(no subject)
Some might think it would be counterproductive to try to meditate someplace as busy as out in front of the compound. Pamela would disagree. The sound of people coming and going was something she was used to. More than used to- it was something she almost needs in order to focus on the quiet, still sound within. She's been doing it for so long, it's second nature.
The trouble is that here the quiet, still voice is too quiet. Non existent. It's a pain in the ass. But she takes a deep breath and settles into a comfortable lotus and breathes. If nothing else, it's good as an exercise. Sometimes, just sometimes, she's even almost sure she can feel things opening up. It's false, though, and it's never long before all she can focus on is the void where her abilities used to be. If she does it long enough, she gets past the frustration.
Today, that hasn't happened yet. It's like being psychically constipated. What she'd give to just get a glimmer. A hint. One teeny little sneaky peek into the beyond. Anything other than the silence insode and the sound of footsteps coming closer to her as she sits and struggles with something that used to come naturally.
The trouble is that here the quiet, still voice is too quiet. Non existent. It's a pain in the ass. But she takes a deep breath and settles into a comfortable lotus and breathes. If nothing else, it's good as an exercise. Sometimes, just sometimes, she's even almost sure she can feel things opening up. It's false, though, and it's never long before all she can focus on is the void where her abilities used to be. If she does it long enough, she gets past the frustration.
Today, that hasn't happened yet. It's like being psychically constipated. What she'd give to just get a glimmer. A hint. One teeny little sneaky peek into the beyond. Anything other than the silence insode and the sound of footsteps coming closer to her as she sits and struggles with something that used to come naturally.