Inside the Mind of an Enlightened Master 3: An Unenlightened Master Exposed?

Sitting up on my podium, I look out across the hall at the sea of meditators. I can't help but sense that some of them are looking at me differently to normal through the slits of their half closed eyes. Despite the rule of no gossip and small talk here at this 'Order of One' tradition's spiritual centre, the rumours on the male side have quickly spread about my alleged drug use on the centre's grounds, while on the female side I get the feeling that that nun I couldn't help getting an erection in the presence of has failed to keep that information to herself. It wasn't like I even tried it on with her. Nature is nature. And nature too in the natural plant matter cannabis that I've been accused of smoking, and the cocaine too originating from natural coca leaf. Even some of the other Enlightened Masters seem to be judging me for this, regardless of judgment of others being against good spiritual protocol. To be fair I've not always agreed with that myself, as personally I do reckon that one does need to judge and discern right from wrong. However, this much wider grey area where one's actions are not harming anyone, I believe should be everyone's free playground.
     A meditator in the front row on the women's side sneezes. I look towards there and catch a glimpse of the nun in training who had given me that boner. Carla her name is I think, or Clara. My glimpse of her can't help focusing on her well rounded bosom, showing even through the robe that is wrapped around her, and again I can't help the hardening going on in mine. Wrong time, wrong place for this, man! I try to think of images that will put a stop to it: clogged toilets, earwigs, Theresa May. Of course now has to be the point where the gong on the timed CD sounds, and they all start to open their eyes fully and give me their fixed attention. Down boy, I plead with this acting of its own accord part of my physically manifest self, praying that its not noticeable to any of them.
     "Namaste," I address the packed meditation hall, trying to sound as natural as possible - cool as a cucumber, cool as a spiritual guru version of the Fonz. Not that many of these young disciples will likely have ever watched 'Happy Days', that being before their time. This spiritual guru version of Henry Winkler's character in that I guess would be better suited for a TV series called 'Equanimous Days', as that's what is being taught here. These faces aren't looking at me very equanimously right now. I'm detecting strong resentment and shaken faith. Only a handful of them even bother with intoning, "Namaste," back. I have an evening discourse for them planned, about Mara the demon of temptation in Buddhism, but what's the point if they aren't going to listen, and instead just stare at me with their sullen faces. My erection at least has gone down a bit.
     So where do I begin with this crowd? Reminds me of the one and only time I tried stand up comedy, in my twenties, in a smoky comedy club in London. After five minutes, that felt like five hours, of my gags falling flat to a silent room, I'd wanted to disappear into thin air, and if I had done, would have avoided the ashtray launched at my head from the audience. That wouldn't happen today with the smoking ban, and thankfully its unlikely to happen here with 1) no smoking allowed on the premises and 2) spiritual people being such a passive bunch. Nevertheless, I do feel pressured to say something and break the stony silence, this even stonier than in that comedy club. Instead of launching into the pre written discourse I've spent most of the day trying to memorise, I say, "We have an elephant in the room."
     A few of the meditators shuffle about on their meditation cushions, looking around or behind them, so I have to clarify, "A metaphorical elephant in the room. Not Ganesha, nor Dumbo, but a situation that has arisen."
     I think I hear a whisper on the female side, something along the lines of "Not the only thing that's arisen, eh," but that could just be my paranoia. I've still got some weed in my system, and the coke comedown still going on. I think I hear a whisper on the male side, something along the lines of "Look at this phoney, he looks wasted right now. And is that the bulge of a hard on in his robe?"
     "It has come to my attention that there have been some rumours circulating about me these past few days," I carry on, "Very slanderous allegations of improper Enlightened Master behaviour. Instead of the evening discourse I had in mind for you all, I wish now to put these rumours to bed."
     "He wants to get Claire in his bed," I definitely hear a whisper from the female side this time. Oh yes, Claire is her name - not Carla, not Clara. I try not to but can't help looking in the direction of 'Claire'. No question about it, she is a stunner.
     "Firstly, the sexual misconduct rumours," I say, keeping my gaze fixed on her, "Utter nonsense. I have never once made any sexual advances towards any female here at this centre."
