Back into the world
So I think I owe several of you some sort of correspondence and other things, but that hasn't happened, because I spent the whole weekend at a Buddhist meditation retreat out in the middle of the desert. I went with my mother, because she has lately expressed some interest in Buddhism, and this has manifested in a desire to attend Buddhist-themed mediation events of some sort each week. So far, we have attended a seminar on "The Basics of Mindfulness" up near Malibu, which I found moderately amusing, and a lecture on a new and improved meditation practice that catered to the Korean-American population and was, as far as I could make out, a cult of some sort. This retreat was merely our most ambitious project yet. It was a writers' retreat, which meant that I got to spend quite a bit of the time writing stories about how I used to steal stuff and set things on fire instead of sitting around meditating all weekend, which is no doubt the reason why I haven't gone insane by now. And I was the youngest person there and everyone praised my writing and I felt very flattered and petted and smug and superior by the end of it, which I am sure is the right direction when one is trying to find enlightenment.
Some thoughts on meditation:
Frankly, I can't see the point of it. The biggest thrill, for me, was that of sitting in a room with a group of other people who all had their eyes closed and were meditating, while I opened my eyes and looked around and watched them. It felt like I was doing something so deliciously wicked. Except these tended to be guided meditation type things and meditation leaders will insist on opening their eyes to make sure everything is going all right and catching me at it.
A classification of persons attending the retreat, with attributes exaggerated for comic effect:
The Cushion Arranger: Takes three or four cushions into the meditation hall. Arranges them into various strange-looking piles. Sits upon them. Is dissatisfied. Rearranges cushions--sticks some under knees and feet. Realizes that more cushions are needed to properly support body in meditation posture. Ends up meditating inside fascinating and envy-inducing cushion tent.
The Person Who Knows How a Meditation Bench Works: Always brings meditation bench into meditation hall with her. Sits properly on meditation bench for first few minutes of meditation. Inevitably ends up sitting on bench as if she were a normal person, rather than A Person Who Knows How a Meditation Bench Works.
I Need a Chair, If You Please: Insists that she needs to sit upon a chair, not the floor like a peasant. Bonus points if "medical conditions" are blamed. Comes to morning meditation late and distracts everyone from achieving enlightenment by dragging heavy chair across the floor.
The Person Who Has Spent The Last Six Years In A Buddhist Monastery In Which All The Residents Spent Three Hours Each Day Meditating And Therefore Has Mastered The Art of Sitting In What Looks Like An Extremely Uncomfortable Position Without Moving For The Entire Session And Makes The Others Feel Terrifically Incompetent When They Start Squirming After Five Minutes: Uh, I don't really think this needs further explanation.
Rules of the retreat center that I, the author, observed being broken (primarily because I was a party to the breaking of them):
"'Kill no living thing' = NO MEAT": My mother, being the practical sort, packed lots of little snacks and cold cuts for our trip, since we would have to drive for three hours to get there. Alas, some of these did not live up to the strict vegetarian standards of the retreat. Oh, well, we figured. We would just be sure to eat all the forbidden meat before we arrived. Except we forgot about it for the whole trip to the retreat and ended up having to hide it in our pillows and sneak back into our room when everyone else was out meditating so we could eat the evidence.
"Please keep silence within the meditation hall and other buildings": Well, this one was a wash from day 1. It was posted on all the walls, too. We all ignored it. Or were illiterate! We were supposed to be silent during some meals, as well. This rule was actually obeyed by a majority of the participants. But not us!
Scene: The dining area. People are sitting at various tables, eating breakfast, drinking coffee, etc. Nobody speaks; the only sounds are the clink of silverware and footsteps when somebody gets up from the table. Suddenly....
MY MOTHER: Do you want more oatmeal?
ME: (shakes head)
MOTHER: Have another orange slice!
ME: (silently takes orange slice)
MOTHER: You drank all your tea! I will get you more tea!
ME: But I don't want-- (falls silent and accepts new cup of tea)
MOTHER: Did you have enough to eat? Are you all full?
ME: (hissing) We're not supposed to be talking!
MOTHER: Ah! Right! (puts finger to lips and grins)
Thirty seconds later:
MOTHER: Did you wash your face this morning?
ME: (sighs)
"Take nothing out of the desert; leave nothing in the desert": This was in among all the rules about not wasting water, recycling everything, and so forth. Alas, it lead to
The Disposal of an Apple Core: A Comedy
A cabin in the desert. Our Heroine and Her Mother are seated atop bunk beds. They have both just finished eating apples, and are contemplating the remains of their snack.
