By on December 8, 2015

That’s the same as a booty call, right?


Jackson, WY – Susie stopped by my trailer last night. “I’ve been going to meditation class at the Sports Injury Center,” she told me. “It’s wonderful. I sit with a meditation group; we empty our minds and practice breathing.”

I had been seeing Susie off and on for years, but I looked at her to be sure I hadn’t missed something. Nope, not a blonde.

“Are you planning on dyeing your hair?”

She would need an empty mind if she wanted to be accepted as a natural.

“Of course not,” she replied.

Why would Susie, someone who ingests vegetable juice and vegan “food,” want to empty her mind? Plainly she doesn’t have that much mind left to empty.

Then it hit me — the empty mind thing, the need to concentrate on basic breathing — I knew what happened to Susie. She had been mind-washed by an evil cult that had penetrated the Jackson area. I was at once filled with compassion and revulsion. I wanted to touch her, to comfort her, but was afraid I might get a disease.

“Susie,” I asked. “Have you become a Dallas Cowboy fan?”

“No silly,” she said. “Buddhists believe meditation is the first step to enlightenment.”

I didn’t know meditation was a Buddhism thing. The last time Susie went Buddhist on me she brought over a figurine of a laughing Buddha with a beer belly. I can relate to a guy like that! She also brought a copy of the Karma Sutra. It’s a book but don’t let that put you off. The ancient Indian text has lots of pictures. Needless to say we had spent an amusing evening together engrossed in the study of that sacred text. I have since developed a reverence for all things Buddhist.

“What does it mean exactly to be enlightened?” I asked, trying to keep the subject on Buddhism, hopefully moving us toward more Karma Sutra lessons.

“The Sanskrit word for enlightenment is Bodhi,” she said. “It means to be awake, to be mindful.”

I realized then, to my shame, that while I had been mentally ridiculing Susie, it was I who was not enlightened. Granted, I experienced enlightenment from time to time, mainly during football season. Sitting in my chair, beer and pizza in hand, I am awake, mindful of each play and replay, each stupid call missed or made by the refs against the Broncos. Then there are the beer and truck ads and the way the cheerleaders’ dresses fluttered in the breeze. But what about the rest of the year? Would I have to become a basketball, hockey and baseball fan to have continual enlightenment? It all made my head hurt. I grabbed the copy of the Karma Sutra that I use as one leg of a chair after Alice, my Republican girl, broke it when she attached silk-lined handcuffs to it.

“Let’s go meditate!” I said. “Nothing makes me wake up and be mindful more than a little booty!”

“It’s pronounced Bodhi,” She said. Then she smiled. “I could use some practice breathing.”

Namaste. PJH

About Clyde Thornhill

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