I think I was a Buddhist in a previous life. A bad, naughty Buddhist that did bad, naughty things to all the nice people. I was a beer-drinking selfish Buddhist who didn’t feed the hungry people or smile at every opportunity or chant for the dead people. And rather than coming back as say an ant or some type of vermin as penance, Buddha himself sat in his enlightened cloud-seat and decided that to atone for my wicked wicked ways, he would instead build a temple on the corner of my street as reminder of said previous life.
And Buddha said:
‘my people will park their people-movers and four-wheel-drives across your driveway; and every time a piece of my temple is completed, my people will rejoice VERY LOUDLY with tone-deaf-nasal-chanting through a loudspeaker at all times of the day and night and sometimes with firecrackers’
The temple is still not finished and I have lived in my home for 5 years now. Every few months a new piece of concrete is shipped in, put in place and celebrated. The concrete pillars are just the latest installment.
I am going nuts. The peaceful, happy smiling people are driving me insane.
Dear Buddha,
I apologise. I am sorry. I know I have a long way to go until I am enlightened. In fact, it will probably never happen. I am destined to stand outside the gates of Nirvana forever. I will set myself up with a little picnic mat, maybe some tinnies and a packet of fags. But I will walk there, I will be very quiet, my burps will be inaudible and I vow never to park across your driveway.
Promise.
Posts
