TBF exams (part 2)

"What are TBF exams?" Coming from the middle row, a muscular young man boldly ventured a question.

I say boldly: Awkward situations perpetuate themselves by their very awkwardness. A firm belief of mine dictates the stiff mood be swiftly broken. My weapon is humor.

Busting from attic-yellow, short sleeves, sculpted biceps betrayed a less well-groomed mind. Or so I thought. This would-be jock displayed the characteristic boldness of the uninformed, and dressed the part. But beneath the elaborate disguise: a mind!

A clever, social ruse. He saw through mine, when I couldn't penetrate his.

"I hope you've looked at the Marx reading," my friend Rebecca said, "I can't stress enough how dense this text is. You first year students might be surprised. So, don't put it off until the last week." Thick, black frames snugged her swollen, Swiss cheeks. Her timid confidence betrayed her position: a third-year grad student, familiar, but not yet expert at what she professed.

I floated in my chair. My body was rooted only physically; every faculty of mine pondered on what soon lay ahead. Computing every possible reaction at blood thumping speed, my mind hurried to imagine the rapidly approaching future. My right calve furiously pumped a nervous leg. Get on with it, Rebecca.

"...we have a special guest." A cue of sorts, Rebecca's words pierced through the fog of anxiety.

It really was nice what she was doing. This opportunity for practice. No turning back now. With all the energy of a meth-amphetimine user, I strode to the front of the classroom. Formal introductions out of the way, it was up to me to interrupt the silence.

"I am Lord Dorman, from Lithuania." My lips were straight, my jaw set. "Most of you have probably never been around royalty before." I glanced quickly at Rebecca, who had a most inquisitive look. She had as little idea of where I was going as the rest of the audience.

"The proper way to address me is, 'Ser.'" Briefly showing my back, I displayed the correct spelling on the white board. Turning once more to the class, it was evident I had upped the ante. Confusion, even a little anger, marked students' faces. The tension, the awkwardness, the sense of disturbance, all had reached climatic levels. One thing was for sure: nobody knew what to think.

"I am currently studying for my TBF exams, which Rebecca was kind enough to help with." The hook was well on its way, but I wanted to stretch the mood to its capacity.

Enter muscleman. "What are TBF exams?"

Well played. My anxious prophesying hadn't envisioned someone picking this out. I thought I could slip in the vague reference, an intimate joke with myself. Not, "Where in Lithuania?" Not, "Wow, umm..Ser, Why the University of Arizona?" Of all the things to focus on, this young man chose, what I felt, the most innocuous. Well played.

TBF exams (part 1)

Glands don't possess eyes. And a good thing, too! Innocent situations, to the eye, are readily distinguished by more primitive systems to be anything but.

"I'm studying for my TBF exams." The words cannoned from my mouth. Had my faculties not been employed on myriad other defenses, I may have concentrated more on the pace of my speech.

It's an everyday occurance: a teacher takes his ceremonial spot in front of the class. Students--some lazily, others furioulsy--take out pen and paper. A mundane, stereotypical event. My autopilot certainly interpreted otherwise:I was crouched amongst razor-tipped elephant grass, makeshift brothers' brains splattering my camoflauged clothing. Death behind me, around me, an invisible and hostile enemy surrounding me. It might as well have been, all the signals my autonomic nervous system was giving.

Palms moist, a sprinting heart, I held the regarded post at the front of the room. The role of student I held for years, and understood its obligations well. Safely seated in desk, this perspective offered sufficient view of what the instructor saw. Or so I thought.

My body was right! I was in hostile territory. My brain reached for social convention, which taught otherwise. Here is a civilized situation, years of upbringing said. Reality, as so often the case, was hostile. Freed from seated, wooden confines, the view from the front was a new reality, much less perspective. Young minds, shackled to inpurportionate seats, impatiently regarded what I might have to say.

My saving grace: these would-be hecklers felt the tension too. A stale, musty odor hung heavy in the crusty room. Browning, yellowish sandstone walls spoke of times past. Vibrancy, in this room, had left. A third-story cellar, the room latently informed that what passed between these walls was irrelevant.

What would Buddha do?

What would Buddha do? A.k.a.: The New Morality.

It's easy to see in a college town, walking distance from the capital of ideas. Obama stickers brazenly shine from every third car, road maps to the university. This New Morality hugs the avenues and alleyways in close proximity of most major campuses. Beards, short shorts, and bikes distinguish the male prophets. Thick, wool hiking socks protrude from functional, sturdy boots. Stout shoes and stout lager.

Not to digress into sweeping stereotypes or fallacious generalizations. The New Morality shouts mainly from bumper stickers. Myriad thoughts drape window corners; many humorous, others intentially offend. The factions are starting to form a party.

What would Buddha do?

A question I was asked to ponder after purchasing my morning ritual. What would Buddha do? If Buddha were around today...Well, history creates our heroes--unique circumstances mold characters destined for their specific time; and their specific time alone. To be fair however, the sticker was largely a humorous/offensive response to a question posed by our more traditional morality: What would Jesus do? In answering, the essence of the rebel Jew's teachings must be gleaned (some fundamentalists might argue their is no "essence", its black and white and should be read that way).

So, to give the question more consideration than perhaps it was asking...

Buddha was both skeptical and practical. His pragmatism had a very real goal: relief. Relief from the suffering of a delusional life. He would seek to detach from identification with this world. In "essence." Not too different from Jesus.

The context in which the sticker was placed proffered a different view. "No, I didn't go to church. I was out practicing witchcraft and becoming a lesbian." The overall message coming from the rear window clearly resisted more traditional American views.

Maybe the owner was thinking like a breakaway Hindu seeker after all. Buddha was a rebel, seeking a different spiritual path from the one his Hindu fathers insisted. Again, not too different from Jesus.

Both spiritual figures sought to reform conventions. Religion is always more than morality, but both legends could be seen as positing a New Morality for their time. So what do the modern prophets tell us?