Meanwhile, Buddy Sattva was learning to meditate.

                “No, seriously, dude,” Ernest said earnestly in a strangled I’m-holding-my-toke voice, “it’s cool. It will chill you out. Even better than weed.” He handed his best friend the burning joint.

                “Better than weed? How ‘bout better than beer?” asked Buddy reverently before hitting the joint hard then chugging from a cold can as he held in the smoke.

                “Better than beer, man. It’s the ultimate high.” Ernest had learned to meditate from a local guru who traded him a glimpse of Enlightenment in exchange for a quarter ounce of California-grown Sour Diesel marijuana.

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                Buddy considered the matter as he settled into a pleasant buzz. He contemplated his surroundings contentedly. The doublewide that was all his now that his parents had died… he suffered no grief, did not miss his mom’s sharp tongue nor his dad’s hard fists. The boxcar that housed Two Bucks… he mentally inventoried the meat in the cooler, the meat in the smoker, and the beer on ice. The pool table that had appeared apparently on its own… Ernest had come up with a set of billiard balls and Buddy picked up some cheap cue sticks from the Goodwill in town.

                Wow, he thought in stoned bliss, I’ve already got that Attitude of Gratitude Oprah talks about and I am certainly Living in the Moment. Guess it’s time to take it to the next level.

                As though he’d done it all his life Buddy sank cross-legged to the dirt, closed his eyes, and joined Ernest in chanting OM so loudly that they waked up an old bird dog napping under the pool table. The dog’s howls blended harmoniously with the chant and Buddy began to see the Light behind his closed eyes.

TO BE CONTINUED…