It is 1:59 a.m. and I am closing my eyes to meditate in a walk-in closet. There is a Tornado Warning. At 1:53, the iPhone approximated the Emergency Broadcast System tones pretty effectively. The air raid sirens started about 30 seconds later and have been going off with both steady and frequency-sweeping tones. Alone in the apartment, it is easy to go to the proper place to wait and listen, about six feet from the bed. Something larger than a shingle just hit the side of the building. Weighed down with an 18-pair shoe rack, I shove the camouflaged door shut.
The long two-drawer metal file cabinet is unpleasantly cool against my spaghetti-strapped back. With bottoms of feet together, my legs are quite cramped between the file cabinet and the entertainment system that never quite found a spot in this apartment. I try to fit my legs on either side of the receiver and the right foot gets caught by a precariously balanced speaker. Eyes close, again. I radiate Loving-kindness. Loving-kindness to all beings everywhere. Of the beings in the storm, none particularly come to mind except the plants on the patio ledge. Loving-kindness. To Jeron. The last time I sent Loving-kindness outward from the closet, he was with me. With legs straddling his slight, small back, we felt great wonder at my childhood stamp collection. He for its novelty; I for its constellation of memories. We stayed there happily, with the door of shoes closed, long past any reasonable all-clear.
Tonight, the storm is due to pass over New Haven at 1:55, Leo at 2:00, Huntertown at 2:05. I sit in Loving-kindness. I sit through the thoughts inspired by the sounds of wind, rain and thunder outside. Somehow there is stillness. The eyes open. It is 2:20. Prime Deva Time. But the Devas are frolicking elsewhere tonight because they, too, are afraid of lightning.
The Emancipation of Sister Visaka 