Zazen - By Vanessa Veselka Page 0,48

low-flying planes and the woman clapping for her dog to come like hand grenades. I was an atom. My electron cloud awareness charged everything around me. I could feel a part of myself, way, way beyond the universe. I had done something terrible.

“I guess I was wrong about that group,” said Tamara quietly. “Maybe they are about something after all.”

I didn’t say anything. I was running over the list trying to figure out how many places I’d called.

We went to a bar with a TV and stared for an hour. Devadatta met us there. Bomb squads and cameras were trained on the New Land Trust building like it was a birthday cake with a stripper inside. Then they cut back to Brass Ring with its missing face.

“Man,” Mirror said, “just look at that.”

I couldn’t stop. I saw the buildings burn in live time. People were crying. They were scared. High school girls huddled together waiting for their parents to come get them. A little Vietnamese boy wailed in his mother’s arms. Oh god, I thought, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god…and I ran my shaking hands through my hair. With short sharp fingernails I scratched at my chest until it was red with crosshatches. What had I done?

Newscaster Ken’s Black Friend Garth was interviewing crickets.

“Chirp, chirp, rutuhtuhtuhtuhvrrrrrr… MANIFESTTION. Chirp, chirp, rrrhhhhtuhtuhvrrrrrr…”

Mirror got up. “Everything is going to be fucking closed for days.”

“Are you going to reschedule the party?” Devadatta asked.

“Fuck no! Letting the terrorists win and all.”

Devadatta pulled out a scrap of paper with a phone number on it and handed it to Mirror. “Oh! I forgot. I talked to Raina and she’s definitely coming. She’s even talking about leading a class there, you know, like an intermission. That way everyone can stay grounded. She said to call her. Most people never get to practice yoga naked. I really think it will help keep people in their bodies more.”

“Whatever,” Mirror said, “just don’t make it too granola. Focus on stretching the perineum. Mula Bandha, that’s something people could use for sure. Remind me tonight and I’ll get mats.”

They left. I barely noticed. My eyes were on the Miracle Station. Every so often the feed went back to the news desk and anchors gave updates on some border skirmishes they were following. But I couldn’t tell which border, or whose. Then they went back to the bombs and the fires here, where it was all burning and no one had been hurt, not yet. New ejecta glittered in the terrorsphere.

“Come on,” Tamara said, “I’ll walk you home.”

She dragged me off the stool but I blocked traffic in the doorway because I couldn’t stop watching and she had to pull me out.

“Everyone’s fine, Della. Take a breath.”

The people on the street said it was a miracle. Not one person hurt. Tamara thought it was a miracle too. I started thinking about it. It couldn’t be an accident. Whoever did it must have been really careful. They must have meant for those other bombs to be found. It was my own flag waving back across the gulch. After walking a while, I saw the natural balance of cause and effect in play, karma created long before me. With every block, I grew confident. I hadn’t bombed those places. They deserved it but I hadn’t done it. I was sick of feeling responsible for other people’s decisions. Paying for other people’s wars. My muscles began to relax. And, instead of horror something else filtered through, the faint thrill of becoming. It was a miracle. The Saint with Black Tears passed me and waved, her children safe at home. Up the street I heard the jackhammers. They’re building a supermarket made of mud. It’s going to have valet parking, be completely organic and only fish that was inhabited by the souls of former rapists will be sold. Workers will get emergency room coupons and free coffee. I looked at the sky. Everything has a beginning, middle and end. The rain had stopped. Then it started again. It wasn’t personal.

We got to my door. Nobody was home. Tamara said she wanted to see the head of John the Baptist and when I showed it to her she laughed so hard I thought she was going to choke.

“The cheeks are made of sought after recommendations.”

My pride. Taking credit coming and going. Tamara was on her back, tears rolling down her face leaving little