Bro, do you even meditate?

Bro. Can we talk?

You come in here talking about how balanced and mindful you are, and I gotta be honest with you bro — I’m sitting here, looking at you, thinking: does this guy even meditate?

I mean… seriously, bro.

You talk a big game, but it’s totally see-through. You know, spending hours trolling the tinybuddah forums and filling up your kindle with Jon Kabat-Zinn ebooks doesn’t make you an expert. Show me some results, bro. And I’m not gonna lie, your present state awareness is weak as hell, dog.

Bro — you can’t even imagine how fucking present I am right now.

Dudes like you are killing the practice. You come into the zendo with your Gaim meditation cushions and start talking shit about how you totally killed it at Peace Village last year. You know where the real meditators are? On the cushion, bro, in perfect tranquility. I let my mindgains talk for me.

Your stats suck anyway, bro. I was meditating for two hours on, like, my fifth time. Literally. It’s not that hard.

Do you even have a mantra?

So don’t come at me with some bromindfulness about how you “never work vipassana and samantha on the same day.” At least watch a couple of That Nich Han video first.

And — oh my Buddha, bro — that shirt is cheesy as hell. Straight up. I could do a whole dharma talk right here about it. But I won’t. Why? Because I’m in fucking samadhi bro. Blissful, all-loving enlightenment. Something your punk ass can only dream about.

If you ever want to get serious, bro, you know where to find me. I’m here every day. Until then, I gotta say — I don’t think you get the point of meditation, like, at all.

Namaste, bitch.

This piece is humor. Meditation is a joy. Try Headspace, this article on Zenhabits, or find a group sit near you (highly recommended).

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