If the unbounded love I feel toward all sentient beings didn’t color my every thought, I’d say that you’re not thrilled about my attaining enlightenment. In fact, if I didn’t exude pure compassion, I’d say that you’re being a real bitch about my newfound ability to see the true nature of reality.
When I emerged from my meditation session last week and announced that I’d achieved the ultimate of spiritual goals, you shrugged it off with “That’s nice, hon.” Then you went back to watching your home design shows. I don’t expect a congratulations-on-achieving-enlightenment party complete with brass band, but I would have liked some acknowledgement for an accomplishment of this magnitude. I didn’t build a goddamn treehouse here; I cultivated a perfect stillness of mind that resulted in supreme insight.
Listen, I understand it must be tough to see someone you love break the circle of death and rebirth when you’re nowhere near accomplishing it. But the fact is, I glued myself to my meditation cushion all these years while you bedazzled yours to use as an accent pillow. Your negative emotional state toward me won’t get you close to enlightenment, believe me. That’s assuming you still want it. And can relegate your scrapbooking habit to the back burner long enough to open chakra one.
I know you’re upset about me abruptly quitting my job, but do you really think that an enlightened being should work the garden section of his local hardware store? After the Buddha emerged from under the Bodhi tree, did he start stacking bags of mulch? I always knew that at its core work was folly, but now I can’t ignore that fact any more. And, no, this has nothing to do with being overlooked for the assistant manager position, though that’s a case of spiritual discrimination if I’ve ever seen one. Did I tell you they wouldn’t let me wear my Ganesh T-shirt under my little red vest? Truth is, if I have to attend another Monday morning staff meeting with that asshole co-worker Brad, I’ll flip out and be back to spiritual square one.
So we’re going to have to make things work with just your salary until my incense Etsy store takes off. As for the whole no sex thing, I get that you’re testy. Kind of a cosmic catch-22 that just as I master energy channeling that results in unwaning stamina, I also transcend base desires and eschew the depletion of energy I need for ongoing spiritual practice. What a crazy plane we exist on, am I right?
You’re not the only one impacted by this. I’m having to make adjustments, too. My aura is crazy huge now. People and animals who can read those things get freaked out when they see mine. It’s like walking into a room with a sign around my neck that reads, “Enlightened guy coming through.” You hate that, because it means that not everyone’s checking out your three hundred dollar boutique jeans when we go out anymore. Spiritual attainment trumps overpriced denim, I’m afraid. The irony is that you crave the attention, and I just wanna blend in. Try doing that with mala beads as big as grapefruits around your neck. Better yet, don’t. Malas aren’t an accessory like your Louis Vuitton handbag; they’re a vital piece of meditation equipment that demands respect and proper care. I recently spotted yours behind the washing machine. Nice.
Listen, I’m still trying to wrap my head around this whole thing, and it’s fucking with me. I mean, my karma’s clean. Know what that means? I’m playing with existential house money now, baby. Speaking of which, I’m buying a motorcycle. You swear up and down that they’re dangerous. You’re right. And should I die in a fiery crash, I’ll just go ahead and merge my consciousness with the divine while I pass from this plane, before waking up in eternal nirvana. Show me the downside. Oh, and the beard stays. My chin whiskers pick up all sorts of intuition and energies and stuff. It’s tough to explain to someone who’s not enlightened—and who can’t grow a beard to save her soul—but trust me when I say it’s non-negotiable.
You’ve changed, and not in a positive way like I have. When we met all those years back in that community college meditation class, you loved that I had spiritual aspirations. You bragged to your friends that you’d finally met a sensitive guy who didn’t care just about himself. I’m still that guy, and I’ve put in countless hours to help humanity on our collective path of spiritual evolution. But all I hear from you is that I’ve done all this just to be able to leave my physical body and cruise around the astral plane looking for famous people. Listen, I’m not going to lie and say that astral plane Jim Morrison isn’t the coolest guy ever—he totally is—but hanging with him is just a sweet byproduct of my spiritual work, not the reason for it. You’re just gonna have to deal with my out-of-body guy’s night. Even enlightened people can’t stand haters.
You’re on the verge of missing a golden opportunity. Being around me might just help enlightenment rub off on you. It happened with the Buddha and his disciples. Of course, those cats were pretty heavy into the spiritual development thing already and not so much into quaffing manhattans by the bucketful. The point is, quit nagging about pointless secular activities like couples’ wok cooking, and I might throw a few insights your way. To get things rolling, I’m picking you up a new meditation cushion. There’s a beginner’s model with your name bedazzled all over it.