LISA: This is a total disaster! What made me think that a monastery was an institution close to the heavenly gardens and my trip there would be almost like a vacation even though it was supposed to be on business? It feels like hell. There's no way a normal person is going to stay here long! It is only for traumatized psychopaths or some sort of them.
My body hurts all the time and I get awfully exhausted. It's funny to get tired without doing shit! Picking potatoes during my summer job in my college wasn’t tormenting as much as from 14 hours of sitting in a lotus position!
And food! Losing weight must be a nice bonus on the way out. If I don't starve to death before this very way out.
I have even been offered to have my head shaved. Are they complete nuts? It's my hair that keeps my body from freezing to death. Did you even know that India has winter? Well, I didn't. The hot water is on for half an hour a day from 7 a.m. to 7:30 a.m. when the sun isn't up yet. I mean it's basically not possible to have a shower. Other people seem pretty clean, though. Damn polar bears in orange robes!
So, it's been a week now, although the time is relative here. Seven days, a month, a few centuries?
When I was checking in, all my stuff was taken away and searched very carefully. By the way, it seems to make sense: all your things are kept for exactly one year and if you're staying - everything goes to the monastery. And then they get to decide whether to sell your laptop or leave it for the nuns' needs. Your money, your mobile phone…
Anyway, the more they find the better it is for them in the long run. I already knew it - well, you cannot speak, work, exercise, read or write. But since the only purpose of this charade is to collect material for my future book, a DIY guy back in Moscow has given me a hand. He fit two ballpoint pen rods into my bra instead of frames.
I also had a regular pen and a notebook but they were taken away from me.
Well, it was a good idea to do my homework. But now I also need paper to write on. I thought I’d be using toilet paper for my notes but Indians prefer wash. I guess this is their contribution to saving the forest.
That's why with the pens I’ve hidden I am writing on my own body. Well, it is not even a text but some words that later will make a text, rather keynote points on the skin. It turns out that I can't even have a decent wash, which is a plus in the situation, I guess.
Well, let's see.
I mean it's all about the secular, but since I’m in a monastery - I have to observe the spiritual, right? Well, I haven't found anything like that here yet.
Gong!

ROOMMATE: Hi! My name is Naira and I'm from Bolivia. Lisa and I are roommates which means we share a 50 sq. feet room.
It's pretty cold in the monastery in winter, that's true. But it's nature's way, it's got nothing to do with us!
If you need to wash your head it's very simple! You shouldn't do it in the morning when there's hot water in the boiler but the sun isn't up yet. No way your hair dries out and you'll be shivering all day like a heroin junkie. You don’t want that!
It makes more sense to wait until a long one-hour lunch break and the sun is up high. It doesn’t get hot but if you don't move you might even get some heat for yourself! That's when it is the best time to wash your hair! During the break go to the bathroom, rub the toilet basin with detergent, which you can get in the dining room(!), put your head down into the drain of the water closet and wash it. Then soap your hair and flush the toilet a few times.
Bingo!
Now you can run outside and 30 minutes later your hair is absolutely clean and dry!

LISA: I don't know if it's a Buddhist’s way or it’s just my great luck but all our group meditations go with men from the neighboring monastery. It happens quite often I must say - three times a day. To boost the energy flow, I guess…
The monks sit in the left half of the room while we sit in the right half and it is strictly forbidden for us to look at them. If you get caught, you will be kicked out in no time.
But as always, everything is not thought through because just like our Prioress their Prior and his closest disciples sit on the opposite side of the room facing us. And while they're all taking their seats in front of us it is ok to watch. Like the priors are sexless already?
Their Prior, who is a man, reminds me of the sloth from the Ice Age movie - his wandering gaze is not focused on the real world. That's what it looks like… but it's not.
Every day I come in early and stare right at him. No, I don't find him attractive even a little bit. I just wonder if he's so turned in upon himself.
No, he's not that much.
At first, he wasn't giving himself away so I even got bored looking and kept staring rather mechanically. But today the window behind me was open, so I got frozen and started shivering. And Sloth whispered something to his guy, who went and closed the window!
Was it a coincidence? I don't think so! There are actually at least a thousand of us in the room!
Obviously, the Prior stares at me just like I do at him but he does it stealthily. With his third eye, perhaps?
After that incident I stare at him openly and boldly, so that he blushes and puts his head down. What a pretender!

SLOTH: It is all in her head!

LISA: Suddenly I felt extremely ashamed so I wouldn’t raise my eyes anymore.
What for?! Why am I doing this?
It's my devil's nature.

SLOTH: Hello! I don't remember my name because it’s been a long time since I last used it. There is nothing surprising in Sister's behavior - that's the women’s nature. Tempting, corrupting - that's what Buddha said. But we, men, as higher beings must be tolerant of them. A monk can teach a nun but a nun can never do that to a monk.
The Enlightened One said: when a woman is endowed with those five features she is extremely revolting to a man - she is ugly, she is not rich, she is immoral, she is indifferent, she is infertile; when a woman is endowed with those five features she is extremely pleasant to a man - she is beautiful, she is rich, she is highly moral, she is smart and hardworking, she is able to have children.
Ommmm!

