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…