Unwanted Teachings

So I'm sitting in this sushi place I go to around here for lunch, having ordered a fairly reasonably-priced 3 roll combo, looking forward to a quiet meal with the New York Times on my phone. In walks Flora Bashnavi Moonbeam and her lunch companion Idle Flower. Flora is an older woman looking very spiritual/fortune-tellery in a long, light orange wrap and a turban held together with a broach. Idle looks a little less standoutish in her somewhat dated Filene's Basementwear, a simple/ugly look more becoming of a Bhuddist.

They sit down at the table next to mine (of course) and proceed to launch into a very intense conversation about various ancient religious theories, healers, teachers, teachings...basically anything that can be demonstrably disproved in a junior high school science class.

"Have you heard of [so and so]? He spent his life working with elevation. He went through the 6 levels of Bagnavashi, but in the end his focus was elevation."

"Was he in a relationship? Or did he practice celibacy?"

"No, he had a wife and 3 children. He felt that the blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah..."

I mean what drives people to this? I'm sure both of these women were raised on Hamburger Helper and crap TV and underage drinking and the rest of it. How do you end up only wanting to talk about appropriated eastern religious hokum over seaweed salad and avocado maki? I mean this stuff was all they talked about the whole time they were there. Guess what ladies? There's a big election happening around November or so. A pretty scary little war just started involving Russia. For chrissake, "The Hills" is back on the air.

Also, the way they laughed was weird. They didn't laugh at things that were funny. They laughed at shared-spiritual-truth moments, very quickly and frantically. Like, "well, you know, if you do too many satvas at one time you can get a little light-headed." "Oh, I know! Tee hee hee hee." "Heh heh hee."

As I was leaving, the more Indian-inspired one was telling the Buddhist some horseshit about how, as a woman, she should cover up some part of her body because it's one of her two something-or-others. Oh, get me the fuck out of here.

But at the same time, what the fuck do I know, with my frequent tirades and bouts of depression and cheap but surprisingly drinkable South American wines?

At least when I laugh, I'm usually doing it at someone else's expense.