LISA: Spider-man! I haven't seen a single movie with him but if he dies in the end or escapes or is hiding somewhere then it must be definitely this mountainous Buddhist monastery. Walking from our shack to the diner or meditation room you need to overcome a spider web of ropes - Fort Boyard is nothing compared to it! Jump here, bend there. And all these ropes have laundry hanging on them! Orange robes, red robes, underpants, panties, shirts, bras, panties again. There seems to be more underwear drying out there than nuns living here.
But, no!
The only explanation to this phenomenon is that we have absolutely nothing to do here because everything is forbidden whereas doing laundry - is a kind of sport, work, having fun and the way not to think about all the stuff that has been piled up in your head. In a nutshell, laundry is cool!
I've never done laundry by hand but being bored to death I’ve decided to fit into that unified washing organism, too. Which is just in time because I’ve run out of clean clothes anyway.
The only problem is getting some washing powder. There is a table with a pen tied to it and a notebook with numbered pages where you write what you need and the next day your request is on that table. What could be easier?
Except for the fact that I completely forgot what the Hindi word for “washing powder”.
Braindead! Degradation!
Well, what else do you expect if you don't talk all day long?
Actually, getting for the trip I learned some initial vocabulary so, at first, I didn't think it was a problem and just scribbled “Ariel/Tide” in the notebook. The next day there was nothing on the table for me.
Logically - why would Himalayan nuns know Western brands? I should’ve had that coming.
As a matter of fact, all I forgot was "washing powder" in Hindi - I am quite good at languages actually. So, I write Hindi words in Latin letters. It's crystal clear to any normal person!
But not to them, apparently.
Maybe the powder isn't on the list of essentials. Where does foam in sisters’ basins come from then?

In the afternoon the Prioress's assistant comes and motions for me to follow her. What is that for all of a sudden?
Is it my bad behavior? Is it my staring at Sloth? Well, he has to prove it first! She may have also felt my skepticism and has figured out I am a stool pigeon.
Andrea was waiting for us at her office with her assistant, the Fatty. The atmosphere was so humble and solemn that I suddenly got scared to death having figured out that someone in my family had died. The only way to get in touch with me at that moment was via the administration.
We were looking at each other in silence for a while. Then the Prioress took out my washing powder notes and chanted quietly.

ANDREA: We got all your requests but we can't figure out what you need. This is Varna.

LISA: She points to the woman who’s brought me in.

ANDREA: Varna is from Poland and understands little English. Tell her what you wish and we'll try to help.

LISA: I wish to never work but have enough money. I wish men to go crazy about me. I wish this book to be awesome. I wish my legs straight and my tits tight. I wish this place to be warm and comfortable. And I also wish nobody to ever get sick or die. Yeah, that's probably the most important thing that’s worth wishing. And a glass of prosecco and a cigarette, please!
Frankly speaking, now I doubt whether I said it out loud or it was just my feverish thoughts.
Andrea puts her eyes down to show she is ready to listen and her assistants repeat after her simultaneously - sometimes I think all of them are biorobots there! Well, they couldn’t just do that accidentally or practice it in advance, either!
Okay, I articulate slowly: "Wa-shing po-o-ow-deeer!" All three nuns are staring at Varna curiously (they’re all human beings after all), Varna takes a pause for a few seconds and answers me in the same manner, slowly and loudly.

VARNA: WHAААT DOOEEEES IT MEEEEEAN?!!

LISA: Come on! Varna’s English has the same issue as my Hindi. All that turns into a matter of principle! I give it a little thought and then start miming a raccoon doing laundry with the bottom of the Fatty’s robe.

THE FATTY: A Mantis?

VARNA: Clothes? Rubbing?

THE FATTY: Fireworks?

ANDREA: Vaashing paudar!!

LISA: Exactly! Holy crap! What else could it be!?
Suddenly everybody has come to their senses, stop smiling and stick their hard eyes at me - how dare you disturb our peace with this stupid game?!
Andrea stands up abruptly and passes by silently not looking at me. The assistant nun follows her. There is just me and Varna (the Polish is blushing). She starts mocking me miming a raccoon covers her mouth with her hand (probably, laughing up her sleeve) and shows me out.
In the morning a pack of washing detergent was waiting for me on the table.

ROOMMATE: Keeping clean is vitally important. It disciplines you, helps you not let yourself go. Some sisters don't wash for months - you can feel them coming from afar by their stench! But Buddha commanded not only the hygiene of consciousness but also the body, thoughts and the environment.
Today I have found a huge dead butterfly on our table - I certainly do meditate a lot and have almost reached hundred-per-cent Zen. But how did this caterpillar on wings manage to get into our cell?! I hate those psychedelic wings!
So, to keep my roommate from getting scared I threw the insect out the window and stepped on it a few times. Now this disgusting creature is not going to scare anybody!
It's so nice to take care of people around you.

