thousands of batz exiting a cave with some anthropologist. Mike called them "winged Visigoths." ANYWAYS, they talked about the natural phenomenon of the bats' ability to fly so close, yet never touch one another. My mind feels like that when all is going well with the world. When the buggers collide and fall, well then, to be extremely cliché, Houston we have a problem.
When I feel my mind going crazy these daze, crazy from doubt, crazy from the unknown, crazy from the heat and crazy from jealousy—I say the mantra "batz," to prevent myself from going…well, batz (subsequently, batz is also am excerpt from my second novel's title). It kind of works, maybe someday I will master my mind and body, and get them to do what my ghost spirit requires of the three of us. Until then, I repeat my non sequitur of choice at my television as I watch Mike Rowe help a man get a boar's penis in a pipe/boar pocket pussy.
Ain't life grand?
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