by Anne Donovan
He doesnae answer, so ah try again.
‘Didnae know they hud Buddhists on Vega, but. Thought they were aw Mormons there.’
The wee guy nods and cairries on eatin his soup, and the auld guy opposite just looks at me as if ah’m the wan that’s come fae another planet. Ah’m beginnin tae panic a bit. Ah wis really lookin forward tae this retreat but so far it’s hard gaun. Then ah catch the eye of a wumman on the other side ae the table, coupla seats doon. She’s smilin at me and ah’m no sure but ah think she actually winked.
Anyway at this point Vishana comes back and asks if anybody wants mair soup, and ah says, ‘Thanks a lot but ah’ll hang on fur the next course.’
‘There’s fruit for the next course,’ he says.
The wumman across saves me.
‘Have some more soup,’ she says. Her voice is quite posh but no English, mair Edinburgh or sumpn. ‘You’ve just arrived, haven’t you? You must be hungry.’
‘Aye,’ ah says, and Vishana ladles oot mair soup.
‘Thanks, pal, it’s great soup.’
‘Thank you,’ says he, ‘I made it myself.’
Efter we’ve finished we get a cuppa tea and sit roond the fire while Vishana tells us aboot the weekend. Meditation three times a day and teachin every mornin. Efternoons free. We’ve got chores as well; makin meals, washin up and that. Ma job is choppin the veggies the morra efternoon. And then there’s the boy scout bit – nae bevvy, nae fags, boays on wan sidey the hoose, lassies on the ither. Ah didnae expect a Buddhist retreat tae be an orgy but there wis a couple there, merriet and all, and they wouldnae even be sleepin in the same room. Ah thought that wis a bit weird.
‘Any other questions?’ asks Vishana. Naebdy says anythin. He smiles. ‘All we ask of you this weekend, is that you stay mindful. Pay attention.’
Surely that couldnae be too difficult, no for a weekend.
The first meditation session started at nine o’clock that night. The meditation room wis separate fae the main part of the buildin, a big shed wi high windaes and cushions and blankets on the flair just like the wan in the centre. At the far end wis a statue of the Buddha, sittin in the lotus position wi his eyes shut.
We filed in, efter takin aff wer shoes in the cloakroom, and took up wer places. Ah thought ah wis gettin a loat better wi this sittin cross-legged but at the Centre it was only fur twenty minutes at a time. And ah don’t know if it wis bein tired efter a day’s work, or the drivin or whit, but ah couldnae sit still. Vishana talked us through the mindfulness a breathin meditation but ah couldnae settle. Ah kept fidgetin, and every time ah made the slightest wee movement ah felt as if everybuddy could hear it, cos it wis dead quiet except fur some guy ower tae ma right somewhere who sounded as if he wis on a life-support system.
And as fur ma mind. Mindfulness aye, but no the way Vishana meant. Ma mind wis full aw right – thoughts fleein aboot lik motors on a racin track. Vroom, vroom, wan efter anither. And the main wan that kept comin up wis, whit the fuck are you daein here? Ah couldnae stop thinkin aboot the look on Liz’s face when ah went oot this mornin.
‘See you on Sunday night, hen.’
‘So you’re gaun, are you?’
‘Ah’ve said …’
‘Aye, ah know. Well, have a nice time.’
Ah’d went tae kiss her but she turnt her face away and that wis whit kept comin back tae me as ah tried tae focus on ma breathin. That picture ae her staundin in the kitchen, butterin toast, wi her back tae me and just the line of her neck, tense, held in. If she’d only shouted at me, chucked the toast at me, that’d have been OK; ah can haundle that, blow up, blow doon, but ah hate this no sayin.
Then the next thing ah know, the meditation’s ower and we’re back in the big room. Ah thought we’d sit roond the fire, get tae know each ither a bit but Vishana mair or less tells us tae get tae wer beds.
‘Early start tomorrow morning. Meditation at six a.m. in the prayer room. See you all there.’
Turnt oot ah wis sharin wi the wee guy wi the earrings and another tall, skinny bloke wi straggly grey hair tied back in a pony tail. Ex-hippy lookin. The room had three mattresses on the flair and ah chucked ma sleepin bag and rucksack on the wan unner the windae.
‘Ah’m Jimmy McKenna,’ ah says, stickin oot ma haund. The tall guy takes it and gies it a squeeze.
‘Jed,’ he says. ‘Glad to meet you.’ Sounded a bit American.