LISA: I’m being emotional right now. Maybe a little too much.
That's because there's nothing going on here. And when nothing happens, anything becomes a thing!
The day before yesterday, for example, I found a dead butterfly. I don't know why - it was just a beautiful dried-up dead butterfly. I put it on the table near the front door but my roommate threw away my trophy when she was cleaning the room - I saw the shattered pieces of wings. She must have thought it was trash! It couldn’t have come to her mind that it was me, that crazy idiot, who had brought the dead insect into the house. She’d probably figured out that the butterfly flew into the window to die on our table. Anyway, I don't blame my roommate but I felt so bad for the butterfly… or myself, really, that I cried all night long.
Stop! What’s going on with me?
I'd rather tell you about a feud.
After lunch we usually have one single hour of free time. Someone does the laundry, others have a nap but most of us prefer to walk. There's this special place here - a kind of circus surrounded by trees with five benches around. The best scenario is making it by the time when there are still seats on the benches: then you can take your time resting, listening to birds chirping, taking a sunbath - basically enjoy the best moments of the day.
But your mellow’s harshed  when some ladies hit on the idea to save the seats on the benches before lunch. Are they nuts or something? That’s what drives me mad in my everyday life - you come to McDonald’s, for example, but there are no vacant seats! The chairs are empty and there's nowhere to sit! Such "seat-savers" have already places their stuff there and are waiting in line to make their orders.
Hey, people! It's a fast food restaurant! While you're standing at the cash point five people could eat at the table you’ve saved!
Oh, I get so pissed off!
And here we go again! You barely finish eating your lunch, rush to the circus with your mouth full just to get the best seat in the sun! You're still chewing, gagging on that rice and when you’re finally there all the seats are taken!!! There’s someone’s stuff on all the benches.
There's nobody there and there's nowhere to sit. What the hell?! Why don’t you start saving those seats at 4:00 a.m. just for sure?!

ALL THE NUNS (ALL TOGETHER): Sounds good!

LISA: And all those women who are supposed to be here for getting enlightened are taking their time to come back from lunch! They've already got everything covered and there’s no need to hurry! So, they slowly have their lunch and stroll to the circus!

ALL THE NUNS (ALL TOGETHER): Running on a full stomach is bad for you!

LISA: That’s insane! Okay, I come to the circus this afternoon and see the same picture: the benches are empty but there is nowhere to sit! And sisters who would be happy to chill in the sun have to walk around because all the seats have been saved!
So, I take away someone’s things from the most comfortable bench, put them on the ground nearby and sit down. The other nuns, who’ve noticed it, are standing paralyzed! And no one is going for a nap in their shacks anymore - everyone is waiting for the show to start.
The bloody soap opera, the Bollywood drama! Ten minutes later, I hear someone's running to me.
Okay, come on!
I raise my head - a giant woman is hanging over me - how do they manage to be so fat with the food so scarce?!
She’s taken her staff off the ground holding it and looking at me point-blank. But she can’t speak! It’s bloody mouna! No sounds are allowed! But I get her message crystal clear.

THE SEAT-SAVER: What do you think you’re doing on my seat, fleabag? Get lost! I’ve saved it!

LISA: I sit up and move her slightly aside with my hand so that she won’t block the sun for me. Then I lean back again and close my eyes. Suddenly, I hear hands clapping - that’s how the other nuns must have shown their support to me because everyone agrees on the complete injustice on saving seats.
That's it! Nobody bothered me anymore that afternoon and I laid on the bench until the break was over. And then, when the gong banged and I had to go back for meditation, I opened my eyes and it turned out that all the benches were occupied by the women who’d had to walk around before the conflict. I don't know what this is about, but now I have an enemy and hopefully a support group.

THE SEAT-SAVER: Hello! My name is Amrit. I come from a very poor Indian family. I've been fighting for everything since I was born. You Europeans will never understand this. We share not only clothes and food, there are times when we have no fresh water. Perhaps, that doesn't sound very humane but in order to survive I used to beat up younger children. One of them even died - I hope he reincarnated in a better place. I don't think it was my fault, although it's hard to say for sure.
When I was twelve, I was married. He wasn't from our neighborhood. It took me a long time to get pregnant. Sometimes my husband would get angry about it and beat me up. But there were decent moments, even good ones.
When I finally had a baby, I didn't like it at all. I don't remember well but there was a lot of bleeding non-stop.
It wasn't until a few months later that I got better when I was shown a boy and told he was my son. My husband was having an affair with a widowed neighbour who lived next door. He started living with her later. And they had their decent moments, even good ones, I guess.
And I had my female organs removed. I haven’t been able to have children since then.
When the boy (who was supposed to be my son) turned four, I lured him into a room and told him we were going to play an interesting game. I asked him to stand on a chair, put his head in the noose and jump down. The boy liked the game. When he stepped off the chair, I left the room.
After that, all the neighbours looked at me judging so I retired to the monastery. That was a long time ago.
The white woman is mad at me for saving the bench but this is how things have always been here for thirty or forty years, maybe even longer.
Besides, she's young. Don't I have a right for a bench seat after living such a long life?
Victory brings hatred, the defeated live in agony. Happy ones are at peace, disowned from victories or defeats.

