When Manny Furious was at the beginning of his philosophical journey, he went up to his teacher, and asked her the obnoxiously silly question, “What is your spirit animal?” She replied, “The chupacabra.” It was the world’s most perfect answer. In Furious’s own mind he began to refer to her as “El Chupacabra the Apathetic” although she would’ve found the whole thing trivial and obscenely psychically wasteful. But Furious had fun with it.
Soon after, he asked an even more obnoxious question. He asked El Chupacabra the Apathetic, “What is this mindfulness thing all about?” She stared at him dumbly for several too long seconds, a heavy red cloud of perturbation slowly obscuring her face. Finally, she got up, grabbed a thick coffee mug that was sitting on the table in front of them and hit four quick times in his left shin with it. Each time the mug landed on the bone it made a sound like a ringing church bell.
The pain was extraordinary, especially for a 12 year old. Furious howled like a two-bit sinner in the midst of a Catholic exorcism.
“SEEMS LIKE YOU HAVE A PRETTY GOOD GRASP OVER THIS MINDFULNESS THING!” she hollered over his cries. The old hag.
Furious is not a smart person. At least not in any meaningful and useful way. Even less so when he was a pre-adolescent. But he caught the gib of her thrust that day, and he felt his third eye tingle, I tell you.