Plastic Meditation

The first time that I ever attended
a meditation circle
was in the mountains of Asheville, North Carolina.
It took me almost two hours to drive
to our group destination.

I was with the woman, Judy,
who ultimately, married
her best friend's ex-husband
and then developed leukemia,
from what I believe to be
the sheer karma and impure intentions of her
breast implants, and her dismissively friendly way.

Yet, here,
in these mountains,
with these dinosaur shaped kudzu valleys
there was a tranquil depth of
pure soulfulness.

And somehow amidst it all,
was the man sitting Indian-style next to me
Ohming over the incense and meditation chimes,
moaning tantric breaths
with the sweet whale-like lull
of our mediators voice--
this man, the great creator
of the ever popular Rice Cake--
Creator of the Styrofoam treats,
the treats that inspire thoughts of
disposable coffee cups
and cork board.

This man who invented
the perfect fat free crunch?
the snack food best compared to
Judy's sincerity?

And as I recall seeping into
a swirl of meditative darkness,
crystalline pathways towards
what I envisioned in my soul--

I thought of Judy
and the path she brought me to--
the rivers of death and life converging
washing a haze of irony around
the boffo man who sat in lotus
waiting to find his Buddha
or bodhissatva, next to me.

Friendships would be betrayed
but were still then, amicable.

Not yet knowing,
the synthetics of Judy's soul
as there I sat
next to the multi-millionaire, Mister Rice Cake, himself.
Had I known,
I might have asked for coupons.