Relax, Take This

I padded across the spa's Italian marble floor in my robe. "Here," said the coiffed proprietor, "we have some wonderful herbal supplements for your tea. It's a perfect way to get ready for your massage."

Hmm, "Virtual Buddha" the bottle said. She poured the contents into a cup of tea and I had a taste. Not bad - peachy, sweetish, warming. Virtual Buddha had a nice little flavor. As she wandered off I discretely checked the label - Polygala (don't know what that is), asparagus root (ok, probably not bad), and...ginseng. Ahh, ginseng. Red ginseng, panax ginseng, Siberian ginseng, Spirit ginseng - that's a lot of ginseng. For the amped-up virtual Buddha who needs to drive his big rig late into the night, apparently.

I shouldn't have been surprised. Big Sur is full of seekers who want results (there's a seeker born every minute), and enlightenment is so...fickle. The spa can't be working through every damn thing with you, they're busy. So they provide a little pharmaceutical assist.

I put down the teacup, slightly less than half-finished. After a vigorous massage - not so much a massage, on reflection, as a ruthless physical spiritual interrogation - I resisted manfully, but eventually cracked and confessed considerable sympathy for Lattimore's translation of The New Testament, The Screwtape Letters, and the Cathar heresy. Finally, I collapsed completely, screaming "Rinzai sucks! Soto rules!" The Inquisitor, up to his ass in Emersonians and syncretists, had me sign a lurid confession, post bail, and depart on my own recognizance.

I say, after a vigorous massage, I drove briskly home, as clear as a Scientologist after electroshock, untroubled by drowsiness or confusion of any kind.

And when I got home I slept for about 12 hours. Probably best for all concerned that I didn't drink the whole thing.