Am I meditating or brooding?

It is the 10th anniversary of the accident and I find myself reliving the accident, times with my family and thinking about Mr. D (the drunk driver). I am slowly writing a book about the accident and the years after.

An excerpt.

I remember dreams I would have of my family especially after the Coroner?s Inquest which is the first time I saw photos of my family from the accident. The night of the Coroner?s Inquest I had a dream about Daniel.

Daniel was lying on the pavement like a rag doll. A thick, ominous puddle of deep crimson blood underneath him slowly surrounding his lifeless body. Eventually all I see in my dream is the color crimson. It is thick and lifeless yet full of this kinetic, confused energy.

In the days after this dream I recall experiencing this ice, cold rage towards Mr. D. I did not want to kill him. I wanted to skin him alive, gnaw on his bones and flesh. Eventually ripping his heart asunder. I would fantasize about tearing him apart and putting him back together just so I could do it again much like jackals do to their prey. I have no concern for his needs, dreams, or desires. All I am concerned with is feeding my insatiable lust for revenge. I break his bones one at a time just so I can hear his screams and feel warmth of his words wash over my soul as he begs for mercy. I laugh manically in his face, his blood dripping from my chin. I whisper in his ear how good it makes me feel to see him hurt.

I gently care for his wounds. Allow him to rest. I allow just a glimmer of hope to percolate in his mind. It is much like seeing the glow and warmth of the sun just over the horizon in the moment before the sunrise. Gleefully, I rip that hope from his mind and heart. His fear is palpable. I can smell it. It is rancid and cold. I bend down close to his face. I breath through my mouth so I can taste his fear, smacking my lips. I do this over and over again until I am sated. I then wrap myself in his fear like a warm blanket on a cold winter night. It embraces me like a lover. I welcome it with open arms into my soul. His fear is like a lullaby we sing to our children when they are young

Mr. D realizes that he is dying and that I control his life. Mr. D played god the night of the accident. Today, I am god. I am a mean, vengeful, hateful god looking to appease my lust for blood, revenge, and pain. My lust would strengthen me. Make me feel larger than life. It would be all encompassing. As Mr. D?s life faded I would whisper my name in his ear so he would know who was doing this, who had become god. As death overcame him he would see the cold, dark smile on my face.

I can tell you I did experience these emotions. I am not sure if it was a dream or who I was at the time.

I eventually forgave Mr. D for killing my family and I no longer have any of these feelings or desires.
Joseph Stalin said, ?One death is a tragedy; one million is a statistic.? Is the accident my statistic? I forgave the man that killed my family. However, I allow much smaller hurts and affronts to me to linger which sometimes cause me to withhold my forgiveness. Are these smaller hurts a tragedy in my mind and heart? I think, yes which is sad and disappointing. I expect more of myself.

I am better but need to focus even more on Christ and see people thru Genesis 1:26-27.

Grief is a strange, wonderful, hurt-filled, enveloped by love experience. Sometimes I wish I was still in the throes of grief because I was so much better at allowing God to be in control.I was much better at living Matthew 6:28-34.