by Vicki Woodyard
All of you bleeping people are sitting around waiting to be enlightened. Like they’re gonna call your table any minute. “Fickleman, Enlightenment for Four, your table’s waiting.”
And some bored waitron asks “What kind of whine would you like with that?”
And you say , “I want to be enlightened.”
“So I can hang out my shingle online and give the shingles to other people.”
“What an ass you are. You want to give people shingles?”
“Yes. Like Papaji. I want to spread enlightenment around like the butter on this roll.”
“Papaji? What language do you speak, for chrissakes?”
“It’s Advaitaspeak, sir. I learned it online at enlightenednincompoops.com.”
“Let’s just call you an ass and be done with it. Let’s just call you shitonashingle.com and get you out of here.”
And that’s when the brawl started.
“There is no here, sir. There is no you and there is no me. There is only the Self.”
Bam. Teeth fly out of the Self’s mouth.
The waiter pumps his fist. “Yes! I got it! There is no such thing as enlightenment. There are only idiots waiting to be served up a plate of horse hockey so they can sell it to other idiots wanting to be enlightened.”
And suddenly the room grew quiet and Papaji himself materialized from a disco ball hanging low. He stood there grinning from ear to ear.
He said nothing. He didn’t have to.
Author, Life With A Hole In It: That’s How the Light Gets In