Seated on my zafu, left hand laid atop right in my lap, I alternated between focusing on my own inbreaths and the incessant exhale of the floor fan next to me, blowing my pajama shirt like a sail on a ship.
It was almost midnight. It was dark in the basement. But I was less afraid than I’d been before. Not only because I’d already double-checked to make sure the front and the back doors to the house were locked, but also because I realized: in the brief moments that I achieved one-pointed concentration on my breath, it was impossible to think scary thoughts.
Yessssss!