In my dream.

We are preparing a space for more people, many more people than usual. The day is warm, sunny and bright. Other people are worrying if we have enough chairs, if they match and so on. We go outside to mediate. I am wearing cool summer clothes. The ground is terracotta stones. We sit in the shade. Someone else is leading the meditation. He puts his hand on my shoulder.
"I always meditate so well around Lucy. Why is that?"
I say softly without looking up.
"I am the desert."
The people continue to chatter. A large beetle that is also not a beetle comes across my lap.
"Look, see! I could never be that focused. Urg that disgusting thing on me!"
Everyone laughs and chatters again, mostly voices the same opinion.
"The beetle is meditation."
Some of the women want to kill the bug, because it might sting them, bite them, get into their dresses.
I say
"The beetle is the meditation. Do I crush it because of what it might do. Do I take it's life on my idea of what is good or holy? Do I throw it away because it's lessons are hard or unexpected? The beetle is the meditation.
I sit and watch the beetle run over my lap.