Will my back, legs and thighs ever be the same again?
After 10 days of sitting with my legs tucked under me, thighs spread apart, back ramrod stiff and listening to a neurologically challenged old man drone on and on, I doubt it very much.
Welcome to the world of the meditation centre – or more aptly the world of the reform centre. Actually, the western prison system could base their whole programs and ethos on a mediation centre. No one in their right mind would re-commit and face a sentence in this regime.
The tinkling of a bell incessantly was the wake-up call at 4.00am and that little bell ended up sounding like a police siren. The first session started at 4.30am either in the hall or our rooms called appropriately “cells”. I never did get to see how many turned up at 4.30. After 2 hours the inmates progressed to breakfast- wow, glued up porridge, some other type of Indian stodge, brown bread and “chai” and this choice didn’t change for 10 days. The breakfast was an indication of my bowels; they were a good reflection of the state of my experiences- clogged and uncomfortable.
Back to meditation at 8.00 for 1 hour and then onto a further 2 hours. Somehow 11.00 o’clock was construed to be lunch time, this was the only meal of the day and not too bad. A couple of hours of rest and then back to the hall for hours of meditation, back-ache, boredom and thoughts of “what the hell am I doing here?”
