Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
“We offer guided worship,” nods the nun. “Is that what you mean?”
“Yes, I think so,” I answer, unsure. “Maybe I mean more in terms of knowing how to meditate about a specific thing.”
“Is there something in particular that is troubling you?” the nun asks, raising a brow.
“Yes,” I reply hesitantly, not wanting to reveal too much about the taboo nature of my conundrum. “I suppose I’m troubled by guilt,” I say instead. “Guilt about a love triangle I find myself in.” There’s no need to specify that the love triangle involves my stepfather and stepbrother because the knowledge is too forbidden. I don’t want to get kicked out before I’ve even settled in.
“When it comes to matters of the heart,” the nun smiles, “we believe there’s no need to seek the Buddha out. It’s best to clear our minds and let him present himself to us.”
“Thank you,” I nod gratefully. “I’ll try that.”
She smiles, her bald pate shining in the low light.
“I look forward to seeing you with us during worship. There is a full schedule available in the hall. The next prayer session is this evening at 8 p.m., in the main temple. I hope you’ll join us then.”
“Thank you,” I say as the nun retreats, closing the door behind her and leaving me alone with my thoughts. Looking around the cell, I sink onto the bed, setting my duffel bag down on the floor. Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply as I try to clear my mind, waiting for the Buddha to present himself to me with hopefully, some badly needed answers.
12
Elle
I spend the rest of the day trying to clear my mind. And although the Buddha doesn’t present himself to me, I’m okay with it. I’m sure it takes years of practice to reach levels of mindfulness to even approach the idea of enlightenment. But I do feel better, regardless. My troubles seem to fade further and further away as I alternate between meditating in my room, taking walks through the beautiful grounds of the campus, and drinking tea in the mess hall. Finally, after a communal dinner, I attend a 9 p.m. worship in one of the temples. It’s a thoroughly invigorating experience, and although I’m new to this type of spirituality, I can already see myself incorporating it into my everyday life. Perhaps I ought to stay longer than just a few days.
By the time I go to bed, I feel exhausted. But it’s a different kind of exhaustion than the kind I’ve been experiencing lately. It’s not exhaustion from being emotionally drained, or even physically spent. It’s a kind of exhaustion I haven’t felt in a long time, and it reminds me of the satisfying depletion of energy after a day at the beach with Mom. After hours of basking in the sunlight, breathing in the salty air, and listening to the continuous rolling back and forth of waves, I’d fall into bed at the end of the day with all my muscles relaxed, my mind calm, and my heart rate even. When’s the last time I drifted easily into the open arms of slumber like this? Was it before Mom passed away? I can’t remember, but it must have been, because it feels like a childhood memory now. A glimpse into my life from before Charity died. From before my childhood ended.
The transition from wakefulness to sleep is so seamless that I don’t even realize I’m dreaming until I see a familiar figure enter my room. And I must be dreaming, because that familiar figure can’t be there. Not in real life. Not anymore.
“Mom?” I whisper, sitting up in shock and awe. “Is that you?” The figure is distinctly female, yet I can’t fully make her out. I just know it’s her. I can see that Charity’s wearing a long, white gown, which makes her look angelic and soft. As the figure drifts slowly closer to me, she becomes clearer, and I find myself looking up into the smiling, loving face of my mother. She’s glowing faintly, her long, brown hair flowing down around her. Her kind blue eyes sparkle as they take me in.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” she asks in a gentle voice, sitting down on the edge of my bed. There is no change of pressure on the mattress, nor do the sheets shift.
“How are you here?” I whisper, unable to comprehend what I’m looking at. Dream or not, this experience is overwhelming.
“Because, sweetheart,” Charity answers, “I think maybe you need me.”
“But I’ve needed you in the past,” I choke. “I’ve needed you every single day since you left. Why have you never visited me like this before?”
“I have, Elle,” she smiles lovingly, “you just haven’t seen me. I’m always here with you. Right here,” she adds, putting her hand gently on my chest. But I can’t feel her touch, even though a slight warmth spreads over my heart. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”