by David H. Haight, copywrite 2009
Old, wrinkled, parchment-skinned Gundek sat by the lake twisting his fingers trying to remember the correct title for the venerable figure standing before him blocking his view of shimmering waters lapping the lakeshore so close by. This saffron-robed figure watched Gundek with a ferocious intensity as he peered into the old man’s soul, stripping him naked, turning a merciless light upon every inner hiding place and its concealed treasures. Such a relentless gaze allowed no escape, though a gentle smile wreathed the Lama’s weathered face. Deeply held consideration for every living creature was his great gift, to what little he perceived of the outer world. His was a compassionate soul.
“Ah…Of course, it’s you isn’t it!” Gundek vaguely remembered, wrinkling his brow, curious as to the Lama’s presence and what it might have to do with him. Yes, that’s right. Now he remembered this was the man of conscience whose compassion wrapped itself in silent waiting. It was the Village Lama standing there whose duties included keeping the little village to its ritual schedule imprinted on the seasonal calendar. One must carefully attend such a holy person whenever he appeared to announce preparations for what was to come, be it a joyous celebration, a nuptial feast or a farewell ceremony for the recent departed. Many seasons ago he had shed his monk’s robes in order to take a wife whose gentle counsel kept him to the Middle Way.
Gundek always became impatient at meaningless interruptions, as he deemed this encounter to be. More than that, the Lama stood between him and riffled lake-waters covering a peaceful face that appeared for him nearly every dawn. Lingering just below the surface it sparkled with meaning and promise, a golden mask dazzling his eyes, hypnotizing him for hours. He listened to its soft voice echoing in his head, promising further adventures beyond all speculation when he should finally pass over into another life. Meanwhile it became his joy to absorb wisdom radiating out from the golden Buddha mask, its eyes holding him transfixed. Occasionally the gilded eyelids lifted to reveal two inky passages leading to another quality of “knowing.” He sensed that someday he might fall through those dark orbs into an existence where absolute truth was so thoroughly incorporated into the heart as not to require any language other than that presented by the eyes.
Though Gundek had become a patient man, having fallen foolishly by the wayside many a time during his youth, his advancing years urged upon him an anticipatory attitude regarding what the future might hold. One should not call it impatience, but he hungered to know more of all the great mysteries, to experience the reality that lay behind so many shadows dancing through his dreams.
Once again today his ghostly wife of long ago emerged from the shadows of his mind to snuggle coolly by his side joining in his conversation with the mask, all their mingled thoughts flowing together in the same channel leading to long speculative discussions lapsing at last into meditative silence. It was always thus. Now, however, she chose to ignore the Lama whom she had observed from time to time. He was, she thought, too focused on the village — too involved in managing other lives at the risk of compromising his own. She already had a sense of what he might say to Gundek and dreaded Gundek’s reaction, knowing full well that conventional time had lost any meaning for him as the days spun through their rhythmic cycles.
Slowly her form faded back into memories’ depths leaving her lovingly remembered husband to focus clearly upon the figure blocking his precious view of the lake, the mask and the snow-capped mountain ranges just beyond.
At last his Venerable Presence, the bright-eyed one spoke in measured tones, tersely direct, carefully emphasizing each word.
“Gundek, it is nearing the time when you must open the Ying-Ying box holding our seven sacred discs. Surely you must know this is so. Are you willing at last to join us in throwing the discs at the time of the next full moon?”
He had asked this question of Gundek many times in the recent past only to be met with an abrupt refusal approaching absolute denial of everything implied by the ceremony.
Gundek’s face tightened in distaste, resenting any pressure to recognize his fast approaching conclusion to this life’s particular last chapter. Yes, he knew of the sacred chest and had watched its ritual removal and placement at the center of their village circle ready for the village elders’ sacraments. On the evening of a full moon the discs were tossed in the air three times landing upon a blue dyed cloth divided into quarters. He also knew that when a villager was nearing the end of his long road on earth, it was then he would most likely agree to three throws of the sacred discs…a last opportunity to “groom one’s fate,” they said. He smiled at that bit of irony, knowing full well Fate stands complete unto itself, waiting for the human subject to finally appear celebrating the last act.
