Interior Decor
The first thing that hit me was the smell. Not because it was that strong, but because the door was mostly closed and I don't have X-Ray vision. Incense, that smelled like I imagined incense would smell like, not how it really does. I probably should have just turned around right there and gone to do something productive. But I opened the door instead.
"What the hell have you done to my room?" I asked.
The buddha looked unconcerned. "Doesn't the atmosphere of the whole thing give you the feeling that your questions which had been so important are aren't, and have already been answered?"
I looked around and counted to ten. "No, the atmosphere of the whole thing gives me the feeling of a Chinese restaurants designed by four white guys whose only contact with China is watching Jackie Chan movies."
"It's not all Chinese. Like Shiva. The Buddha's not Chinese either. Just because it's 'Oriental' doesn't mean it's Chinese."
"That's why I said it's like a bad Chinese restaurants. It's all just tossed together. And I'm totally not a fan of the red silk hanging thing, it looks more like a bordello..."
I had to stop when my tour revealed the piece de resistance of the decor. Trust me, you would have too. "I thought you'd like that," the buddha said.
"I..." I shook my head, "That's either genius or insane stupidity, I'm not sure which. It has to have come from the 'net. Where'd you get it?"
"Nope," he said.
"Great." I closed my eyes and looked again, it was still there. "That means I came up with the idea of a statue of Optimus Prime as Buddha myself. Or that I've forgotten where I saw it. And I'm still not sure if it's awesome or stupid."
The buddha leaned back a few inches above the wooden bench where my bed used to be. "See," he said, the questions you thought you had have become unimportant."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. They've been replaced by ones like 'What did you do with my stuff?' and "Did you whip this all up, or do I need to cancel my credit card?' and 'Where am I supposed to sleep tonight?'"
"You're always so negative. Stuff is just stuff. You are not your stuff. Look at the possibilities opened up by this!"
"You know, you're right, I could go rent a broken-down house and start my own cult of anarchists. Or I could not wander into a bad Fight Club ripoff. You are not Tyler Durden. And I am not my stuff, but my stuff can let me be a better me. Like shoes for example. They let me walk across gravel without doing that weird walking you have to do where you put your feet carefully to try and spread out the weight. And clothes have pockets. Pockets are awesome."
"Shoes and pockets were hardly the extent of your stuff. Most of it was just an anchor. But no, you never thank me, it's always 'Where's my stuff?' 'I'm not going to listen to your advice even when I asked for it!' 'Hey! Quit flicking those toenails into my bed!' Being a strawman is a thankless job!"
"Dude, if you were a strawman, these would involve a lot more of me yelling. And me winning the arguments, too. Now, I'm going to ask you again, where's my stuff?"
"This week is a good time to begin a new project," was all he said.
I leaned back against a stone water fountain with a pagoda on it. It was really kinda nice, if it hadn't been right in the middle of what used to be my room. "Okay," I said, "We can do it that way. Or I can ask you nicely to put my stuff back and get rid of the Chinese takeout menu behind you. What's the point of turning my room into a cheap replica of a temple I don't even believe in, anyway?"
"Because you wanted advice, and it's more credible if it comes from somewhere that seems exotic and foreign and new. Rather than regular old wisdom. And you know all the other reasons."
"Yeah okay, whatever. Look, I need to get to sleep, so put my room back or I'll break out the lightsaber."
He laughed. "You don't even believe in Jedi."
"No," I said, "But I believe lightsabers are wicked cool. I'll be back in a minute."
"What the hell have you done to my room?" I asked.
The buddha looked unconcerned. "Doesn't the atmosphere of the whole thing give you the feeling that your questions which had been so important are aren't, and have already been answered?"
I looked around and counted to ten. "No, the atmosphere of the whole thing gives me the feeling of a Chinese restaurants designed by four white guys whose only contact with China is watching Jackie Chan movies."
"It's not all Chinese. Like Shiva. The Buddha's not Chinese either. Just because it's 'Oriental' doesn't mean it's Chinese."
"That's why I said it's like a bad Chinese restaurants. It's all just tossed together. And I'm totally not a fan of the red silk hanging thing, it looks more like a bordello..."
I had to stop when my tour revealed the piece de resistance of the decor. Trust me, you would have too. "I thought you'd like that," the buddha said.
"I..." I shook my head, "That's either genius or insane stupidity, I'm not sure which. It has to have come from the 'net. Where'd you get it?"
"Nope," he said.
"Great." I closed my eyes and looked again, it was still there. "That means I came up with the idea of a statue of Optimus Prime as Buddha myself. Or that I've forgotten where I saw it. And I'm still not sure if it's awesome or stupid."
The buddha leaned back a few inches above the wooden bench where my bed used to be. "See," he said, the questions you thought you had have become unimportant."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. They've been replaced by ones like 'What did you do with my stuff?' and "Did you whip this all up, or do I need to cancel my credit card?' and 'Where am I supposed to sleep tonight?'"
"You're always so negative. Stuff is just stuff. You are not your stuff. Look at the possibilities opened up by this!"
"You know, you're right, I could go rent a broken-down house and start my own cult of anarchists. Or I could not wander into a bad Fight Club ripoff. You are not Tyler Durden. And I am not my stuff, but my stuff can let me be a better me. Like shoes for example. They let me walk across gravel without doing that weird walking you have to do where you put your feet carefully to try and spread out the weight. And clothes have pockets. Pockets are awesome."
"Shoes and pockets were hardly the extent of your stuff. Most of it was just an anchor. But no, you never thank me, it's always 'Where's my stuff?' 'I'm not going to listen to your advice even when I asked for it!' 'Hey! Quit flicking those toenails into my bed!' Being a strawman is a thankless job!"
"Dude, if you were a strawman, these would involve a lot more of me yelling. And me winning the arguments, too. Now, I'm going to ask you again, where's my stuff?"
"This week is a good time to begin a new project," was all he said.
I leaned back against a stone water fountain with a pagoda on it. It was really kinda nice, if it hadn't been right in the middle of what used to be my room. "Okay," I said, "We can do it that way. Or I can ask you nicely to put my stuff back and get rid of the Chinese takeout menu behind you. What's the point of turning my room into a cheap replica of a temple I don't even believe in, anyway?"
"Because you wanted advice, and it's more credible if it comes from somewhere that seems exotic and foreign and new. Rather than regular old wisdom. And you know all the other reasons."
"Yeah okay, whatever. Look, I need to get to sleep, so put my room back or I'll break out the lightsaber."
He laughed. "You don't even believe in Jedi."
"No," I said, "But I believe lightsabers are wicked cool. I'll be back in a minute."