OUR HEROINE: O mother fair! In what happy receptacle shall I place the core of this bounteous apple, whereupon I have lately feasted? For this our bower contains no garbage-receiving can.
HER MOTHER: It is my belief, forsooth, that one may be found in the bathing-room.
OUR HEROINE: Ah! Thither shall I go!
HER MOTHER: Nay! Nay! For I have just remembered myself. The remains of our apples we cannot deposit there, for their pleasant scent and nutritional value shall soon attract every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.
OUR HEROINE: But then! Whatever shall we do? However might we be liberated from these heavy burdens?
HER MOTHER: Let us repair to the outdoors, and climb yonder hill, and pitch these thrice-cursed cores into the deserted land about us!
(The two ladies walk up the hill. OUR HEROINE has both the apple cores concealed in the pockets of her skirt.)
OUR HEROINE: I follow you, my lady mother, for in you I find the personification of wisdom itself. But misremember you the List of Rules we were given but two hours past, which warned most sternly against the rubbishing of the desert?
HER MOTHER: 'Twould be better, then, methinks, if we flung the apple cores into some place of concealment. Fortune has decreed that this desert should sprout with many a shrub and bush, under which the cores might be hidden.
OUR HEROINE: An excellent plan! You must keep a look-out, and warn me lest there be a witness to our dark deed, while I endeavor to pitch the cores under the low branches of yonder shrub.
(Our Heroine tosses two apple cores into the desert. One falls greatly short of its target, while the other lands next to a cactus. Both are clearly visible from the path.)
OUR HEROINE: Damme! I say Damme!
HER MOTHER: It is of but little matter. For who, upon observing two random apple cores, should connect their presence with ourselves?
OUR HEROINE: Our walk up this hill has been noted by many a person. Perchance they shall interrogate us, and expel us from the meditation retreat to our great shame for our crime! I must venture forth into the desert proper and better conceal the apple cores.
(OUR HEROINE steps off the path toward the closer core, but is hampered by the presence of a CACTUS.)
OUR HEROINE: Ow! Ow! Foul cactus, thou hast pricked me!
CACTUS: I am the guardian of the desert! My pointy limbs shall poke all who seek to defile this land!
OUR HEROINE: Mummy! The cactus is being mean to me!
HER MOTHER: (stares)
(OUR HEROINE sticks the apple core behind the CACTUS, where it can't be seen from the path. She makes her way to the other apple core, the CACTUS providing only a minor obstacle in this matter, and buries it in a shallow grave. She clambers back onto the path.)
OUR HEROINE: The deed is done, and cannot be undone (because nothing will induce me to go back into that wretched cactus patch, you know). They are buried! All evidence of our crime is hidden, and none shall suspect us of the least wrongdoing!
HER MOTHER: So long, my child, as you are not called to explain the matter of the numerous cactus-pricks all about your limbs!
OUR HEROINE: (cries)
Some thoughts on meditation:
Frankly, I can't see the point of it. The biggest thrill, for me, was that of sitting in a room with a group of other people who all had their eyes closed and were meditating, while I opened my eyes and looked around and watched them. It felt like I was doing something so deliciously wicked. Except these tended to be guided meditation type things and meditation leaders will insist on opening their eyes to make sure everything is going all right and catching me at it.
A classification of persons attending the retreat, with attributes exaggerated for comic effect:
The Cushion Arranger: Takes three or four cushions into the meditation hall. Arranges them into various strange-looking piles. Sits upon them. Is dissatisfied. Rearranges cushions--sticks some under knees and feet. Realizes that more cushions are needed to properly support body in meditation posture. Ends up meditating inside fascinating and envy-inducing cushion tent.
The Person Who Knows How a Meditation Bench Works: Always brings meditation bench into meditation hall with her. Sits properly on meditation bench for first few minutes of meditation. Inevitably ends up sitting on bench as if she were a normal person, rather than A Person Who Knows How a Meditation Bench Works.
I Need a Chair, If You Please: Insists that she needs to sit upon a chair, not the floor like a peasant. Bonus points if "medical conditions" are blamed. Comes to morning meditation late and distracts everyone from achieving enlightenment by dragging heavy chair across the floor.
The Person Who Has Spent The Last Six Years In A Buddhist Monastery In Which All The Residents Spent Three Hours Each Day Meditating And Therefore Has Mastered The Art of Sitting In What Looks Like An Extremely Uncomfortable Position Without Moving For The Entire Session And Makes The Others Feel Terrifically Incompetent When They Start Squirming After Five Minutes: Uh, I don't really think this needs further explanation.
