It’s not what you think
Meditation Is The Expansion Of Boredom
Stop looking for shiny lights and charismatic unicorns
It’s 2 am, and you’re sitting at this train station freezing your goolinos or equivalent off.
You’re watching the mucky, boundless Dakini organise her fourteen shopping bags, each filled with thirteen shopping bags. She bends low and her gargantuan arse crack smiles like the Grand Canyon from space.
But you don’t get what she is teaching.
You are Major Tom the arse watcher.
You think she is the mad one.
The screen lies — four minutes and you let yourself get bored.
Remember when you forced your back straight like a god damn crustacean because the one-legged bandit in the blue kaftan said it helps the channels flow better? You thought he was talking about TV, but you did it anyway, and it was like eating hot marbles with chopsticks.
Now, it feels awkward not to have a straight back.
No, it’s not an advanced thing, you anthropoid fiddler.
It’s because, in normalness, the back is always straight, even when it isn’t.
It’s just more boring than a curve.
You’re breathing in the fumes of trains past and future
You’re snorting the atomic coffee and nachos from upstairs. Remember when you used to force yourself to breathe in and out like Peep Show Charlie because the one-legged bandit in the blue kaftan said it’s the way into peace?
Remember when you wanted peace?
Breath is always long and slow like an attentive pussy licker.
No, it’s not an advanced thing, you convicted ape fondler.
In normalness, the breath is always relaxed — even when it isn’t.
It’s just more boring than short and fast.
It’s three minutes till the damn train now, and a fucking rat fuck runs up the cold-iron tracks.
Where the fuck is it going? What rat business needs to be attended to at this hour? Now you’re chasing the rodent bastard up the oily tunnel.
Fuck that. It’s too interesting.
Remember when you thought one day your mind would light up like Eurovision and become enlightened — more vast, radiant, and powerful than all the other stooges?
Remember chasing luminous rats, waiting for meditation to happen?
Remember how it never came?
How disappointingly enlightening.
You are always chasing yourself outside of yourself
You wonder why a part of you always feels like it’s missing.
You’re like an Old Monopoly Board with no Old Kent Road.
Even in meditation, you chase yourself back into yourself because you forgot that inside is still outside.
Meditation and distraction are all too interesting.
There’s a coffee stain on the ground, and your arse is freezing from this damn metal cheese grater bench.
You wonder if you’ll get piles — whatever the fuck they are. But, you’re a predictable fucker for trying to avoid piles, so you pray for piles — whatever the fuck they are.
You smell a cigarette, and there’s a man with a blonde mohawk and bright green trainers. He is loitering next to a giant pole about thirty-seven point five feet away. This is all one thought. But it took a whole minute, and the train is two minutes out.
You think of the Buddha Tara — a luminous green deity.
You think you’re facing outward but actually, you’re facing inward.
It’s still all too fucking interesting.
Now rat bastard appears again and tells you that you’re a boring fucker for those thoughts.
He explodes, raining blood, rat shit, and pus all over your consciousness. Rat is Rong. Outside and inside are all too interesting, which is fine.
Trying to be boring is too interesting.
There’s a bing-bong, and the train is delayed for sixteen minutes. Now you can be adequately bored instead of just murdering moment after moment, by chasing yourself outside of yourself in distraction or chasing yourself into yourself in meditation like a rat bastard.
That kind of murder is too interesting.
The electronic advertisement flashes something about knickers in summer.
Remember when you pissed your own knickers because meditation felt like ecstasy, and that horse-headed man told you to stop being a cock?
Remember when you could count the number of atoms in a Christmas tree, and that badger-headed horse told you to stop being so interesting?
Remember when your mind was so damn peaceful like an unpolluted ocean in 1683, and that beaver-headed badger sewed your ears closed with dental floss?
Can you feel the cold of the cheese grater bench? It’s boring.
Cigarette smoke mixes well with coffee and nachos
It smells like smoked pussy, making you cough like an old smoker. Your cough is the master because now you are genuinely bored again.
Bodhidharma was always fucking coughing.
Nothing to do now but sit on this frigid bench and smoke pussy.
Bored shitless — no more shit.
Bored senseless — no more senses.
Bored out of your mind — no more mind.
Something is happening. Meditation is working. Fuck.
Where is your wisdom sword, Lord Manjushri?
Where is your rat in a square hat?
Where is your nacho-smoked pussy in green shoes?
Where is your horse head, badger head, beaver eater?
Remember when you thought boredom was the key to enlightenment?
You got it wrong again, you arrogant bastard.
Boredom is enlightenment.
But as soon as you feel it is, it isn’t, because it’s too interesting.
The train is here. Or is it just another fucking rat?
