As he held forth about the contradictions between Orthodox Judaism and Kundalini Yoga, he felt like the cock of the walk.
The woman was just his type -- brunette and slender (but not skinny!) and smart and sensitive. A real goody-goody on the outside, but burning sensual on the inside.
He'd managed the transition so smoothly from his Australian accent to the beauty of New Zealand to the movie Priscilla Queen of the Desert and how he looked like actor Guy Pearce -- yes! she remarked on the resemblance in the eyes, oh, stare deeply, lose yourself, forget his shameful shortcomings, don't tell him his life is a mess -- and then to the reasons why she was taking Kundalini Yoga, opening her heart, becoming more present, attaching to God -- and then she asked about his spiritual path and he had so many erudite things to say.
She wanted to become more present so how could she leave this conversation. Nope, she was hooked. She was hanging on his every word.
He loved the attention. He needed it so badly. Particularly now. He needed some feminine attention. He needed some loving. He needed the opportunity to give.
There were three other beautiful women in the room and they were listening too. So was the teacher and the other blokes. Capture the blokes and the women will follow!
Oh, he was feeling it now. He was over it. He no longer felt pain. He no longer missed her. He was in his element. He was playing the wounded young god. He was ready to rub his hands and tune in.
They moved into the yoga room and he got his favorite place at the back of the class and he leaned back and he loved every woman in the room. Each was different. Each had different hair and different body types and different personalities and it was all OK with him. He loved them all and each individually. He loved their bodies and souls. His love for each was not compromised by his loves for the others.
His heart was big. It was growing. He was tuning in. He was attaching to God.
One had a big butt and it was fine. She was muscular and he liked it. He was spiritual and tolerant and wanted to fall on the ground before her and worship her muscles and rub them with oil.
One was frail and sensitive. He loved her goodness. He wanted to protect her and engage her in deep spiritual talk.
One was blonde and gorgeous. How proud he'd be to bring her to shul. Oy, how the Jews would talk!
One was from Europe. She was young, about 22. She had a strong accent. She was shy and retiring. She needed guidance for appreciating America. He had so much to give.
He sailed through class. He did the long meditation. He did the exercises. He sang "The Long Time Sun." He drank his yogi tea and at the end of class, he was ready for his reward.
And then it all went awfully wrong. The frail girl up and left -- no chance to get her Facebook info! The blonde followed her.
The muscular chick embraced her boyfriend. And the Euro-Girl mentioned her "husband."
So there he was discussing his lofty ideas with his male teacher. What's the point of that?
He drained his tea and gathered his stuff and ran across four lanes. Not a car in sight. Oy, but there's the sound of a roaring engine. He could hear it well before he could see it but now it was roaring right at him at about 70 mph and his yarmulke had risen from his head and was sailing away and he was about to die bareheaded, about to die, probably at the hands of a big black guy with a big powerful engine who'd plooked a lot more girls than he had.
