Chapter 7 Lorna Now
Montreal was waiting for lorna in the lobby of the Bodhi Tao Bliss Retreat and Spa. “How are you?” he asked, then pressed his hands together in a prayer pose and bowed.
Lorna did not make prayer hands or bow, but she conceded she was giving this program her best shot by saying, “I’m wearing yoga pants.
” As a rule, she did not like to wear yoga pants in public.
She had standards of dress for different occasions: suits to the office, dresses for shopping, cargo shorts for gardening, athletic wear for exercise.
Yoga pants were reserved for rainy Saturdays or Sundays spent at home.
But, as the saying went, if you can’t beat them, join them.
“Will you look at that,” he said. “Well done.”
He probably already hated her. He was probably already complaining to Micah. That tall lady with the hair... she’s the worst. It’s like she needs an amendment to the Constitution before she’ll wear proper spa clothing.
But he was all pleasantries as he escorted her to the gym for morning meditation. He talked about how great the weather had been (and he wasn’t wrong). He handed her a mat and said, “I’ll be back for you,” then smiled warmly.
At the very least, she was pleased that she was able to sit cross-legged like everyone else.
She even went the full mile by touching her thumbs and middle fingers to create a circle, the purpose of which she had no clue, and resting her hands like that against her knees, palms up, like everyone else. When in Rome.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t keep her thoughts from wandering when the meditation leader invited her to clear her mind and get in touch with her deeper self.
Deeper self. What does that even mean? Was it necessary for the person next to me to put his mat so close to mine?
It’s weird. Who is snoring? Someone is snoring.
Do these people have jobs? How does everyone have the time to sit around and smile like loons at each other? I feel like I should stretch.
And then the meditation practice was over.
Montreal came to get her. “How did it go today?” he asked as they made their way down the long white corridor toward Micah’s office.
She did not excel at small talk and debated how honest she ought to be. Should she tell him she was terrified of what Micah might find repulsive about her? Probably not. “Okay, I guess, given the circumstances. At least I was more comfortable.”
Montreal looked at her curiously. “Is everything okay?”
“Not really. I should be in my office making sales. But I’m here trying to meditate, and let me tell you something, Montreal, meditation is impossible. I don’t believe anyone can clear their mind of all thoughts. Do you believe it?”
“I do,” he said. “But I will grant you it is a learned skill that must be practiced. I think you will find the longer you are in the Leaves of Change program, the easier meditation might become. I hope so, because meditation is a great tool for centering yourself. When you’re centered, you will eventually feel yourself begin to expand and shift. Let it happen.”
She was dubious. She preferred to have empirical evidence or, at the very least, the word of someone who had gone through the shenanigans she feared she was about to go through.
“Do you know if anyone who has gone through this program says they are better for it? Leaves of Change, I mean. Like hard data?”
His kind, light brown eyes locked with hers.
“Hard data on people’s feelings is difficult to obtain.
But you should ask Micah.” Speaking of which, they had reached Micah’s door.
Montreal knocked, opened it, and said, “Lorna is here.” And then to Lorna, he said, “Great first step with the yoga pants. Lean into them.” He glided away.
News flash, Montreal. One couldn’t lean into yoga pants, as they were specifically made to give. You could lean in them, but not into them.
Lorna squared her shoulders and entered the office.
Micah was already seated on a beanbag. She did not understand the insistence on beanbags when there was a perfectly good white couch across the room.
He was wearing sweatpants cut off just below the knees and a T-shirt with a peace symbol painted on the chest. A checkered Arab headdress wrapped around his shoulders, and a small elephant carved from jade hung from a leather string around his neck.
His hair was piled on top of his head just like Lorna wore hers in the bath.
“Lorna, so good to see you again,” he said. “I made some tea. You prefer lavender, correct?”
He remembered. “Thanks.”
He gestured toward the other beanbag. “Care to sit?”
“I don’t care to at all,” she said, but eased herself down and sat facing him. “But in the spirit of getting through another hour of interrogation, I will do it. I haven’t sat cross-legged so much since kindergarten.”
