I agreed to meet my teacher in a noticeably quieter spot on campus in order to begin learning the basic
tenets of
Buddhism and
meditation. Upon hearing of his arrival, I set out on foot, searching for the placid location beneath the big tree that he described to me. The night was warm, uncommonly so for this time of year, and the moon almost full and radiating from the calm skin of the pond could only be described as
exultant. The grass was cool and the tree my teacher had picked had an eerie
surreal quality to it.
He greeted me as I approached, I noticed that he was in
full lotus position already and had his eyes closed. I sat down next to him and he implored me to select a position in which I felt comfortable. After attempting
seiza and lotus, I settled on the kindergarten Indian style position that offered the least in the way of pain. My teacher began to walk me through
metta meditation and I was having a very positive response, thoroughly enjoying the experience. After that we talked for a little while about some small topics and he asked me if I wished to learn
zazen, a form of
zen meditation. Up for anything after the positive response I had with
metta, I said yes.
My teacher explained to me that I should
focus solely on my breathing, counting from one to ten and then returning again to one and beginning the process anew. I nodded and took my half-assed position up, closing my eyes and beginning to focus only on my
breathing.
So, I got to about
eight breaths before the terrible nagging pain in my back shot up my
spine like fire. I told my teacher that I was having a hard time holding this position and he suggested that I lay back, but not fall asleep. And so my first
attempt at insight meditation was begun again.
Again, I got to about
eight breaths before this time being distracted by a distinctly female
moan. Returning again to my concentration, I heard another
moan, again female, yet different. Because I am afflicted by the
sordid curse of
testosterone, my mind
awoke, straying rapidly from the task at hand. I tried once more to clear my mind, acknowledging that the moans had happened but returning to my breathing as my
teacher had instructed me.
I got to about eight breaths, before an incredibly loud car alarm erupted into sound not far away. My
concentration shattered, I thought it time for a break to regroup mentally and prepare to meditate again. It all went down hill from there. Out of abject curiosity, I peeked over my shoulder to see from where the moans were coming from.
Splayed out in the moonlight were two of the most
beautiful girls I have ever seen,
getting it on like there was no tomorrow. I grabbed my skull and cursed myself for witnessing this, knowing now I would be unable to clear my mind in any sense of the word. Only
logical, I took another
damning look at the two girls. They were like goddesses, with not porn bodies but regular people bodies. For a
male with very little exposure to these sorts of things, this kind of scene can be quite exciting.
I
related the information to my teacher, telling him that I had become the worst
Buddhist ever in the span of a half hour. He assured me I was hardly the worst Buddhist ever, telling me the story of
Ahinsaka and his garland of one thousand human fingers. I smiled and listened as he told me of the
dharma, of
karma, and
Buddhist tales from ages long since scorched, all the while thoughts of what was going on behind me burning bright in my mind’s eye.
I offered my teacher some
ramen for his lessons and he gladly accepted. We rose to head back to my room and I began plotting the course that would take me closest to the scantily clad
women who had destroyed my ability to
focus. It was then that I first began to think as a Buddhist.
“This will not make me happy but for a little while, and then sorrow shall follow. It is best that we avoid this situation both mentally and physically.”
My teacher
smiled. I
smiled.