Namaste, bitches! (Part Two)

I recently lost a bet and spent a month and a half at an ashram.

Meditation is a daily part of life at the ashram. I’m not a fan of meditation. It reminds me of when I was in prison and doing solitary confinement.

I tried to get out of daily meditation like a fat girl tries to get out of gym class.

But the monk with halitosis, the one who seemed to take a special, relentless interest in me, told me I had to go or he’d have my Starbucks Via confiscated.

With my caffeine on the line, I attended meditation class. But there was always something wrecking my meditation attempts.

First, there is the non-stop screaming in my head.

Stinky the Monk told me everyone has this. Especially people who use too much caffeine. I refuse to believe him.

Then there was a mouse running willy-nilly through the meditation room. The screaming in my head became audible to all. Then there was a week of jack-hammering construction at the ashram. After that, there were flies in the meditation room. Not just a few flies, I’m talking flies-on-starving-children-in-Africa type of flies.

Finally, after two weeks of disaster-proportioned distractions, the meditation room grew quiet. “Perfect,” I thought. “Let’s do this meditation thing.” And that’s when the screaming in my head took me to the mat. I had a full-blown panic attack after five minutes of trying to sit with my own silence.

Stinky the Monk came to my aid. He sat next to me, and his horrible, foul breath was the distraction I needed to sit still.

I learned something from my stinky monk.

1) When left alone with only my thoughts I need something outside of myself to struggle against to feel “OK” again.
2) A stinky monk is like training wheels for meditation.
3) Meditation is a practice. You can’t get it right and you can’t get it wrong. This is confusing for a beginner.

What struggles do you hold on to so that you don’t have to confront yourself? I’m curious.

More ashram stories to follow. Namaste, bitches.