Impossible. You cannot be who you say you are. I will not permit it.
Today’s Writing Challenge is: Who’s the most interesting person (or people) you’ve met this year? Turn this into a character study.
As we sit in our tranquil circle, Luis–the meditation leader of our Buddhist sanga (group)–asks us to introduce ourselves (first names only). He only does this when there are new people who have joined the meditation group for the evening. This evening there are two new people. I know the other eleven very well.
Luis suggests with the mere nod of his head that the person to his left start. Since I’m sitting closer to his right, I’ll be one of the last names announced to the group.
One of the new people is Paul. The other is Lorna.
Immediately, my mind starts shouting: “What? Another Lorna in such a small group? How is this possible? I’m the only Lorna in this group! Heck, I’m the only Lorna in this rinky dink town!”
I stare at her until I realize it’s time for me to say my name. Almost apologetically, I say, “Lorna.”
Luis chimes in, “Yes, the other Lorna.” General chuckling ensues.
Can you believe two people dress up like this to go to meditation?
Again, my mind is furious and I possibly cursed. I know it said, “The other Lorna? Wait a minute, Buster! I’ve been coming to this sanga for five years. She shows up once and all of a sudden I’m the ‘other Lorna?’ What’s up with that?” Clearly five years of Buddhist meditation is not enough for a calm and equanamous mind.
My entire half-hour of silent meditation was occupied by Lorna–not me, but her. Well, both.
Bong. Bong. Bong.
She looks older than me, but I look pretty young for my age. She probably doesn’t take very good care of herself. Clearly she’s fatter than I am and covers it up with baggy clothing. Cheap trick, Lorna. I used to do it, too, before I started eating healthy.
Breathe. In. Out. In.
She’s blonde, but I definitely saw dark roots. Tsk. Tsk. Lorna. Who are you trying to impress? I’m a natural blonde. I impress people without peroxide or trying.
Breathe. Out. In.
Her nose is abnormally long and straight. It looks like it was meant to be on the face of some Roman male statue or something. Very unattractive. My nose is big, I’ll admit it, but it fits my face. Plus I have all this naturally blonde hair and big blue eyes to draw the eyes away from my nose. She’s got nothing but those baggy cloths and dark roots.
She’s sitting a chair, the meditation sissy! I’m doing it right, using a zafu, on the floor. What a rookie. I never used a chair. She probably has bad knees or sciatica. If she dropped a few pounds, she probably would feel better. I don’t know of a single case of bad knees that was cured by baggy clothes.
I hate her. She doesn’t even look like a “Lorna,” which would be a woman who looks exactly like me.
Bong. Bong. Bong.
Meditation is over.
She’s still here. Shizzle. Maybe I should meditate on why I hate a woman I don’t even know because of her name.
Gosh darn it. Buddhism is hard.