     "Gay," whispers a voice on the male side. Another sniggers, while most who heard this tut at the political incorrectness.
     "Or male," I reiterate, turning now to look at the male meditators, trying to work out which one of them that whisper had come from. I continue, "Secondly, the allegations of intoxicants use..."
     I scan the faces and spot the kid, Barry, who'd stumbled upon me smoking my joint, present at the back of the hall. Bob and Sanjay, the equally naughty Enlightened Masters who'd co-conspired with me to get stoned over the remainder of that day, had assured me they'd find a way to get him to retract his allegations and quietly leave the centre. I'd not seen him in the hall when scanning it earlier during the meditation. Obviously I'm not thrilled to see him now. Instead of saying, "More utter nonsense" about the intoxicants use, I am now at a loss, not sure what to say.
     "You didn't inhale?" a voice from the audience offers a suggestion. The same voice that had made the "Gay" comment, but I've still not caught out who.
     "Things aren't always black and white," I say, "there are shades of grey."
     "Is he talking about elephants again?" asks one of the female meditators.
     "He's talking like a politician," says another. They're not even bothering to whisper now.
     "Look, this is improper behaviour from some of you!" I bark at them, "Noble silence please and hear me out..."
     I'm really struggling to hold my zen.
     I notice that one of the males in the middle row - an exceptionally large bloke riddled in tattoos - has risen to his feet from his cushion and is pointing his finger at me, spluttering, "Fackin' 'ell, I've only just now clocked who you are!"
     The AntiChrist? All I've done is smoked a bit of wacky backy and snorted a bit of charlie, guv.
     But it isn't that, I realise as I too clock who this recent addition to the 'Order of One' family is. Those tattoos had seemed vaguely familiar. He's recognised me from my first prison stretch some ten years ago where I'd, ah, pulled a bit of a fast one on him in a would be drug deal the day before I had got let out.
     "Davey Johnson!" he yells at me, advancing without any consideration for the meditators sitting in his path, "You proper stitched me up when I last saw you!"
     I probably should be fearing for my life, but all I can think about is this being the first time in years that anyone has called me Davey. Never been much of a Davey, always more Dave when not being called David or Nastrudl, my Enlightened Master name. I'm watching this hulk get closer and closer, sending several of the meditators and monk aspirants in his way flying off their meditation cushions, and my zen kicks back in. 'Be calm. Observe the breath and the sensations...' It's like an invisible protection field magically springs up around me. By the time this tattooed behemoth has reached me, instead of lunging at me, he kneels down on a cushion in front of my podium.
     "Davey," he says, "Master, I mean, I thank you for the karmic lesson you administered to me those years ago in prison, and for that experience having ultimately led me to finding you again here at the Order of One."
     I look at him closely to see if he is taking the mick, but he is being completely serious. Even going so far as to kiss my feet. "No need for that," I tell him, embarrassed, but I notice its got the others in the room all quiet and respectful again.
     "Even if you was to be gettin' erections around the nuns, that doesn't make you a wrongun does it? Just a man," he says now. I'm glad that he has stopped with the feet kissing. I should know his name for the years that we served time together, and by rights, should know the names of all the monks, nuns and meditators here, but my memory is not the best what with all the far heavier use of cannabis and other drugs that I indulged in over the pre spiritual path years.
     "And if smoking a bit of herb," he continues, "well there's worse sins ain't there?"
     He turns from me to face the others in the hall, speaking to them now, "I know most of us aren't Christians here, but 'judge not, that ye be not judged' still applies does it not?"
     I like this guy. I'm starting to feel a bit lousy about having ripped him off.
     "We all are human here," he carries on vocalising my thoughts, "so should not condemn or forsake an accomplished Enlightened Master."
     The general response of the hall is in consensus - even the lovely Claire giving me a forgiving smile and wink - and the evening ends on a good note.
     I close proceedings with a condensed version of my planned discourse about Mara the demon of temptation in Buddhism, leaving everyone assured by the end of this that my own battles with Mara have been won, for now.