‘Gary,’ says the young guy, and turns his back, takin stuff oot his rucksack.
‘Have yous been here afore, then?’
‘I’ve been a few times, yeah,’ says Jed. ‘I go to other workshops too, though, not just Buddhist ones, go round them all, get a taste of everything, you know.’
‘Aye, right enough,’ ah says. ‘You don’t need tae just support the wan team. Whit aboot you, pal?’
Gary’s footerin aboot, pittin a wee widden statue of the Buddha on tae the shelf above his mattress. He doesnae turn roond.
‘Ah’ve been coming for the past three years.’
‘You must be pure brilliant at this meditation lark then. God, that wis heavy gaun the night. Ma mind wis birlin.’
‘Some days it’s like that,’ says Jed. ‘Best to accept it.’
‘Suppose so. It wis hard gaun at first, never thought ah’d get the hang ae it. It’s just that ah thought ah wis gettin better, know?’
Jed laughs. ‘That’s fatal.’
Ah take oot a hauf bottle a Bell’s fae ma rucksack. ‘Fancy a nip, pal?’
Jed pits his haund up. ‘Woah, that stuff’s poison. No wonder you’re having a problem with focusing.’
‘Ah wisnae drinkin afore the meditation, but. It’s just a nightcap.’
‘Yeah, but you’re relying on it to make you feel better. It’s addictive.’
‘Look, ah’m no an alkie, pal. Ah just like a wee bevvy, right?’
Jed put baith his haunds up. ‘Hey, it’s cool, whatever. I’m just saying, it doesn’t really make for clarity. And that’s why we’re here, right?’
Ah climbed intae ma sleepin bag, took a few swallys oot the bottle. The whisky went doon warm and rough ower ma throat. Ma body stertit tae heat up inside the sleepin bag and the tiredness hit me. Whit wis ah here fur? Fuck knows.
Ah wis nae clearer the next mornin when ah got woken up at quarter tae six wi a bell ringin in ma ear. At furst ah thought it wis a fire drill or sumpn then ah remembered the meditation. No way. Ah turnt ower and went back tae sleep. Next thing ah knew Jed wis shakin me and the sun wis streamin through the windae.
‘Christ, whit time is it?’
‘Quarter to nine. The teaching starts in fifteen minutes. Thought maybe you’d like to be there.’
‘Thanks, pal.’
Ah scrambled up and intae ma claes, splashed ma face wi cauld watter and got doon the stair in time tae grab a plate a cornflakes and a cuppa tea afore the session. They’re aw sittin in this big dinin room, some on chairs set oot in a hauf-circle, ithers sittin on the flair, cross-legged. Vishana’s in the lotus position at the front and beside him is a big vase a lilies.
Ah grab a seat at the back. Ma mooth feels like the insidey a budgie’s cage: no that ah’d drank much whisky last night, it’s just ah need aboot three mugs a tea afore ah come to in the mornin and ah’d only hud time fur wan. Ah’d nae time tae brush ma teeth either and the cornflakes were stickin tae them. Ah kept tryin tae dislodge them wi ma tongue. Ma arse wis numb wi sittin on this plastic seat and ma mind sterted tae wander ootside where the trees were swayin aboot in the wind. They’re pure beautiful, so they are, leaves turnin gold an red and bronze; ah love they autumn colours. Ah wanted tae paint a room in the hoose in them, thought it’d be nice in the bedroom, but Liz didnae fancy it. That’s the thing aboot bein a painter; ye spend yer time paintin folk’s hooses but you never get the chance tae pick the colours. Maisty the time ah don’t gie a toss; it’s ma job, and there’s a kind a satisfaction in watchin a wall turn fae sumpn dingy and streaky tae clean and fresh. J
ust watchin the paintbrush travellin doon the wall, know, takin the colour wi it, that’s enough. Ah’ve been daein it fur twenty year and ah still think it’s the goods.
Suddenly ah realised that Vishana’d stoapped talkin and everybuddy wis lookin at me.
‘Jimmy?’
‘Sorry, Rinpoche, ah was in a dwam. Whit were you sayin?’
‘I was asking how you found the meditation. How’s it been since you arrived?’
‘Well, tae tell the truth, it’s a bit heavy gaun.’
‘In what way?’
‘Ma mind keeps fleein. Ah cannae concentrate. And ah thought ah wis gettin a bit better at it.’
‘Sometimes it’s like that. You just have to sit it out. I noticed you looked a little uncomfortable last night. You know you don’t have to sit on the floor. You could use a chair if it’s easier.’
