When I was meditating last night, an image of a nun from my Catholic elementary school came up out of nowhere. It arose just as my body started feeling physical distress.
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Some of the nuns at my school cracked the whip. I felt in terror of them. Disobedience never crossed my mind, at least not in my early years. One time, however, I was caught whispering – it seems – with a classmate during morning mass. I don’t remember the transgression. But I remember the humiliation of the punishment – kneeling in the aisle for the remainder of mass – as a visceral impression in my cells.
“Indignity,” cries out my bones, my body, my brain. No wonder she’s suddenly appearing from the darker corners of my mind. This memory needs to be cleansed and released so I can move closer to wholeness, untainted by the past.