I don’t meditate for a while. Whenever I think about it those faces come to mind: the empty smiles, the soulless eyes,… If this is what a life in spirituality turns you into, I don’t want it.
Then, after a week or two, I have a vivid dream. In the dream I’m in Japan, visiting a girl I used to live with, someone I haven’t spoken to, or thought about, in years. She takes me to a temple. After lighting some incense we step inside. It’s damp here, and dark, I can just about make things out by the few candles lit at the front altar. As my eyes adjust, I see rows of men and women sat on cushions, facing the wall, hands crossed in their laps. I feel compelled to take a seat on an empty cushion. Stillness falls like a blanket over the room and a warm energy enters my body. I stay like this for what feels like an eternity.
Then something appears in my visual field. I barely notice it at first, but then I feel it crawl onto my knee. I feel it slither across, its heavy coldness on my leg. A tap on my shoulder, my smiling neighbour points to the snake in my lap, pale yellow, spots like a leopard. I jump back and scramble up, but the snake’s bitten my trousers, it hangs limply by its fangs off my jeans. Then there’s my friend again, she’s been watching me the whole time. She pulls the snake off. It’s time to eat, she declares, as she cuts open a hot dog bun and lays the snake inside. The bitter taste of chicory. I wake with a start.