LISA: What makes dogs nicer than monkeys? Their crap doesn't drop off the roof on your head. Okay, let's just think it’s a good sign.
But this isn't the only surprise.
Today, before the first meditation, I’ve found flowers under my cushion in the general room. A little bunch of flowers that grow on the local tree. What the hell?
This is a very serious violation: first of all, it is forbidden to approach someone else's seat, and secondly, such courtesies are super-duper-mega taboo!
What if it is not a courtesy but a threat or blackmail? It may well be, because if it isn’t I who finds the flowers, then I will be kicked out of here in no time! I’ll have to work hard proving I have nothing to do with it.
I look where the Seat-saver usually sits - she's the only one I am at odds with. The Seat-Saver herself isn’t there but that doesn't mean anything! A couple of her sidekicks are sitting here stone-still. They can’t be so stupid to think of threatening me with that?
What if it is a gift from my Roommate? Sometimes, I think that she hates me but I realise that this is just an illusion - we share a room and it is forbidden to look or talk to each other. Imagine, you open your eyes in the morning and you can’t say good morning or goodbye - and immediately feel like you've got something wrong with it. It’s not the normal way people behave.

ROOMMATE: And what can you say about our 15 minute break between long meditations? When I rush to the bathroom like mad and you are already there taking your time to get out? You don’t think I need time to do my things, huh? You selfish little girl!

LISA: How about sleeping rules? 9:00 p.m. is bedtime and I'm so exhausted that I’m ready to collapse on the bed trying to fall asleep! And this lady wanders somewhere, doesn’t turn up until 9:30! And she’s always turning the lights on paying no regard for me sleeping.

ROOMMATE: And you have never taken out trash! And you never sweep the room! Why am I the only one to do this?

LISA: I was about to a couple of times but it had been already cleaned up!
Certainly, there would be no such problems in real life. We would have agreed on everything, made a chore schedule. But we can't talk here! So, we have to get by in complete misunderstanding…
The last three or four nights I’ve been in tears. I wake up and cry. I wouldn’t know, it's really hard.
So, I think the Roommate must have heard me weeping and felt she could console me bringing flowers. She's a nice woman, I can feel it in my gut. And no way the flowers are from her - she's not stupid and could have given them to me in the room rather than framing me up.
Could that be Sloth? Just when I thought about it, he blushed - is he reading my mind? Anyway, the Prior constantly switches from blushing to getting pale - that’s probably the way his metabolism works. And I’ve made all these in my head!
Anyhow, if he was seen putting the flowers, it would lead to a lot of questions and consequences.
Who else? Andrea? Varna? An unknown friend? A hidden nemesis? OMG! So many questions! How am I supposed to get over that?
At lunch the Fatty comes up and passes me a note.
No, not a love one. Turns out that's how they summon you to a personal meeting with the Prioress. But we have already had a meeting about the powder, so what, again?! Honestly, I’d hate to waste my only long break on this stupid meeting.

ANDREA: Do you have any complaints? Problems? Challenges?

LISA: I don't like the way Andrea smells, so I feel no connect with the person. Yes, she happens to be my Prioress but I have no other options. And I comply with everything that I have to do (well, almost) but it lacks some sort of sincerity here, so I don’t feel like opening my heart to this woman at all.
I say that everything is absolutely fine.

ANDREA: So, what do you feel on the physical level when you meditate?

LISA: It's like I'm being kissed by unicorns! 
The Prioress doesn’t get the joke and gives me a meaningful nod.
Her name, by the way, is Tibetan but I call her Andrea because she reminds me of my friend named Andrew. I don't need to remember her real name; we keep quiet most of the time. Besides, I'm not allowed to call her by her name anyway.

ANDREA: Let's meditate together now!

LISA: Duh! All I have been doing all day long is meditating! So, what, again?! I'm so fed up with this!
Really, monastery is like prison but even worse!
You can work in prison - yes, it's very important to feel useful and not waste your time!
In prison they do sports - I have no idea if there is a gym or they exercise in the backyard.
In prison, people communicate! They look at each other, make friends, sometimes they love or hate, create coalitions…
They write to their families and get mail from them!
Nothing of those is allowed here! So, there's nothing you can do to get yourself busy!
I heard that in India there is a program for convicts - if you behave, you can go to a monastery instead of serving time. So, I've always wondered why so few people use that option. Now I get it…
Andrea and I sit in front of each other and for a while I can’t focus at all because of anger. But then, all of a sudden, everything goes really well. When Andrea puts her hand on mine I jump out of my skin - I’ve really forgotten where and who I am with. 

ANDREA: We have to go to the general meditation now… Everything's great, but now your sticking point is that you're covering your real traumas with everyday problems… It's a protective reaction of the brain. The sooner you move to the next level, the sooner the healing of your soul will come…

LISA: How the hell has she managed to figure that out?! You know, the housework? There's nothing I need to be healed from, let's say. Somehow the stuff she says seems to be off topic but it is right to the point!
Andrea goes out of the room and I am left alone for a few more minutes thinking about her superpowers.
Will I be able to read minds if I meditate more eagerly?
And how about flying?
The gong bangs but all that has happened makes me sweat hard so I run to the shack to get changed.
My Hair!
For the first time in my life I’ve seen my armpit hair! Hello there, nice to meet you!
I started shaving my armpits when I was 12. Back then, my hair was just about to shoot.
There was a girl living in the neighbourhood, three years older than all the other kids. We were friends and Anna was really cool. But her unshaven armpits were absolutely revolting. She didn’t care, though (FYI - it was not the age of winning feminism like now).
And I promised myself I would never be like Anna.
So, as soon as the first hair sprouted, it was immediately eliminated. And after that I never met with my armpit hair again.
I might skip shaving my legs or down there but the armpits - no way.
And then suddenly - hi, hi!
Anyway, I’ve been looking at them for a while, which makes me late and Andrea's assistant, the Fatty, gives me a scornful hiss!!!
And they're supposed to have reached Zen!
Feels like global hypocrisy.