‘Ah thought it wis the right way – at the Centre they tellt us tae sit on the flair so’s we were grounded.’
Vishana smiled. There wis sumpn smarmy aboot him ah didnae like. Mibbe it wis his English accent or the way he wis dressed in they robes when he wisnae a real Tibetan or that, but he just got right up ma nose.
‘Ideally, yes, but you have to remember that in the East people are used to sitting cross-legged from childhood. They don’t use chairs.’
‘Ah know that.’
‘We can’t expect to learn to sit in a short space of time. Sometimes it’s better to forget about sitting in the lotus position. Just be comfortable and you can focus on the actual meditation.’
‘OK. Ah’ll try it.’
‘I think I might try it that way too.’
It was the wumman who’d spoke up last night when we were havin wer soup. She’d been sittin in the lotus position when we were meditatin.
‘I find I get a sore back if I sit too long. Maybe I’ve been getting hung up on getting the position right.’
‘It’s your choice,’ says Vishana.
At the coffee break the wumman came ower and sat beside me. She wis tall wi her hair cut dead short and she’d these big dangly earrings jinglin fae her lugs. It wis hard tae work oot whit age she wis; could of been anythin fae therty-five tae forty-five. She wis dressed in black wi a flowery-patterned shawl thing flung ower her shooders.
‘I’m Barbara,’ she says.
‘Jimmy McKenna.’
‘You’re from Glasgow?’
‘And me wi ma posh voice on.’
‘I lived in Glasgow for three years; I really liked it. Beautiful buildings.’
‘Where d’you stay noo?’
‘Edinburgh. My home town.’
‘Edinburgh’s nice too. Anne Marie likes the castle and we used tae go tae thon Museum a Childhood when she was wee. Gettin big fur it noo.’
‘Anne Marie’s your daughter?’
‘Aye.’
‘How old?’
‘She’s twelve. First year at secondary. Looks aulder though. Big fur her age. Huv you any weans?’
‘No.’ She lifts her coffee cup. ‘Better put this back. I think we’re starting again. See you later.’
‘Aye, right.’
The next session Vishana talked aboot reincarnation. This wis sumpn ah couldnae get ma heid roond. As far as ah’m concerned, wanst yer deid, yer deid. Aw the stuff ah wis brought up wi, heaven and hell and limbo and the next life – that wis daft enough but compared tae reincarnation it sounded dead sensible. Ah mean, at least you’re the same person livin yer life here on earth, then gaun somewhere else. Simple. But if yer reincarnatin aw the time, how come you don’t remember who you were in the previous life? Or are you somebuddy different each time?
Somehow it hud never mattered afore, in the Centre wi the lamas. Ah knew they believed in aw that stuff but ah’d never really bothered tae find oot aboot it. It wis enough just tae go there, dae a meditation, have a cuppa tea and go hame. Ah liked bein wi them; they were that funny and the way they looked at you made you feel good. But this Vishana guy – ah knew it wisnae really his fault but it’s no the same. So ah just sat, lookin oot the windaes at the trees, ma belly rumblin, waiting fur the dinner break.
Mair soup fur lunch, left ower fae last night, but this time it hudnae been heated up enough. Ah hate soup that’s lukewarm, but naebuddy else seemed that bothered; they were either eatin away in silence or discussin reincarnation.
‘Who do you think you were in a past life, Alice?’ says a big wifie wi dyed jet-black hair hingin roond her heid like a witch.
‘Cleopatra,’ says her pal, shovin her hair back so it didnae dangle intae the soup. It’s funny, aw the folk on this retreat either have their hair long and straggly or else dead short.
‘Come on,’ says the pal. ‘Everyone says they were Cleopatra. Nobody ever thinks they were ordinary.’
‘I can dream, can’t I? How about you?’ she says, noddin at me. ‘Who d’you think you were in a past life?’
‘Huvnae a scooby, missus. Tae tell the truth, ah don’t really unnerstaund this reincarnation lark.’
She and her pal start laughin. ‘Hark at you,’ says Alice. ‘If you understood it, you wouldn’t be here, would you?’
Ah couldnae figure oot if they were laughin at me or no, but ah wis saved havin tae reply by Jed, who said, in a slow, serious voice, ‘Surely, the point isn’t where we came from, but where we’re going.’
Gary pipes up. ‘Yeah, it doesn’t matter who we used to be in a past life, but who we’re going to be in the next life.’
