For the longest time, I was a meditation skeptic. I was a skeptic in general, but I targeted certain practices, and one of them was meditation, which I associated with soft thinking or other New Age practices like crystals or the application of oils and unguents to the forehead in search of higher consciousness. I did not believe because I would not believe. When friends of mine spoke about their experiences with meditation, I was dismissive. I assumed that they were lying, in the same way that they were lying about getting in great shape by going to the gym and trying a new lifting or riding regimen. I mean, I could see them. Who did they think they were fooling? It was simply a stroke of luck, then, that one day I walked into the downtown studio of Master Roland Garton, who specialized in Vipassanā, and—perhaps more importantly—in a unique meditative practice of his own invention. The first day I met him, he was eating a hamburger with one hand and quickly scanning through his text messages with the other. “Ex-wife,” he said. “Ex-girlfriend. Bill collector. Reporter who wants to do a hit job on the studio. That one is an ex-girlfriend also.” Then he flung the phone as hard as he could against the nearest wall and lifted both hands in exasperation. “Okay,” he said, turning to me. “Let’s get you going.” The remainder of his hamburger floated in the air in front of him, a miracle, an advertisement.
©2021 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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