THE FATTY: Hello! My name is Nelly and I'm not Indian. My dad is from Armenia, and my mom was born in Bishkek. Self-discipline in Buddhism begins with the ability to follow five ethical commandments: do not kill, do not steal, do not tell lies, do not drink alcohol and do not be sexually active. But in a more general sense shila and nekkhamma are the ability to be moderate in speech and actions. There are many studies that show that our ability to self-discipline has a genetic and chemical basis. The personal factor of conscientiousness is exclusively related to this, as well as to our ability to plan and strive to comply with the rules.

LISA: If someone on the outside said what event could soon become really shocking for me, I would not believe it! Nevertheless! At lunchtime today, as usual, I am watching the sisters walk in circle. What brings these women, who are so different, here from all over the world? Do they realise what they’ve left behind? That time is running out and you can't bring it back?

THE FATTY: It’s good you won't bring it back! I wish I could reincarnate into something decent as soon as possible!

ROOMMATE: I believe in Buddha and I want to reach nirvana while I’m alive… I was on heroin for seven years… 

VARNA: I have cancer. Two chemos have had little effect. I'm tired of fighting…

LISA: One garment, one routine, they live the same way, they die the same way. And still, it doesn't work: all nuns are surprisingly diverse. Apparently, one’s personality cannot be erased with hours of meditation and discipline.
So, concerning the shock. I'm sitting and watching nuns passing by - everything seems to be usual but here my eye falls on the Fatty, who is… wearing a makeup!!! Blue eye-shadows, black eyeliner and mascara, blusher and carrot-orange lipstick!!!
Why?! What for?! How did she find time for that?! The rules don't say sisters shouldn't wear makeup but it would never even occur to me! There are women around and they're not allowed to look at you. I can’t help but shout out loud - What the hell?! This is really weird! Maybe it's her birthday today. How has she calculated today's date? Is she taking notes, just like me?!
The Fatty acts as if nothing unusual has happened and walks in a circle imperturbable with a full evening make-up on.
I suddenly get scared - what if it is I who’s losing it?

THE FATTY: Um… I’d rather abstain from commenting that.

LISA: I love Snickers but I hate Mars. My friends often make fun of that kink of mine because the only difference between those chocolate bars is in the type of nuts. Well, I mean it's OK to have preferences but “that one I love and the other one makes me sick" is kind of weird. 
And so, out of nowhere, I recall…
I am four years old and in kindergarten. Suddenly, my aunt shows up and says we have to go home asap. She grabs my hand, and the sky is a nasty gray. 
Mom is lying on the sofa, there are things scattered around her. Auntie explains that tomorrow we’re flying to Daddy's - he's sick. But today I’d better not bother Mom.
I sit in the kitchen and hear my mother crying in the bedroom. 
We get off the plane, my godfather meets us - he's always loaded with cash and drives cool cars. It takes a couple of hours to get to the place. 
Godfather gives me a box of Mars chocolate bars. He laughs and says it's just for me and I can eat the whole box! A whole box of chocolates for me alone! I don't believe how lucky I am! I look at my mother, but her face doesn't express anything… at all.
I open one chocolate bar after another hoping that I can eat as much as I can before my mother changes her mind and her indifference turns into the righteous anger. I was four years old back then but my body still remembers that feeling of infinite happiness.
We enter an apartment - there are a lot of people inside, everyone hugs us and asks some stupid questions. Suddenly, my grandmother shows up wearing a black headscarf.
she and Mom fall on the bed weeping and shrieking. 
Godfather gives me another box of chocolates.
Nobody cares. I am left all alone but I don’t feel sad. All day long I sit in my room eating bloody Mars.
Then my mom and I fly back home.
I can’t recall anything else. I didn’t remember that either.
I don't know when I realized that my father was dead. Did I finally connect the dots or did some of the relatives tell me later?
The only thing is that my mother and I have never discussed it ever since, and neither have I with my grandmother nor my aunt.
It turns out that I'm 30 and the last time I heard anything about my father was that day on my way from kindergarten.
"Daddy got sick", when he’d been already dead.
So many memories popped up in my mind, so suddenly and at the same time - not scene by scene but the whole story immediately turned up. I suddenly caught myself recollecting it from beginning to end, like I always have known it. 
And here it is, Mars. When did I stop eating it?
Was it because I’d eaten too much of it that day or was it later when I realized why I’d been given to me?

