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No pictures here.

Only the ones, in my mind. That’s what I deal with… pictures, pictures and more pictures.

Yesterday, when I sat to meditate, the past eased its way onto my reel. It was black and white.

On an Easter Sunday, when I was maybe eight or nine I was run over by a horse. Actually, it was a big pony. But when you’re little, I don’t think it matters. The bit in the horse’s mouth slammed into my head and I once again, on a holiday, landed in the hospital.

I have a clear vision of looking at someone and they were charging at me. It seemed to be on purpose. Barreling down on me and I couldn’t get away. I was trapped. I was slow. I couldn’t believe it was happening.

I screamed, he did this. He ran over me. He did it on purpose.

Oh no, my mother said. That’s not possible, he would never do that.

Pine bark was part of my memory. I know what a pine bark looks like. I had  run to a pine tree for protection, but it didn’t save me.

No, no one would ever charge a horse at another person and run over them.

This morning’s meditation was uneventful.

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