As a courtesy, the village Lama would take the first throw, tossing all seven of the discs high into the air. The quarter in which the one black disc landed within the circle on this first toss indicated the season of the year in which the invited subject would most likely pass into a new life, each quarter representing a season of the year. Then a respected venerable elder would make a second toss of all the discs. Their landing pattern suggested the most likely month of the particular season shown in which the subject would exit this life. Finally, the subject would toss the discs as high as he/she could, the arrangement of the white discs upon landing indicating the most likely day and time for his or her graduation into a new life. On this last throw, should the black disc land in the same quarter as on the first toss, that fact only reinforced the projected season of departure.
“But what had all that to do with him now?” he thought. His health was good. He felt no pain and happily attended each day’s chores while troubling no one in their community, keeping to his private thoughts, making few demands on others, increasingly happy to be left alone – except for those two wearying sons of his.
The Lama’s question left him quite lost and in denial as to any personal meaning, which to other villagers might seem as clear as the sun at mid-day. During the past several seasons many villagers had seen Old Gundek withdrawing further into the past, conversing with ghosts — the unseen — in early morning hours. They hadn’t heard about or seen the golden mask lurking just below the lake’s surface as Gundek had discussed that fact with no one. Often he would forget to eat his daybreak meal and later after midday he sat in contemplation until night shadows swept him past the midnight hour.
Only the Lama might remind Gundek where he stood on that long road into the beyond. No one else dared to reveal his feelings, his insights. It was simply not done. Village custom demanded strict adherence to a traditional code of behavior when it came to coping with life’s peak events. It seemed to most villagers that the ancient ways were always best. Choice in these matters was strictly limited.
Gundek shook his head back and forth refusing to believe that his friends — and he felt all the villagers were his friends — saw him as nearly ready to move away from them into another existence. Even so, he had become increasingly weary and short-tempered at daily interruptions to his meditative life. Many moments passed before he at last obeyed an inner impulse and bowed his head, thus silently agreeing to attend the next full moon ceremony even as he resisted most thoughts circling around the end of his life here on earth.
“Why all this conventional fuss and speculation?” he muttered to himself. Of course he knew the rituals were in essence observed to push away fear of the unknown. But the whole thing seemed so natural to him. He felt a certain relief in contemplating his own demise, his very own, “great letting go,” tossing the corpse of “thou shalt” off his spiritual back. He observed an anticipatory rumble surge through his mind with every sunset. For him a fearless curiosity possessed his mind. Relief rather than fear poked at him when he allowed himself to contemplate his approaching departure. His chief regret, nibbling around his thoughts more urgently lately, was the failure to somehow bring peace between his two sons. He had tried a variety of ruses, but one or the other of the two always managed to see through his efforts and shrank away from actively joining in any resolution.
“There is no end to life!” he spat out, half in anger, half in disbelief at all the fuss over one fading earthly life — any life — wishing the Lama would go about his business elsewhere. He had always envisioned this digression to earth as only one of innumerable cosmic travels, adventures moving one towards a distant rendezvous with an ultimate reality. He wriggled uneasily before the Lama, tacitly acknowledging he had always had difficulty managing village relationships in an easy, non-confrontational manner. It appeared he was more suited to live the life of a hermit engrossed from dawn to dusk in meditative contemplation away from any communal web.
The Lama smiled at him replying, “Of course Life is infinite, but there comes a time to consciously turn the page, summarizing what one has learned in this short space here on earth that can be applied in the next chapter. One must acknowledge responsibility for having lived one’s life, of having made certain choices and thus having participated in the pain and joy, the very warp and woof of existence. You already know this acknowledgment is not a matter of choice. But why not make the passage consciously, rather than drifting along — blindly fading away?”
Gundek couldn’t think of an adequate reply, only that he was still enjoying this life so much. He resented the idea that he would merely “blindly fade away.” Why should he focus on what in truth never does end? Just then he caught a flicker in the shadows of his mind, and there she was returning, this young wife from so many years past, floating quickly to his side. She was just as beautiful as ever, those huge dark eyes reaching out to drown him in their depths, her lips nearing his ear to continue their interrupted conversation through many a long, cloudless day. He quivered with joy and expectation, ready to absorb her feminine wisdom so gracefully offered as a constant whispering stream moving to him beyond time and place.
