All About the Roommates

“I don’t get why we can’t remember,” Irreverent Student says, referring to Teacher’s explanation of the human transition from spirit body to the 3D world. He scrunches up the sheet Teacher had printed out for us, aiming for the garbage can across the room. The paper ball drops dead center in the bin. “Three points,” he says, no emotion in his voice.

“This plane of existence, what you enter when you are born on Earth, is heavy.” Teacher walks down to us, gingerly placing his purple disco shoes on each step and teetering slightly on the heels. His brightly colored bell-bottom pants riding low on hips that sport an indigo sash. His garb is completed by a matching disco shirt opened so low Teacher’s peace medallion shines from the center of his bony, hairless chest. On the last step, he begins to fall toward Irreverent’s lap.

Irreverent jumps up and out of the way, but Teacher steadies himself and catches Irreverent’s arm.

“You cannot escape the gravity of this planet. It weighs down your body. It weighs down your mind. It weighs down your spirit. It weighs down your soul.”

Teacher releases Irreverent and steps back to address us all.

“So your mind, your conscience, makes the call, like a quarterback working on the perfect Hail Mary play. He tells your soul, the part of you you call your heart, the part of you that cries, to tuck in, fake a hand-off and run.”

“A football analogy?” Irreverent groans.

“Shh, it’s football season,” I say, my attention never leaving the lesson.

Teacher continues as if nothing had been said.

“The physical part of you, the part that walks and talks, is told to block, because the true star of the play is the Wide Receiver – Spiritual you. Your spirit remembers every play ever designed. The rest of the players need only do their part. It’ll come together in the end zone.”

As the lesson sinks in, Teacher plods back up the steps toward the white board.

“So are those the four roommates you were talking about the other day?” I ask, remembering the last class where he promised an explanation at a later time. “Spirit, Mind, Body, and Heart. Are those the roommates we have to work with?”

Teacher picks up a purple marker and transcribes my question.

“Spirit, Mind, Body, Heart,” he says as each word is written. Then he draws a circle around the words, marking it like a compass. “The North, South, East, and West of the life form that is you.”

He places the pen on its tray and turns to us. Suddenly, the lights in the room dim, making way for red, yellow, and blue strobe lights that shine off the new disco ball hanging overhead.

“It is the dawning, my students.”

A crackle awakens speakers scattered around the classroom. Suddenly, a song from my childhood blares from the speakers and the strobe lights flash.

Standing in the middle of the classroom, Teacher claps.

I scramble quickly to get on my feet as the student desks disappear. We’re on a dance floor now.

“Dance with me, my dears.”

Teacher raises a finger toward the sky then dips across his body back toward the ground, repeating the action as the song plays: “This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, the Age of Aquarius.”

The song continues, but Teacher stops.

“You are not dancing? Don’t you understand what this means? We are no longer dawning. We are approaching the tops of the trees. We are literally fully engaged in the next great age of reasoning. The next great age in our evolution. Embrace it. Live it. Love it.”

No one seems to be sure of what to do. Teacher approaches each of us before clapping his hands again. Replacing the dance floor and the disco lights, brightly colored cushions appear around what looks like a purple and blue bong. The attached hose is long enough to reach each pillow. Someone mutters the word hookah with a shocked gasp.

“Chill, kids. Life is about one thing only. Once you understand that, once you trust your gut and follow your heart, everything will be fine. Once you understand and embrace this new reality, synchronicity will take over. Everything will work out.”

He leads each of us to a pillow. When even Irreverent is sitting, Teacher takes a puff off the bong and hands the hose to me, signaling I should follow suit. I take a small puff that sends me into a vicious coughing fit.

He laughs after slowly exhaling his own puff.

The hose goes around the circle of pillows before anyone speaks again.

“You said life is about only one thing,” Irreverent says, still trying to hold onto his puff.

“Yeah, it is, man.” Teacher flows his legs into a lotus position, placing one hand gently on each knee as if in meditation. “It’s about love. Living it, loving it, making it.”

He looks toward me, flashing a peace sign, “Peace, Love, and Happiness, my dear Writer.”

This was a weird class.

Until next time, dear classmates, I remain

The Dragonfly’s Student

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