your lifestyle, your possessions, your position, or your things. You tell people in your lectures that you can walk away from anything whenever you want. Now is the time for you to walk your talk.”
Damn. I know he’s right.
I just sob harder.
“Honey, you sound just like one of our patients,” he says with a loving smile in his tone.
I shriek, “I know that. I know that. I understand exactly what I’m doing and what’s going on. I see it all clearly, and I don’t care. I don’t care, shmare, wear, bear! WHATEVER! I just want OUT.”
I regret every day I’ve ever shared with him those family therapy principles about “release with love,” or letting people “work their own side of the street,” or “no pain, no gain,” or any of that crap.
I growl, “Call you back in the morning,” and then slam down the receiver.
Crying all the way back to tea, I reenter with crazed, crimson eyes, glaring at all their contented, tea-soaked grins. When his speech ends, I approach Reverend Paul and quiver. “Can I talk with you?”
Smiling quietly, he asks, “About what?”
That’s it. The floodgates burst as I now sob uncontrollably. Ushering me gently out the door, he sits us down on the kitchen stairs.
I begin blankly. “I have to leave, and I thought I should talk to someone first,” I boohoo, getting out all my frustrations and fears.
“Everyone’s great here. It’s a great place. It could be a great time, but I just have to go. I just can’t stop crying.”
“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” he answers, staring quietly straight ahead.
I boohoo more.
After a minute, he gently faces me dead-on. “This place makes you come up against yourself. It’s quite frightening. You can’t run or hide anywhere. It makes one go inward, deeper, and closer to the real Self.”
How the hell does this guy know about me? I’m not afraid. I just have a lot of things to do and don’t really see the value of wasting a week with this. I just don’t have enough motivation or desperation to stick it out. After all, my patients want freedom from food obsessions. They’re suffering and seeking relief. I’ve already done that. I’m doing quite well, thank you very much. I don’t want or need anything. I surely don’t need this. I must be on some stupid kick to investigate alternative lifestyles. This is an intellectual mission of mercy to benefit my staff and patients. I’ve made a mistake. I don’t need to put myself through this.
“I love my life,” I scream at his bald head. “I don’t want to be a monk.”
He slowly turns toward me again and gently responds to my panic. He breathes, and then pauses before speaking. “No one here would ask you to give up anything about your life. Principles you learn here can be carried back to your world, or not. It is true, however, that once you see and experience the truth, it burns like a fire within and you can’t pretend you haven’t seen or known it. I’ve obviously made my choice about things.”
His shaved head bears witness.
“Do you think you could make it through until tomorrow, or should I get Reverend Kincaid? We can get someone to drive you into town right now if that’s what you’d like.”
Secured by some returning sense of power, and also aware I’ve promised Yves I’ll wait until morning, I assure him I can make it through the night. He comforts me further with “Perhaps a good night’s sleep will make things clearer.”
Before reaching the women’s bathhouse, I’m approached by Reverend Kincaid.
Who ratted on me?
He begins gently with “Let’s sit here by the fountain and talk.” I make my way over and sit down to sob some more.
“I told you it might be hard to jump in midstream,” he reminds me.
“I know, I know,” I screech. “You were right, you were right. I shouldn’t have come. It’s the bowing. I can’t take the bowing. I don’t want to be a monk. I just wanted to study how Buddha’s principles work in the world.”
“I’d better go home and read more. I really thought I’d have some space and time to think. I’m just a dilettante. I never should have come. You’re all very nice. Everyone’s been wonderful. I just can’t stop crying. I can’t figure out the bowing. I’ve got to go.”
Reverend Kincaid showers me with the same gentleness shown by Reverend Paul. With no attempt to convince me of anything and with no condescension, he replies, “Rituals, such as bowing, are here to develop a certain orientation or practice, but they are really reminders of deeper meanings. The principles of gratitude, love, and service that you practice by bowing can be incorporated back to life outside of here. You are experiencing a loss of your normal structures and it is forcing you to move to other levels with which you have not yet been acquainted. We provide you with enough structure so that you can feel free to move to deeper levels without worry. We are freeing your mind of some decisions so you may focus on others and so that you can let go.”
Could it be that this dear man actually knows how much of my life is spent organizing my closet, scheduling appointments, and devising new treatment plans for patients? If my body and soul were not occupied with such diversions, what would I think about?
Oh, I get it. This is about not thinking at all.
What will my head do all day long? Even if that dilemma was solved, what about my room? Doesn’t he know my zodiac sign is Cancer? We need to nest.
“But despite all my best intentions, I can’t even do this stuff!” I seem to be screeching into yet another naked ear socket. “I couldn’t even meditate on a stool. I had to be benched.”
He stares directly ahead, not looking at me, just like Reverend Paul, and, with a slight smile, answers, “I use the bench.”
Yet another image shattered!
Eyes bugged in amazement, I wonder, How could the “Guestmaster of the Abbey” not sit in lotus position on a pillow? Don’t these people know anything about leadership qualities and motivational techniques? I’m totally giving up on expecting any professionalism.
He interrupts my head’s rant. “You seem extremely wound up right now. Perhaps a good night’s sleep will help you sort things out.”
Thanking him profusely for all his kindness, I apologize for my panic and tears.
“Why don’t you take time out of the morning cleanup schedule to make your decision? I’ll relieve you of any work detail so you can meditate more, make necessary phone calls, and then either fully participate or jump ship.”
“Sure. Thanks again for everything.” Smiling a sweet goodnight, I leave him to tiptoe into the temple past inert forms already cuddled into their sleeping bags. I crawl into mine and begin a quiet sob. Torn and disappointed and totally confused, I finally fall asleep. The Reverend and I both know I’ll be leaving in the morning.
But morning finds me still unresolved. I certainly feel increased compassion for those