His view of the Lama blurred, mentally pushing that demanding presence away into the lake. He grimaced as the sacred lake appeared to swallow the Lama among its dark wavelets, but then he quickly recovered to address this rooted figure. Bowing his head to the ground before the Lama he promised him, “I will reconsider my life and prepare myself for the full moon ceremony. But you know I am not ready or willing to leave just yet.” The tone of his voice was almost a plea ending in a question mark. The Lama returned his bow and accepted Gundek’s declaration feeling a mixture of joy and sadness at the inherent inevitability clothing this brief encounter. He sighed forth a prayer for Gundek’s soul before returning to the village shrine where other suppliants waited to consult with him over tea.
For a brief moment after the lama departed Gundek experienced overwhelming grief for all that had been and never could be again. That is, his memory did not faithfully reproduce as he had lived them, these many scenes now floating past his inner eye. He would miss the gentle caress of a spirit wind, the interplay of light and shadow at dawn and sunset, rare aromas teasing his brain to recall so many dreams rising from mother earth. With her help he felt his spiritual essence rise from his body beside the lake to slowly drift over the village, sensing all the early morning activity, admiring how cleanly swept the great central oval was with its rock-rimmed center ready for the next ritual gathering. Suspended over the landscape he could clearly see his elder son, the “Silent One” who always wore a smile, repairing a rock wall at the base of the village temple settled on its hilly mound. Further up the mountain he could see the offering ground walls within which the village dead were dismembered and offered to flocks of scavenger birds whose insatiable hunger reflected an absolute truth i.e., life always and forever consumes life…even dead remains.
A little further down the hill he could hear moaning growls mixed with thunderous drumbeats celebrating the goddess Tara in the village temple. A whiff of aromatic burning incense pulled him forward. Descending to wander through the dark, double-door entrance to this most sacred temple he was startled to see his youngest son covered with sweat beating the huge temple drum with grim determination only to crumple upon the floor in tears. The young man had, as was customary, lit candles before the Tara scroll and filled a dozen little brass cups with water to honor the Goddess, even though resident rats could be seen slaking its thirst without hesitation.
The sight of this weeping youngest son presented no surprise to Gundek’s hovering spirit, though his chest heaved in sorrow. He knew in his heart at the moment of his youngest son’s birth this now boy-man would blame him for his mother’s death. Yet much the same in reverse could be said of Gundek about his own feelings towards the boy whose birthing had been too hard a struggle for the young mother. Her death was felt to be the babe’s fault, depriving Gundek of his one great love, creating a monumental gulf blocking his ability to easily show affection for the helpless new born.
A further complication resulted from rivalry for village recognition, producing endless arguments between his two sons, the youngest born of a late marriage whose short term caused Gundek such profound grief. They say he took on the task of raising these sons quite alone, yet he must have seemed cold and distant to them. Without their mother they spent much of their younger years searching out other village women who could give them a touch of comfort and a little taste of love.
Hovering in the temple in this trance state he once again felt recurring pangs of shame and guilt that he had not found the strength to give his boys the love and acceptance they deserved. His tears now matched those shed by his younger son, drop for drop. Yet he could not bring himself to span the distance separating them.
This younger wife lingering in his mind, now released for a time from another life, kept a prayerful silence wishing to weep, if only she could. She knew there was little point in trying to alleviate the grief both her sons suffered. Each of them had to work through to the causes of his pain. She felt herself to be no more than a willowy wisp projected from afar, and therefore of little help to anyone. It was their responsibility and need to perform private healing tasks if ever they were to achieve any peace in this lifetime.
Refusing to be overcome by sadness accompanying her former husband’s spiritual melancholy she assumed an inner flutelike voice urging, “Let us revisit our favorite sitting place on the high plateau so that I may once again walk with you and view wayside delights through your eyes, hear the dried beige grasses singing in a spirit wind while above I shall see huge circling scavenger birds representing the great Earth Mother’s mouth returning us to her womb. Once again allow my eyes to caress familiar snow blest mountain ranges viewed through you — all this accompanied by those feelings we both once shared.”