ANDREA: There is no death, my dear. It's just a transition from one shell to another. You've already had a thousand lives. And there will be as many more. I can see that you're a very young soul. You see, physicality is not an "I". If “I” was about your body, then your body could not be exposed to any diseases and relating your physicality you could say: may my body be like this or may my body not be like that. But since our body is not the 'I', so physicality is subject to disease and cannot say with respect to physicality: “May my body be like this or may my body not be like that!”. In order to understand death and rebirth we should remember the nature of the mind; it is the mind that is affected. There are two aspects of the mind: the one that knows and the object of knowledge.
The one that knows - the open, clear, boundless state of mind, is never reborn. It is like a vast ocean - always the same and endless. But people cannot feel it. They do not see the sky, they can only watch clouds come and go. This dream of conditioned perception, the bond of body, speech and mind that we are identified with stops at some point. Everything flows and everything changes: night succeeds day, winter goes after summer, the seas dry out and mountains crumble, states and whole nations cease to exist. People around us grow old and die, disappearing from this life, leaving the world without them. Mars is no worse than Snickers.
Maybe nougat is not your cup of tea.

LISA: The news of the century! Today it’s been a month since I came here and I have been allowed a personal meditation cell, which is really serious and mature! It means you have already become utterly conscious and realise how vital it is to constantly meditate, even alone. That's funny.
These little chambers are in the central pagoda - a huge spiral-shaped snail with many doors going after one another. The room is one square metre with a tiny slit-window. But it's my small personal space and now I can only go meditating to the general room just three times a day, and nobody controls what you are doing here.
The very first thing I did in the cell was masturbate. I am a young, healthy woman who’s been stuck here for more than a month. It's not even about sex, it's for the wellbeing.
Usually I need a video to caress myself or at least some erotic text to read. But here for all these days I have already reached a pivotal point so - bingo! - the emotional release occurred even without any help of additional audiovisual stimulation!
The second thing I did in the cell was a cucumber mask. I nicked a few slices of cucumber at lunch and put them all over my face in the cell.
Though it's cold there but lying in solitude and silence with the mask on is true grace. I felt really good, anyway. There’s nothing to add.

SLOTH: Buddha gave us the middle way. There is no good and no bad, no right and no wrong. The best is in the middle. The third of the "five rules" of the Buddhist layman says: "I accept the rule to refrain from bad behavior in the world of sensual pleasures”. People are motivated by disturbing emotions and obsessive passionate desire, in particular. They accumulate karmic potentials that will eventually ripen into future suffering. On the other hand, self-satisfaction is not capable of causing harm to another, therefore, is not a destructive force. That is, it can be and is acceptable. But, actually, it's not.
So, I’m confused.

LISA: Here I am, beautiful and satisfied. This morning I caught Varna putting flowers under my pillow in the general room! Before that it was impossible to track down the secret giver, though the flow of flowers did not stop for a single day. 
But now my energy supply has been replenished, I got up an hour earlier and was ready to wait in an ambush.
I get into the room; the Polish girl is already there! And Here we are! I didn’t expect that for sure! Has she fallen in love with me? Actually, it might make sense - she’s found someone who she can speak one language, well almost, and then the feelings ran high!
I’ve been suspecting two sisters having an affair for a long time, and now it’s about me?!
While thoughts were flashing in my head at the speed of light, Varna gave me a weird look and ran away with the flowers. I guessed she must have been embarrassed. What shall I do with this love story now?
I've never been with a woman - I'm not attracted to them in this respect. Unless I get too bored…

VARNA: I can’t get it: is it a proposal to get laid or is she just thinking it out loud?

LISA: I close my eyes and see things. I don't know if it's subconscious or whatever but the stuff I see is really bizarre. And no, I’m not sleeping.
Most often it is a concert hall with a dim purple light and lighting stands, in the middle of the stage there is a stand with a microphone, and the mic has a tail that’s constantly wriggling resembling a leech.
Another thing I often see is a giant nest with a bunch of snakes in it, whose heads are stretched up and sway smoothly from side to side - they look like an underwater eel colony but these are onground snakes.
Sometimes a raven comes to me - it has big black branches instead of legs. The bird sits down and looks forward, that is, at me, and it's extremely scary.
An old woman with a sunken eye also looks in my direction. There are people following her - they can be seen from afar and a little blurred I can notice they walk with their heads down.
Apart from that, there are also pink fish and peacock feathers, but it's harmless and doesn’t really bother me. It's time to get out of here. And I was just about to start getting it right…
Apparently, having felt all that, Andrea sent me a note summoning me to see her in her office immediately but she wasn’t alone waiting for me there.

VARNA: Hello!

ANDREA: Varna says she finds flowers under your pillow every morning. Do you know that this is a violation of the monastery's rules? If you know who brings them, you must tell me the name.

LISA: That’s just great! But if the Polish Girl has ratted me out then I can do the same with her? It is her, isn’t it?

VARNA AND ANDREA: WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!

