But I struggled as image after image came unbidden, like the man dancing on a balcony with an umbrella, or the elephant with two trunks both raised aloft in celebration, to the Indian gentleman sat on a park bench staring at me, unblinking, judging.
As is the way, I acknowledged each mental image as it appeared, told it “not now” and visualised it being pushed away, returning to my breath. But the gentleman on the bench kept coming back. Or, at least, his eyes did. Cold, dark, piercing, unsettling; the kind of eyes that would be the only thing you remember when waking from a nightmare.
I tried to ignore them as best I could. It made for a long ten minutes.
Once the meditation was complete I cast the images aside and didn’t try to analyse them, putting them down to an over-stimulated mind trying to free itself from all the recent worry. It must have worked as I dropped off almost immediately and slept like the proverbial log.