Gundek knew in his heart he hadn’t left his special lotus center by the lake but had, with her help, ventured out from his body to see and sense his surroundings as if in a vivid dream. Her desire had touched his heart and spurred him to action. Returning into his body he rose, struggling to stand upright and returned to his hut to gather a little meat and cooked grain into a packet. Then he donned his thick sheepskin coat and headed out up the trail leading to the high plateau. He sighed and wished he could once more feel the warm body of this lost young wife in the flesh, once more clasp her in his arms, and slowly, carefully make delicious love to her as they had many a night in the long ago past.
He heard a little laugh and giggle bouncing about in his ear. He smiled and asked her if she too, remembered how well matched they were. For a moment he thought she pulled at his earlobe. Her little voice whispered she would never forget their love-making, his consistent gentleness with her, his loving kisses lavished upon every curve, his smothering of each sacred hollow with sighs as his fingertips gently pulsed her full breasts. As if once more a wee babe, he nursed at her nipples. He explored below her navel to feel her belly arch up against his body, enticing his manhood to take the plunge, followed by their rhythmic dance. He had always waited before spending himself in her womb — waited until she arrived at the same passionate peak so they might jointly descend together, flowing downhill in one long, delicious moan to savor desire’s last twinges before falling, sated, into a heavy, deep sleep.
Such were his thoughts as he slowly strolled up the winding path towards the white stupa with its golden crown and knobbed staff pointing towards infinity. Peace always descended upon him as he approached this vital center where he heard the flapping prayer flags talking to him in the wind, their carefully printed images praising Buddha in all his forms. Spreading his prayer mat he would sit for hours alone in focused meditation, Buddha’s painted eyes on the tower watched over mankind in all four cardinal directions. A goodly portion of the daily sun cycle would pass before he settled back into his body to attend this life’s concerns and village responsibilities.
“Once I am immersed in prayer, time ceases for me. I become one with The Light — with the Teachings, the Darma, though it is becoming increasingly difficult for me to return to this life,” he mused.
Abruptly she sighed, a long whistling exhalation into their silence. Gundek felt the mother of his several sons stream away from him like a little minnow briefly held in his palm finding an exit space between his fingers, then plunging down into the swiftest waters running to the center of Creation. Even as she slipped away he heard her fading, flute-like voice sing to him for the last time.
“My time here is over, Love of this life. I must return to the other world beyond space and time having been allowed to briefly revisit this life of yours. You are almost at the point where all the branches, all the possibilities meet. It is there that you have to seek out which flow to follow. It lies within your Self and only you can discover that right way. Listen carefully. Obey your feelings. You cannot be misled if…” Her voice wavered briefly on “if” — a brief windy puff and then she was gone.
Once again a great red sun ball descended into the West, its rays warming his tear-streaked face, touching his heart, promising as always to return in the East after communion with the gods below.
Gundek fell to the earth and lay spread flat out as if stretched on the surface of a globe pulled evenly from within and from without. The sensation lasted only a brief moment before he collapsed back into himself, blessed by an intense inner peace which, oddly, held no sense of loss, only a calm knowing that all was as it should be.
Everyone moved as if performing an ancient dance in slow motion.
When all were seated, upon a nod from the lama, a steady drum beat accompanied a prayer chanted by the Lama, directed at all the many faces of Buddha. Gundek sat transfixed by the drumbeat, assisted by a potent herbal drink ingested before entering the sacred circle. He felt himself expand to move within the flames weaving forth from four lit torches placed 90 degrees apart outside the white rock circle, honoring all the Golden Horde gods gathered behind the four winds.
Upon a nod from the Lama the drumming stopped. He reached into the Ying-Ying box and removed all the discs, which he then shuffled before uttering a loud explanation and then tossed them high in the air over the silk spread.
As the results of this first throw registered, exclamations of astonishment arose from the assembled. The ebony disc had landed in the exact center of the silk spread touching all four quarters. When this rare phenomenon occurs it is understood to indicate the awaited transformation could take place at any season of the year. Gundek appeared indifferent though his spirit celebrated singing, “I can leave when I choose. The choice is mine.”
