“Why are you still living in Cape Breton?!”, Cicely stabbed at me. Cicely is not always right, but she is always poignant.
Umm. I answered.
I wasn’t living at Gampo Abbey anymore. I was not squatting in a forest cabin. I was not meditating in my wood heated school bus.
And women started to jab me. My lover. That other lover. Even Pema. Then there was that man who had briefly been the lover of that married woman on the same night I loved her longer and who had contacted the monastery claiming I stole monastry money. And that womans married friend with the all red and white kitchen. Wet complications everywhere. It was good, but too slippery to allow me to stay anywhere too long.
– – –
“Pinch my nipples harder.” “Do you want me to treat you rough, or be nice to you?”… Her answer freaked and tweaked me.
Hitchiking back to T.(oront) O., a generous man gave me space in the front seat of his minivan. He explained that he was the anchor of a T.V. news team in Halifax. And did I hear of him.
I declined to explain that I had been living in a Monastery. I didn’t want to justify. And I didn’t think he needed me to justify him.
He thought I did. I disgusted him with how little I knew of the important world.