He laughed like he thought she was joking, proving once again that she had no sense for what was funny anymore. “I’m sorry you saw it as an interrogation, but I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation,” he said as he handed her a cup of tea. “I’ve got some ideas.”
“Great. Can’t wait.”
“You might try for at least a little bit of enthusiasm,” he suggested with a smile.
She winced. She hated being this person, but she couldn’t seem to get out of it—and what’s more, she was a little afraid to.
If she was intentionally crusty, she hypothesized, she could better accept how others would inevitably feel about her.
Of course they didn’t like her. Look how crusty she was!
“Sorry. I don’t have much enthusiasm.. . but I’ve got a little.”
“That’s all I ask. Have you ever had a sound bath?”
Lorna’s cup of tea halted midway to her mouth. “A what?”
“A sound bath.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“It’s a different sort of meditation.”
“Oh boy,” she muttered.
“But we use singing bowls, gongs, et cetera to create a sound capable of releasing energies and allowing our minds to see deeper into ourselves. To see things maybe we haven’t seen before.”
That deeper-into-self business again. And why the plural? Was this a group project? Who was “we”?
“You may have seen the singing bowls around. Big white ones, small brass ones.”
Lorna had seen those bowls in the meditation room. She thought they were for making lunch for the masses.
“The sound and vibrations help with relaxation by affecting your brain waves.”
“That sounds...” She tried to think of an inoffensive word.
“Relaxing?”
“Bananas.”
Micah chuckled. He was completely unruffled by her. “It’s actually a fascinating area of study and practice.”
“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t sound even remotely real, singing bowls and brain waves. And anyway, I’m relaxed.”
“Right, yes, you’re fine, as you’ve said more than once,” he said. “But I’ve never had anyone say no to more relaxation. Are you telling me you are completely relaxed?”
“Well, no. Because now I have to do a sound bath.”
He laughed again, because apparently, he thought she was all jokes.
She was not. The very thought of being subjected to a sound bath made her feel exposed.
Like someone was going to jump out of the curtains and laugh at her.
It sounded like a terrible prank. And what could she possibly see inside herself that she didn’t already know?
“You might enjoy it,” he suggested.
“Nope,” Lorna said firmly.
“I understand,” Micah said. “Change and opening yourself to new experiences and ideas can be hard, right?”
She hesitated. It was hard, and she didn’t like it, but where was her resolve to try? She’d promised herself she would. What was she so afraid of? She sighed. “Yes,” she mumbled.
“But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Trick question,” she said, pointing at him. “I’m here because I did something stupid. You know that.”
“I know what the referral said. But I’m interested in the precipitating event or events that got you to that point. I want to know how Lorna Lott became the woman I see before me. She is attractive, she’s fit, she’s smart... and avoidant. She is terrified of letting me see too much.”
Wow. How did he know that? She didn’t know about the attractive, fit, or smart part, but the terror? Somehow he’d figured out how to look inside her bomb shelter. Even she didn’t know how to do that. “Not true,” she argued. “I’m not avoidant, I’m safe. I just don’t think you need to see too much.”
“What does safe mean to you?”
“What do you mean, what does it mean?” She could feel a bubble of anger beginning to grow in her.
The rage at being asked to explain her complicated thoughts and feelings, mostly because she didn’t know how to explain them.
“It means I am safe from idiots and hurt and disappointment and any number of things.”
He nodded.
Oh, she was going to find something sharp and rip this beanbag into pieces. “I’m not a people person, Micah. I haven’t been since...” She cut herself off before she said too much.
“Since the pandemic? A lot of people found it hard to reenter society after so much isolation.”
“Not that.”
“Then what? Because I see how you don’t make eye contact easily.
Your posture is that of someone who is afraid to move because they’re sitting on a bed of nails.
And you don’t want to know about the possibilities here, much less consider them.
If it were me and I had a month off work completely paid for, and all I had to do was explore some options to make myself a better person, I’d be all over it.
But you seem anxious about what you might find. ”
Nailed it. And she didn’t know if this was intentional, but he was making it clear that she would not be able to escape her current reality either physically or spiritually.
She looked down at her teacup and the string of the tea bag floating serenely on the surface, oblivious to how cold the water had gone. Try.