LISA: They look at each other for a long time and then freeze indefinitely. I keep looking up at the fan. And down at the floor when I got bored with the fan. And the paint on the door handle.
Suddenly, the Prioress makes a gesture with her fingers and the Polish Girl leaves the shack. Andrea puts her hands on my shoulders, I feel an intense heat coming from them and so I start crying.
It is as if a huge lump of accumulated pain has risen from the bottom of my stomach and crushed in my throat. Weird, but at that moment I am thinking about my dog Kerry.
I was sixteen when I bought her in the market for my first money. A puppy was a long dream of mine. We would sleep, walk and eat together. I loved my dog and she really became my best friend.
Everything was cool until my stepfather got out of jail. He and Kerry didn’t get along and neither did he with me. But there was a difference: he would often beat her up (because he was scared) but would never touch me (because he was scared).
Life at home began to feel like hell and I decided to leave for the "big city" and study. It was easy to enter a university and I was going to live in the university dorm.
So, Kerry had to stay with my parents.
I swore to myself and her that it was only for two years until I get settled in and take the dog back to my place. I cried as I was hugging her when I was about to leave with my suitcase packed. I couldn’t realise back then but I had a feeling there was a lie in my words.
At first, I would visit them once every three months.
Then once every six months.
Then less and less often.
I knew that my old folks were at work all day and they hardly ever took the dog for a walk so I doubt she was happy.
But somehow, I didn't let those thoughts in my head.
When I was visiting my parents, I would pat and stroke her back and she'd stare at me and wouldn’t even bring her favorite ball - she'd forgotten how to play with it.
She was on her own all day long.
Then my dog got cancer. She had surgery but a week later she was gone. I remember my mom calling me and crying when she told me that Kerry had passed. I started to calm her down but all I could think about was what had they done to the body? She was a large animal.
Had they taken her out of town and dug up a grave? Or had the stepfather just thrown the corp away to the dump? The most terrible pictures flashed before my eyes but I never dared to ask. I'm still afraid to get the answer to that question.
And so, after all these years, I'm choking to death with shame. I was a whole world to Kerry but I left and betrayed her.
I didn't help my dog when she was in labor;
I didn't take her to the doctor when she was sick;
I couldn't protect her from my stepfather when he was strapping her with his belt;
I didn't play or walk with her and trade her for a stupid degree I hadn't even used a single day.
I wasn't there for my dog when she died.
We were meant to be together forever, live long and have fun - I gave her my word. But all of it was a deception and instead of having fun, my dog would stay home alone all day long, put up with asshole stepfather’s assault, and then died of heartache and loneliness, having lived only five years.
I hate myself and I can't forgive myself for that. I don't know what's going on - I have never thought about that situation. I never ever have. And now it's almost the most important drama of my life?
I don't know.
It’s so bitter and shameful.
Infantile, isn't it? Sounds like a fake problem?
Why does it hurt so much then?
How on earth can make it up to the dead dog?!
How can give love to someone who's already gone?

ANDREA: Your feelings are right. The main thing is to take your time and be conscious. I know it means something now.

LISA: My world has split into "before" and "now."
None of this has been in my plans. I just wanted to write a speculative book about a girl who gets into an Orthodox monastery very young and her whole family (or even the village) are dead. I don't know where that idea came from.
As a child I was religious reading the Bible for children and watching cartoons produced by Jehovah's Witnesses but by the age of 12 I got disappointed and there were no more gods in my life. But there was a plan for a book.
And that girl, according to my idea, is so stupid and loves God with all her soul - works hard, prays, goes to services and studies the Bible.
She believes in all that spiritual and mystical crap.
But the longer she stays in the monastery the weaker her faith becomes - the girl sees nuns failing to follow instructions, plotting against each other, afraid to die, and the most pious of them are the most miserable.
And after a number of events, the heroine realises that there is no God, it is all a deception and fiction.
In other words, she sees the absence of God not in the fact that all her relatives have died but because God is not honored in his own residence. 
Perhaps, she even sees a dream in which Lord comes and tells her that he is fictional.
Or the girl just realises that God exists but he doesn’t only do the good.
Or she gets convinced that there is no God and for some reason it is great.
Anyway, this idea has always been at the back of my mind, not fully formed though.
So one day my publisher says:
"What are you writing about now? How are you going to make your audience happy?"
I wasn't ready for that; my head was absolutely empty. So, I poured out the first thing that came to mind.
It's only the first book that's easy to write but it’s so scary to screw up with the next one. They'll keep saying, "Oh, well, the first one is not a sign of skill, her success may well be an accident".
In short, I pitched the synopsis, got the advanced payment and now everyone is waiting but I cannot write.
And so, a month passes, then another one. The publisher comes to my house (we are friends) and says "We need more material, you have no base to build on, that’s why you cannot work. How are you going to write about a monastery if you've never even been to one? Don't worry! I'll arrange everything! But let's replace Orthodox with Buddhism! It's more of a trend right now!"
Well, somehow she took care of everything and a week later I end up here. But the sisters and Andrea don't know the whole story otherwise it wouldn't feel real. My research wouldn’t have been efficient.
Truly, God has his mysterious paths. Karma has overtaken me.
It's been a week or so since the day I got very sick. Of course, no one has to treat me in a special way – modern medicine is forbidden here and for three days I have been attending services with a fever over 40. It is impossible not to notice my ear-shredding cough but no-one seems eager to help. My strength has given out and now living here is unbearable. Today I couldn’t get out of bed.

THE FATTY: I will tell the Prioress how you feel but until she gives her consent there will be no cure.

LISA: Are you nuts? I'm not thinking straight anymore! Take me outside, to the doctor, will you?

THE NUNS ALL TOGETHER: NO!!!

LISA: Give me a phone! I have to call my mom. And food! I'm delusional, my nose is runny and I can't breathe. I had pneumonia a year ago and it's definitely back. 