Rules of the retreat center that I, the author, observed being broken (primarily because I was a party to the breaking of them):
"'Kill no living thing' = NO MEAT": My mother, being the practical sort, packed lots of little snacks and cold cuts for our trip, since we would have to drive for three hours to get there. Alas, some of these did not live up to the strict vegetarian standards of the retreat. Oh, well, we figured. We would just be sure to eat all the forbidden meat before we arrived. Except we forgot about it for the whole trip to the retreat and ended up having to hide it in our pillows and sneak back into our room when everyone else was out meditating so we could eat the evidence.
"Please keep silence within the meditation hall and other buildings": Well, this one was a wash from day 1. It was posted on all the walls, too. We all ignored it. Or were illiterate! We were supposed to be silent during some meals, as well. This rule was actually obeyed by a majority of the participants. But not us!
Scene: The dining area. People are sitting at various tables, eating breakfast, drinking coffee, etc. Nobody speaks; the only sounds are the clink of silverware and footsteps when somebody gets up from the table. Suddenly....
MY MOTHER: Do you want more oatmeal?
ME: (shakes head)
MOTHER: Have another orange slice!
ME: (silently takes orange slice)
MOTHER: You drank all your tea! I will get you more tea!
ME: But I don't want-- (falls silent and accepts new cup of tea)
MOTHER: Did you have enough to eat? Are you all full?
ME: (hissing) We're not supposed to be talking!
MOTHER: Ah! Right! (puts finger to lips and grins)
Thirty seconds later:
MOTHER: Did you wash your face this morning?
ME: (sighs)
"Take nothing out of the desert; leave nothing in the desert": This was in among all the rules about not wasting water, recycling everything, and so forth. Alas, it lead to
The Disposal of an Apple Core: A Comedy
A cabin in the desert. Our Heroine and Her Mother are seated atop bunk beds. They have both just finished eating apples, and are contemplating the remains of their snack.
OUR HEROINE: O mother fair! In what happy receptacle shall I place the core of this bounteous apple, whereupon I have lately feasted? For this our bower contains no garbage-receiving can.
HER MOTHER: It is my belief, forsooth, that one may be found in the bathing-room.
OUR HEROINE: Ah! Thither shall I go!
HER MOTHER: Nay! Nay! For I have just remembered myself. The remains of our apples we cannot deposit there, for their pleasant scent and nutritional value shall soon attract every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.
OUR HEROINE: But then! Whatever shall we do? However might we be liberated from these heavy burdens?
HER MOTHER: Let us repair to the outdoors, and climb yonder hill, and pitch these thrice-cursed cores into the deserted land about us!
(The two ladies walk up the hill. OUR HEROINE has both the apple cores concealed in the pockets of her skirt.)
OUR HEROINE: I follow you, my lady mother, for in you I find the personification of wisdom itself. But misremember you the List of Rules we were given but two hours past, which warned most sternly against the rubbishing of the desert?
HER MOTHER: 'Twould be better, then, methinks, if we flung the apple cores into some place of concealment. Fortune has decreed that this desert should sprout with many a shrub and bush, under which the cores might be hidden.
OUR HEROINE: An excellent plan! You must keep a look-out, and warn me lest there be a witness to our dark deed, while I endeavor to pitch the cores under the low branches of yonder shrub.
(Our Heroine tosses two apple cores into the desert. One falls greatly short of its target, while the other lands next to a cactus. Both are clearly visible from the path.)
OUR HEROINE: Damme! I say Damme!
HER MOTHER: It is of but little matter. For who, upon observing two random apple cores, should connect their presence with ourselves?
OUR HEROINE: Our walk up this hill has been noted by many a person. Perchance they shall interrogate us, and expel us from the meditation retreat to our great shame for our crime! I must venture forth into the desert proper and better conceal the apple cores.
(OUR HEROINE steps off the path toward the closer core, but is hampered by the presence of a CACTUS.)
OUR HEROINE: Ow! Ow! Foul cactus, thou hast pricked me!
CACTUS: I am the guardian of the desert! My pointy limbs shall poke all who seek to defile this land!
OUR HEROINE: Mummy! The cactus is being mean to me!
HER MOTHER: (stares)
(OUR HEROINE sticks the apple core behind the CACTUS, where it can't be seen from the path. She makes her way to the other apple core, the CACTUS providing only a minor obstacle in this matter, and buries it in a shallow grave. She clambers back onto the path.)
OUR HEROINE: The deed is done, and cannot be undone (because nothing will induce me to go back into that wretched cactus patch, you know). They are buried! All evidence of our crime is hidden, and none shall suspect us of the least wrongdoing!
HER MOTHER: So long, my child, as you are not called to explain the matter of the numerous cactus-pricks all about your limbs!
OUR HEROINE: (cries)