So here’s how it all began: my meditation after my Kundalini awakening—a cosmic rollercoaster that shook my very soul—I realized I needed help. Not just any help, but the kind that makes you consider calling in the professionals. Who was I supposed to turn to? A pastor? A psychiatrist? A hotline for the spiritually bewildered? In the end, I did what any reasonable mystic would do: I asked the universe for a sign.

And lo and behold, the universe sent me a guru. A real one. I could almost see the glowing aura around him (or maybe that was just my hopeful imagination). This man clearly held the secrets of the cosmos… and seemed completely disinterested in sharing them with me.

The Reluctant Guru Meets the Persistent Student

I won’t lie—I pestered him like a kid begging for candy. “Teach me! I promise I’ll listen! I’ll take notes!” I pleaded, channeling all the wide-eyed innocence I could muster. He looked at me as if he’d seen this act a hundred times before. “I don’t teach Westerners,” he replied, deadpan. Did I back down? Of course not. “But please!” I begged.

Eventually, he relented—not out of kindness, I suspect, but because he grew tired of my persistence. I thought I was about to receive celestial wisdom, but his first instruction was simple: “Meditate.”

“Oh, okay! Meditate. Got it. So, what else?” I asked, but he simply stared at me.

“But what about—”

“Meditate.”

“But when do we—”

“Meditate.”

And thus began my spiritual training, which felt less like enlightenment and more like an eternal cosmic time-out. Every day, I was made to sit in meditation as if I was being punished. I’d sneak a glance at the clock every ten minutes, certain I’d transcended to a higher plane, only to find… ten seconds had passed.

Nine Months of Fiery Tantrums: A Double Fire Scorned

Did I mention I’m a double fire sign? Patience is not my forte. Those first nine months were a dramatic saga of frustration. I’d storm out of the room, throw in the towel (literally), and declare my retirement from this nonsense. Each time, he’d pick up the towel, hand it back, and send me back to my meditation spot with a look that screamed, “Suck it up.”

Honestly, I was convinced the universe was playing a joke on me. “What’s the point?” I’d think, legs cramping and mind racing. “What wisdom could possibly come from this exercise in torture?” Yet, some spark inside me kept returning, day after day.

The Art of Not Losing Your Mind (Literally)

The kicker? I thought meditation would be all about Zen and enlightenment. Spoiler alert: it’s more like facing a mental circus. You sit in silence, and suddenly every thought in the universe makes a grand entrance. My mind was like an endless reality show, filled with unsolicited advice and commentary. Meditation, I discovered, was more about surviving inner chaos with grace. Or, as my guru put it, “Stay equanimous.” Easier said than done, sir.

Some days, I’d be deep in meditation only to realize I was mentally crafting a grocery list. Other days, I’d convince myself I’d achieved enlightenment, only to realize I was falling asleep. Every time, my guru would simply say, “Just observe. Watch your thoughts without getting involved.” It felt like trying to tame a wild dragon with a feather.

Year Two: When the Guru Spoke in Full Sentences

By the second year, I could sit for a whole 15-20 minutes without sneaking a peek at the timer (okay, maybe just once or twice). I thought I’d finally graduated to the advanced class. I walked in expecting deep insights, perhaps a cosmic light show, but all I got was the same old mantra: “Remain equanimous. Start journaling.”

I stared at him, hoping for some mystical revelation, but his expression was as unmoved as a mountain. “I show you the path,” he said, “but I can’t walk it for you.” Translation: Good luck, kid. You’re on your own.

Thus, my guru continued to dispense wisdom in tiny portions, like he was rationing enlightenment for an apocalypse. It drove me nuts, but I was hooked. I craved his wisdom, yet he made me search for my own.

Epilogue: The Journey Continues

Years have passed since this adventure began, and while I’m not a serene yogi on a mountaintop, I’m much closer to inner peace than I was back in 2013. These days, my guru and I share a relationship more like old friends who chuckle knowingly as I trip over my own feet.

The truth is, teachers aren’t here to spoon-feed us wisdom; they’re here to push us to find it within ourselves. My guru may have handed me the keys, but he also locked every door, forcing me to find my own way.

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