After prayers before a rising moon whose silvery light softened shadowy depths and sun-lined faces, tall, ascetic Menlip was selected to toss the gathered discs a second time. He abruptly reached forward to shuffle the discs, tossing them high with a chesty rumble, and then watched them cascade down in the moonlight to splash upon the silk cover as if into a liquid bath. The unexpected had happened once again. Gasps were heard followed by heavy silence edged with eerie foreboding as the black disc had once again landed dead center covering an equal portion of each quarter. Some wondered if the dark forces had taken control of this ritual and murmured fearfully, shifting nervously about while the most favorable day of any seasonal month was selected. Gundek felt himself increasingly at ease and began to chortle when it could not be shown conclusively whether his departureit was to be the first or last day of any particular month.
Now it was Gundek’s turn to gather the discs with a last toss to determine the time of day marking his final exit. He gathered the orbs to him, doing his best to control the laughter that threatened to erupt from his center and lifted his hand to make the toss, but he seemed to freeze in place, his facial expression shifting from repressed laughter to shocked awe. Dancing before him, unseen by the others, the glowing face of the Buddha shone brighter than the Moon, signaling him to throw the discs and heed their landing. Gundek couldn’t take his eyes off the reflected truth focused upon him and hurled the discs upward in a twisting toss. The discs climbed so high observers gasped fearing the discs had disappeared into the heavens. In a moment they descended, piling upon each other at the exact center of the silk with the ebony disc sitting on top of the little pile. Not a sound could be heard as most of the villagers rose to silently return to their homes whispering prayers for protection against unknown, mysterious forces at work.
The Lama, Gundek and his two sons remained hypnotized by conflicting visions regarding what might next occur. Meanwhile the golden Buddha mask had faded into a silvery moon glow surrounding them. Rising shakily to his feet Gundek departed without a word. Both his sons exchanged glances knowing full well where their father was headed, agreeing in thought that they must be with him this one night of all nights. They rose, bowed to the Lama and walked side by side down the path to the lake, wordless for a time, knowing within their centers that there was no point in racing after their father’s form. He knew his way and they would discover him and support him at the appropriate time.
Moving forward in silent contemplation, Elder Son lost his perpetual smile. His face appeared ill at ease in the bright moonlight. He finally spoke in hesitating cadence, apologizing for his treatment of Younger Son over all their many years. “I was angry at you — always feeling you had robbed me of our mother. I thought that you had drained all her energy away for your own pleasure, your own life — leaving Father and me to exist in empty shadows.”
“Her death was not my responsibility,” Younger Son whispered haltingly after a long pause. “ She wanted me to come to life here in this world, for all of us. But you and father have pretended from the beginning that I didn’t exist. I have waited so long to find a way to make peace with you, but you have always turned away, while Father’s face grows hard whenever I appear.”
Younger Son’s voice choked into a watery silence that became unbearably dense until they both saw Gundek at the same time, seated in a meditative pose on his favorite rock close beside the lake. He seemed so still as if made of stone, not moving a limb as they approached. In the far distance Moonlight reflected off snow, embracing peaks that turned the landscape into a mythic landscape, a fairytale dream, charming heart and mind, enticing their spirits forward to ascend the peaks in celebration
Even as the two young men approached their father, his form so focused in deep concentration, they could not deny their mutual apprehension the closer they neared him. Something in the air, in this magical border, this liminal strip between land and water informed them how tenuous all life is — that nothing exists for all time and what a sham rigid certitude is. Everything overlaps, yesterday with today anticipating shreds of tomorrow. Past and future condensed into one moment revealed without fear while the Universe sang its healing song.
Elder Son whispered, “Father — are you awake? May we speak with you?” Grundek’s head bowed a little seeming to indicate assent.
Coming up behind his father’s back, Elder Son placed his hand on Grundek’s shoulder and then cried out in startled wonder. A golden Buddha mask, its eyes closed, floated just below the surface of the lake directly in front of them. Without realizing it, he had given his father a little nudge when he saw the mask.
Grundek ever so slowly tipped forward into the lake — into the Buddha mask. Just before his face hit the water, the two sons saw Buddha’s eyes open wide, expanding to receive Grundek’s form for the long, long sigh into another reality.
–o0o–
