Entry Day

“So how did you end up in here?”

The registration room sounds like a scene from Orange is the New Black, more divorces and less violent crime though.

Day 1

No mantras, no metta, no visuals, no guru, no chanting, no yoga. Just the air passing over my nostrils and upper lip, okay.

Day 2

Why is that woman picking all the almonds out of the muesli, and what kind of sociopath washes dishes like that?!

Day 3

We haven’t even started the Vipassana part yet? Fuck.

Day 4

This isn’t meditation. Meditation is bliss and vibrations and warmth and love. This is torture and I hate everyone who encouraged me to do this.

Day 5

The giggles.

Day 6

Why was the gong going off all night and who was cooking bacon outside my window?

Day 7

This is definitely not for me… but I got this far, and you cant go home on day 7. Can you?

Day 8

Alert! There is LSD in the fruit salad, warn the others! I repeat, there is LSD in the fruit salad.

Day 9

Every flower and fruit and seed is just a lesson in impermanence… *stares at tree for 45 minutes*

Day 10

Now that noble silence is lifted and the LSD effect has worn off, get me the fuck out of here.

I am however, comforted to hear I wasn’t the only one having bacon hallucinations.

Departure Day

I wonder if I can find a massage place that will let me drink lattes through a straw in the face-hole of the massage bed…