We have Buddhism class at Professor’s home. It makes sense, given that the only students are those from Pacific Lutheran University and Lewis and Clark—and we have a grand total of six students. We got to decide where we would like to have our class, and our choice was basically this: we could use the classroom on the sixth floor—walking all six flights, as the elevator is broken—of the red brick building next to our dorm. Where we would sit in metal chairs that make our backsides sweat and that fill the cavernous room with rusty screams when someone so much as twitches. On the other hand, we could sit on comfy couches—complete with floral seat coverings—sipping tea and coffee, while we discuss the essence of Buddhism.
It was a hard decision.
So, every Monday, we take the trek to the apartment, loaded with laptops and Buddhist commentaries. Our conversations during class are abstract, to say the least, but it’s the conversations during break that really capture the core of our little group.