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Meditation Madness
Diane Payne
George had been living in an ashram for five years and decided it was time
to leave. Dreading the possibility of ending up homeless, he planned his
journey with his address book according to the cities where possible friends
may still live. In the ashram, George was expected to eliminate connections
with the outside world, but he was unable to toss the address book. Deep
down, he knew he wasn't monk material and his spiritual journey would only
last until he became restless for a more carnal journey. The address book
made this long awaited transition seem more possible.
June was a woman he had met once, and she seemed friendly, almost
hippie-like friendly, so he figured she'd be open to a visit. After June
finally recognized George, she gave him a warm hug, a hug George was able to
interpret many ways, all of them pleasantly promising.
The house was beginning to get dark when June finished taking her bath. She
noticed George was sitting on a kitchen chair meditating. Respectful of his
privacy, she went outside and watched the stars slowly appear. It was a hot
night and June regretted that she didn't grab a beer on her way out. Surely
the sound of a refrigerator door wouldn't disturb a man with so many years of
meditation practice, but still she waited, not wanting to appear rude.
After awhile, the sky filled with stars, and June started focusing on how a
cold beer would make the wait more pleasant. She peeked in the kitchen
window and noticed he was still on the chair looking frozen in some obscure
thought. It was then she remembered that he told her they meditated for five
hours on Sundays. Relieved it was a Friday, she couldn't help but wonder how
long he meditated on a week night.
Another hour passed and June, certain he'd be deep in his trance by now,
quietly approached the kitchen eager to grab the cold beer. She was curious
about the enlightenment her guest was hoping to attain, and thrilled she'd
finally have a beer to drink while pondering his enlightenment. Instead of
finding George sitting in his chair, he was lying face down on the kitchen
floor. Sleep would have been June's natural response to meditation also.
Looking at George, she remembered the friend who had recently killed
himself. June started stomping on his back, furious that he had come to her
house to die. "You bastard!" she screamed. "What did I ever do to you?"
"What did I do?" George barely got out between the kicks. June reminded
him of Bob, a short-tempered monk who spent the day giving outrageous orders.
"I thought you were dead," June yelled.
"I'm sorry. I fell asleep. It was a long day of driving."
As they stood in the dark kitchen, George suddenly thought of the ashram as
a peaceful place, while June silently suffered from an intense feeling of
clustrophobia, wondering when her guest would finally leave.
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