The one in which I realize I'm a pervert.

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I have the sneaking suspicion that I may be a pervert.

I realize now that my reaction when meeting people who have taken vows of celibacy is not normal. Most people warmly shake their hands, introduce themselves politely with kind eye contact, and they exchange pleasantries. Me, on the other hand.....When I shake hands with a person who has taken vows of celibacy, be it Buddhist monk or Catholic nun, I have to fight the seemingly uncontrollable and overwhelming urge to proclaim at the top of my lungs, "YOU'RE NOT HAVING SEX!" No, simply saying it in a calm voice or whisper low enough that only I can hear won't do it for me. This must be screamed from the mountain tops so that all can hear this gospel.
This urge is so difficult for me to wrestle into submission that it takes every ounce of effort and strength that I have in my body, leaving my introduction of "Hi, I'm Sam, nice to meet you" to come out like I'm simultaneously engaging in Greco-Roman wrestling and choking on a pretzel. It's the sort of effort that makes me appreciate the effort people with Tourette's must have to make to stop themselves from screaming obscenities. It makes me identify with them, even if my "Tourette's" is a really specific version that only manifests itself when I'm around celibate clergy.

"Okay," you're saying now, "So what. Then after that you've gotten over it and the conversation moves on." Well, sort of. The conversation moves on to the next station, but I forget to get on that train because I'm too busy being overwhelmed by my own thoughts. Try to picture that: you're waiting for a train, it comes, and instead of getting on you just sort of stare at it, and you wave as the train you waited for leaves without you because you're too slack-jacked and dazed thinking about the train's sex life. Wait, this metaphor just got really confusing.

Meanwhile the conversation continues and goes onward to some interesting destinations, but I'm too busy fantasizing about this person's celibacy. Of course you know what it's like to imagine a person having sex, but do you know what it's like to imagine someone NOT having sex? G-d help me, but I do. Every nun, monk, and priest I've met, I've been unable to have an actual conversation with them. They just sort of talk AT me, and I just fantasize about them being celibate. They tell me about their religion, their views, and their G-d, and meanwhile I picture them playing checkers with other monks, nuns and priests, because playing checkers is what I would assume people do if they're not having sex. Sometimes I imagine them sitting quietly in their apartments at night, reading the Bible in an easy chair, with the sounds of the couple next door's throes of passion clearly audible.

Granted, I'm not exactly being fruitful and multiplying at the moment myself, but I think there's a difference between unintentional celibacy that is a result of a hopefully temporary status of unmarried and vows of celibacy. It just seems like such a waste of genitals. For men especially, because without sex all you have is an extra bit of your body that is extremely vulnerable and sensitive to things like stray baseballs, angry women's feet, and basically everything else in slapstick comedy. Well, there is always peeing, but even that can be achieved with tubes and bags nowadays.

And also granted, I probably could have gotten away with saying, "YOU'RE NOT HAVING SEX!" to the Buddhist monk I met with today (I also met a Catholic priest today), and I'm guessing it wouldn't have changed his already negative opinion of me. We briefly met once two years ago when he came to my dorm to talk about Zen. I was with a friend, and when we all settled silently into meditation, my friend completely unintentionally let rip quite possibly the loudest fart I've ever come across in my 22 years on this planet. It was hard enough to stifle my laughter, but what made it absolutely impossible was the fact that the monk seemed to not even notice this truly deafening expression of flatulence. I mean, you've seen really "mature" people react to farts--they might make a face, or roll their eyes, or at worst quickly stifle a laugh. But not this guy. He seemed like he was on a distant, serene mountain, a place unfouled by my friend's farts. And this somehow made the fart even funnier. The monk seemed like he was about to calmly attain Nirvana, and meanwhile back in profane reality my friend and I were rolling on the floor first about the sound and then about the gradually manifesting odor. Eventually our laughter became so uncontrollable that we had to drag ourselves out of the room and up the stairs. We were laughing so hard that we ended up collapsing on the staircase just outside of the room, still completely audible to the monk, but not really caring because our stomachs were in such pain from laughing that we couldn't move.

Before we had to leave the talk, the monk told us about the nature of dukkha (suffering), and how it's caused by desires. Dukkha can be ceased via the Eightfold Path and Nirvana--you want details on this, look up the Four Noble Truths. And while I appreciate that the monk was trying to help us, I'm not sure I'd want to be like him. I don't care if you've stopped all desires and have attained Nirvana--if you can't laugh at a fart, that is TRUE dukkha.