Monks on Motorcycles in Katmandu
Music of Thelonious Monk is playing in the background. The tiny back-alley café is filled with warm light and fresh smells. I am enjoying the best banana pancakes in Katmandu. Pauline and Andrea, new friends, are trying to talk me into going to a meditation workshop at the Kopan Monastery.
I’m torn. This year-long trip around the world is moving fast and my stay in Nepal is short, only three weeks. I had been planning to hike the Anapurna Circuit filled with teahouses and incredible views. Besides, I’m not a big meditator. In fact I’ve never meditated in my life and it sounds kind of cultist. What would my Mom back in Nebraska think? I don’t want to be brain washed, clothed in a flowing moo-moo while dancing around, day and night singing Kum-ba-ya, fed on only half a cup of oatmeal. I drink, I smoke and I swear. I’m happy with my own little version of spirituality. Those Monks would hate me. I’m a heathen compared to the life I assume they live.
