Meditation can help us embrace our worries, our fear, our anger;

Host: The room was dim, a quiet cocoon of amber light and soft shadow. Incense burned slowly on the wooden table, a thin ribbon of smoke curling upward in perfect stillness. Outside, the rain fell in fine silver lines against the window, steady and tender, like time whispering instead of passing.

In the middle of the room, on a simple woven mat, Jeeny sat cross-legged, her eyes closed, her breathing slow, deliberate, peaceful. Her hands rested on her knees, palms open — a small act of surrender.

Jack leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching her with the skeptical fascination of someone who doesn’t believe in miracles but secretly hopes to witness one.

For a while, the only sound was rain — soft, rhythmic, cleansing.

Jeeny: “You’re staring.”

Jack: “You weren’t supposed to notice.”

Jeeny: (smiling with her eyes still closed) “Meditation doesn’t mean I stop noticing. It just means I stop reacting.”

Jack: “That’s convenient. Because reacting is sort of my superpower.”

Jeeny: “That’s not a superpower, Jack. That’s a symptom.”

Host: He laughed — a short, honest sound that cut through the quiet. Then he stepped further into the room, his shoes squeaking faintly on the wood.

Jack: “You really believe all this? Sitting still, breathing, pretending the world isn’t falling apart outside?”

Jeeny: “I don’t pretend. I practice.”

Jack: “Practice what?”

Jeeny: “Healing.”

Host: She opened her eyes then, soft brown orbs reflecting the flickering candlelight.

Jeeny: “Thich Nhat Hanh said, ‘Meditation can help us embrace our worries, our fear, our anger; and that is very healing. We let our own natural capacity of healing do the work.’”

Jack: “Sounds like something said by someone who’s never had a panic attack in rush-hour traffic.”

Jeeny: “On the contrary — that’s exactly who says it.”

Host: He sat across from her now, though not cross-legged — he wasn’t ready for that kind of surrender.

Jack: “So, let me get this straight — you don’t fight fear, you hug it?”

Jeeny: “Yes.”

Jack: “That sounds… insane.”

Jeeny: “It’s not. It’s mercy.”

Jack: “You show mercy to your own demons?”

Jeeny: “Always. Because they’re usually just younger versions of me, asking to be seen.”

Host: The rain deepened outside, turning the window into a blurred watercolor of the city. The candle flickered once, as if agreeing.

Jack: “You really believe healing’s that passive? That if you sit here long enough, the anger just… evaporates?”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. It transforms. Like steam rising from boiling water — it changes state, not essence.”

Jack: “So, pain becomes what? Wisdom?”

Jeeny: “Compassion.”

Jack: “That’s optimistic.”

Jeeny: “That’s experience.”

Host: He studied her face — the stillness of it, the ease, the absence of the restless twitch most people carried. It unnerved him.

Jack: “You ever get angry? Truly angry?”

Jeeny: “Of course. But I sit with it. I invite it in.”

Jack: “And then?”

Jeeny: “Then it tells me what it wants. Usually, it just wants to be heard.”

Host: Jack scoffed lightly but there was no cruelty in it — only envy disguised as disbelief.

Jack: “You make it sound so civilized. My anger doesn’t talk. It yells.”

Jeeny: “That’s because you’ve been interrupting it for years.”

Jack: “You sound like my therapist.”

Jeeny: “Maybe your therapist sounds like me.”

Host: The room grew quieter still. The rain softened to a whisper, a delicate percussion against the world.

Jeeny: “You know, meditation isn’t about escaping life. It’s about returning to it. Slowly. Kindly.”

Jack: “You make it sound like the body knows what to do if the mind just shuts up.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Jack: “But my mind doesn’t shut up.”

Jeeny: “Then let it speak. Don’t chase the thoughts. Just listen. You can’t heal a wound you refuse to feel.”

Host: The candle’s flame steadied now — no flicker, no dance. Just presence.

Jack: “You really think we all have this… ‘natural capacity to heal’?”

Jeeny: “I know we do. The body closes wounds, doesn’t it? The heart’s no different. It just needs space.”

Jack: “And patience.”

Jeeny: “And forgiveness.”

Host: He leaned back slightly, exhaling. The tension in his shoulders seemed to soften under her words.

Jack: “You ever think we make our own suffering worse by trying to run from it?”

Jeeny: “Always. Pain chases the ones who run fastest.”

Jack: “So the only way out…”

Jeeny: “…is through.”

Host: Silence returned — deep, vast, forgiving. The rain had stopped completely now. The air was clean, the candle burning low, its wax pooling like melted time.

Jack: “You know, I envy you.”

Jeeny: “Why?”

Jack: “Because you make peace sound like something attainable.”

Jeeny: “It is. It’s not a prize, Jack. It’s a practice. You just start — one breath, one truth, one forgiveness at a time.”

Jack: “And if I fail?”

Jeeny: “Then you begin again. That’s the whole point.”

Host: The first light of dawn slipped through the window — pale gold against the gray horizon. The world outside was reborn, cleansed by rain, glimmering with a quiet promise.

Jack: “You really think stillness can save us?”

Jeeny: “No. But it can remind us that we were never lost.”

Host: She closed her eyes again, her breath falling into rhythm with the new day. Jack watched her for a long moment, then slowly, uncertainly, mirrored her posture — his first attempt at stillness.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t speak. He didn’t analyze. He just sat.

The air between them grew softer, thicker — not with words, but with presence.

And in that moment, he began to understand what she meant — that healing was not an act of fixing, but of trusting; that silence was not the absence of sound, but the presence of everything we usually refuse to hear.

Host: The candle flickered once, then steadied. The rain outside became birdsong.

And for the first time, Jack exhaled — fully.

Because as Thich Nhat Hanh once said,
Meditation can help us embrace our worries, our fear, our anger; and that is very healing.

And perhaps, in that breath,
he began to let his own capacity for healing
do the work.