‘I thought we were supposed to stay in the present,’ says Barbara.
Alice’s pal stopped eatin and held her soup spoon in the air as if she wis blessin us. ‘Truly being in the present encompasses both the past and the future. You have to hold them all together as one.’
‘Amen, oh great one,’ says Alice. ‘You hit enlightenment today, Shirley?’
‘Just call me Cleopatra,’ she says, turnin back tae her soup.
Ah’d an hour tae kill afore ah’d tae go and chop the veggies fur the dinner so ah went oot fur a walk. The roads roond the Centre were dead quiet and it wis beautiful there; rough fields wi sheep grazin, trees turnin autumn colours. It’s no sumpn ah dae much, go fur walks. Sometimes if we’ve a job on ootside Glesga ah drive through the countryside but ah’m aye hash-bashin alang in the van wi the guys, music blarin, no lookin at the scenery.
The conversation at dinner time had made me feel better. Alice and her pal were a laugh, and the way everybuddy wis talkin sounded as if they werenae sure whit it wis aw aboot either. Mibbe ah wisnae that daft efter aw. And there wis sumpn, no exactly excitin, couldnae find the word fur it – ah suppose mibbe you’d say stimulatin, if it didnae sound sexy – but anyway, sumpn aboot listenin tae folk talkin aboot ideas, things ye couldnae quite unnerstaund. Ah mean, the guys ah work wi wid be cartin ye aff tae the funny farm if ye tried tae have a serious conversation, and wi John it’s the footie, and Liz and me it’s Anne Marie or the hoose or that. There’s naebuddy that talks aboot anythin beyond the day tae day.
Ah never want tae see another fuckin carrot in ma life. Hate the orange bastards. Mountains of them in a basket in the corner of the kitchen – ah’ll be in a basket in the corner by the time ah’ve finished choppin them. No that ah mind choppin a few veggies, it’s no that. It’s just, why don’t they gie folk chores they’re good at? There’s this wee skinny lassie, anither wanny the pierced brigade, and she’s cartin in huge logs for the fire. Ah offered tae help but she looked at me as if ah’d pit ma haund up her skirt. She’s practically cairryin them in wan at a time cos they’re that big fur her, and ah could of done them in five seconds flat. Ah like choppin wood an ah know how tae dae it right, worked on the forestry wan summer years ago up north.
Carrots, on the other hand, are no ma forte. Jeez, ye huvtae manhandle them tae get them tae stay on the choppin board, they keep skitin aff every time ah pit this knife in them, and as fur the shape – well, ah hope they’re no expectin nouvelle cuisine. No that the knife helps. I
t’s as blunt as buggery, which is why next minute ah’m staundin here lookin like a scene fae Reservoir Dogs.
Barbara puts a clean tea towel roond ma haund but in a few seconds the blood’s soaked through.
‘That’s a deep cut. Press hard on to the wound – there must be a first-aid kit around.’
Vishana appears and leads me intae a wee room aff the kitchen where he produces a green box fulla plasters and dressins. Ah let him get on wi it, cannae bear tae look at things like that.
‘This is nasty. Keep the pressure on it for a few more minutes till the blood loss slows down, then I’ll clean it up and dress it. Hold tight.’
‘Ah’m ur haudin tight.’
‘How d’you do it?’
‘Choppin carrots. Hope there’s no a bit of finger in the stew the night. Bitty a shock fur aw they vegetarians.’
‘It won’t be the first time.’ He cracked a wee smile. ‘You’re not used to chopping carrots, I take it. Or do you prefer them with bits of flesh in them?’
‘Ah’m better at choppin wood actually. How come you don’t gie chores tae folk that can dae them best?’
Vishana slowly unwound the tea towel. The blood was still flowin, but no as bad.
‘Getting better.’ He started tae dab at the wound wi a bit a cotton wool. ‘This may sting a bit.’
He wisnae kiddin.
‘So Jimmy, you think people should get to pick which chores they’re going to do?’
‘Might make mair sense – ah mean, thon wee lassie that wis choppin the logs …’
‘You think she should have chopped the carrots?’
‘No necessarily choppin carrots, but she could of done sumpn else she’d be mair suited to.’
Vishana took a dressin oot a sealed pack.
‘Cleaning the toilets, perhaps?’
‘Aw, come on, ah never said that …’
‘You suggested people do the chores they’re most familiar with. Most women are more used to cleaning toilets than men are.’
‘Aye but ah’m no meanin tae be sexist; it’s just that some jobs need strength.’