THE NUNS ALL TOGETHER: NO!!!

LISA: I still couldn’t get out of bed but later in the evening someone knocks at my door. It can’t be the roommate, she never knocks. Could that be Andrea?
I open it, and I see… the Seat-saver! Oh, crap! Are you going to beat the hell out of me?
But the woman with huge black circles under her eyes grabs the collar of my robe and pours some liquid on it. 
What the hell is going on?
The Seat-saver brings her nose to my neck, smells it and orders me to go to sleep. And at that moment I can finally smell it too. The Seat-saver’s soaked my clothes in mint oil so my nose would stop running! Wow! That is so unexpected, that I step forward and give the Seat-saver a hug. 
And she hugs me back. 

SEAT-SAVER: I collect herbs for the oil that I make myself. It’s the way my mom used to treat me when I was a kid.
And so did my grandmother.
And my grandmother's grandmother.
You also need to put a cardamom seed in your mouth for the night - it will kill all the spirits of the disease and you'll be bitchy and full of energy again! Not sluggish and miserable like you are now.

LISA: But it didn't help anyway.
And that night I died.
Well, not for real, apparently, but still.
I’ve woken up, I don't know the time. Is it twelve o’clock? One? It’s stony silent in the room. No roommate.
I can't breathe. And my heart.
My heart is beating 190/min.
My cheeks are burning but the cough and the runny nose are suddenly gone - it is always darkest before the dawn.
The heartbeat is uneven, on-and-off. It is beating so fast and so hard, as for a moment I feel heart is going to jump out.
I am afraid to close my eyes - I am growing certain that my heart is about to give up and I pass away in my sleep.
One day as a child I ate a load of some pills and that day I was also knocking at the heaven's door. Even back then I realized that I wasn’t not a hero, and the moment of dying described in books was so different from real life. 
And here we come again.
I tried to calm down and strange as it may seem, I managed to make it. The fear didn't go anywhere - I wanted to live, it was not my time.
Is it possible to be ready for your time? Oh, damn.
Probably, everyone who died in their sleep (they are always said to be the lucky ones) was lying in bed just like me realising their time had come and there was nothing to do with it.
And then they’d close their eyes and die, whether they accepted that or not - who knows? Maybe I will be considered to have died in my sleep.
But the thing is… I am not sleeping.
I never thought that the disease would affect my heart although it has always been fragile (I do not want to use the word "weak" because it has never been weak).
Above all I mustn’t fall asleep. It’s going to be worse if it happens in my sleep. Otherwise I’ll have my consciousness.
I wouldn’t know.
And in that delirium with an utmost awareness that there’s nothing I can do about it but accept. By some miracle I overcome my fear and reconcile.
Ok, I'm going to die today.
I'm going to die right now but it's not the end.
I'm not my body and there's definitely going to be something even cooler afterwards - it must be more fun.
There’s no other way.
And even if it isn't, then I couldn’t care less.
It's better not to be afraid and die than to be afraid and die.
And that's all I'm here for.
At that very moment my fear dies. My fear of anything.
Because if you're really not afraid of dying you're not afraid of anything else.
This is how it works.
My heart was jumping out but I wasn't paying attention anymore.
I don't know if I was delusional or at any other level of consciousness. Everything around me was changed and didn’t really matter.
I decided to write down my dying wishes to people I loved - it seemed important to say something that would make my close ones happier - that will always be important.
Because it's about love.
So, I got 12 people. It was funny that just some time back I thought no one was waiting for me on the outside and no one needed me. I was too weak to write, so I just kept repeating them for myself imagining everyone in my mind:
"Don't be scared of changes";
"Being an adult is a responsibility";
"Appreciate yourself".
And soon after I finally fell into a flashy restless slumber…
I woke up at 5 am surprised that I managed to sleep and even more surprised to be alive. The heartbeat was normal, the temperature was off the charts.
There was a knock on the door. Andrea was standing on the porch. She looked worried. The prioress gave me a box and immediately left. Inside there was a blister of paracetamol, a yellow pack of some antibiotics, nose drops, cough mints, and pills of vitamin C.
I had been delirious for nine days: seven of them I couldn't get up at all, the last two I tried and it worked at some points. During that time, I lost another eight kilos and I could barely remember anything.
I kept having that dream that I was about to go meditate. I’d cry and wake up and then back again.
Sometimes my late dog Kerry would lick my hot forehead and tears flowing from my eyes. I knew it was a hallucination but I felt she had forgiven me.
We would chat for hours with my roommate Naira and we seemed to start an affair with Varna.
Andrea was holding me very tight and I could smell her warmth and kindness - I might have resented it before because I didn’t have those virtues.
I saw Sloth standing at the gate and waving to me with his right hand and clutching purple flowers in his left.
Or was it my dad?
Or was it God?
The advice to my friends that I came up with when I was dying I'll never tell them. I'm not sure anyone has the right to give advice to others even for good reasons. But there are pieces of advice that I gave to myself and would repeat them as a mantra all those days while I was regaining consciousness.
Perhaps these well-known truths have been explained to me here by life itself. Some simple commonplace phrases have become truly meaningful… and really essential.


Love
Never judge
There’s no fear
Treat all others like yourself
Don’t waste your life