A Nation of Mystics - Book II: The Tribe

by Pamela Johnson

  Dinner was over. A peace had settled over the group at Keith’s house. Kathy was just finishing the dishes, laying out wooden bowls and chopsticks to dry. Smoke from the hash pipe followed the breeze drifting through the screened walls. In the light from the kerosene lamps, Dharma took out his recorder and began to play.

  “It’s been a long day for me,” Kathy said as she stacked the last bowl. She bowed with her palms clasped together over her heart. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  The path to the hut was dark, and she moved slowly, following the blurred outline of bushes, wishing she had brought the flashlight. Once inside, she lit a match, found the kerosene lamp, touched fire to the wick, and placed the light beside her bed.

  How long until he comes? she wondered.

  She undressed, wearing only a thin shift, and sat down to wait. Time passed. Finally, she shrugged, took a book from her bag, tried to read, then put it down.

  It’s getting late, she thought wearily.

  Once again, she picked up the book. A chapter passed and was only half read. Instead, a small growing idea was much more interesting.

  Why … he’s not coming, she realized. All I usually have to do is send out the proper signals. Why’d Christian lead me on if he wasn’t going to follow through?

  Why do I care?

  She turned toward the light and blew out the kerosene flame, knowing there was no reason to wait any longer.

  Kathy woke early the next morning. Birds were loud in the trees. Nearby, she could hear the river and thought to bathe. On the bank, she wrapped her hair on top of her head and slipped off her shift. The water was cold, but she smoothly slid into it, quickly washing, brushing her teeth, and putting on shorts, a T-shirt, and sandals. At Annie’s cabin door, she knocked and called, “Morning!”

  “Morning, Kathy,” Julie answered, settling down to nurse Shakti.

  “Where is everyone?” Kathy asked.

  “Keith and Bob left early to go hiking. They’re looking for a place to grow. Annie’s food shopping.”

  “And Christian and Dharma?”

  “I haven’t seen them.” Julie gave her a knowing grin. “Which one do you like?”

  Kathy shrugged and laughed. “Christian … made some overtures. But … well, he didn’t come by last night.”

  “That’s unusual.”

  Suddenly embarrassed, Kathy turned away so Julie couldn’t see her face. “Unusual?”

  “Christian … loves women. I mean, he really likes their energy, as well as their beauty. He’s respectful. Completely faithful when he’s with someone. But nothing’s lasted.”

  “If he loves women and he’s so active, why isn’t he with someone now?”

  “Long story.”

  “Long story?” Kathy sat down next to Julie, spoon and papaya in hand, the papaya filled with cottage cheese mixed with raisins and sunflower seeds.

  “When I first met Christian,” Julie began, “he was this down-and-out kilo dealer from Berkeley who had something going on with Bob’s ex-old lady, Lisa. I don’t think they ever had a physical relationship, but the possibility of a seduction was always there. Complicated. When they’d lived together in the same apartment, she was his roommate’s girlfriend.” “That can’t be an easy situation.”

  “No. Especially when business is involved. From what I know, after Lisa left, the partnership fell apart. At any rate, after Berkeley, Lisa lived with Bob for a while, then left him to join Ananda Shiva Ashram in Santa Monica. A few years ago, Christian showed up at the ashram and asked Lisa if she would reconnect him with Bob and the Brotherhood.”

  “So that’s how Bob and Christian became friends? Through Lisa?”

  Julie nodded. “But Christian’s more than a business colleague. Bob took him in, and they’ve been close brothers since. Christian’s energy is centered. He knows what he’s doing.”

  “If there’s something between Christian and Lisa, why aren’t they together?”

  “I don’t know her very well, but she’s really into her guru. She’s living in India at the New Delhi ashram.” Julie lifted Shakti to her shoulder and began to pat her back. “Then Christian lived with another friend of mine for about a year. Amy. But she left to live with the head of the Family of Man commune in Berkeley. Roger.”

  “Family of Man? We eat at their vegetarian restaurant all the time.”

  “Roger is definitely not cool. When Amy got pregnant, he simply moved on to other women. A few weeks after her daughter was born, a sister in the commune gave birth to another of Roger’s children. And there are more affairs and other women and children. For a while, Amy was trapped. No money. Nowhere to go. But Christian gave her the bucks to buy into a piece of land in Mendocino.”

  “He has a strong sense of compassion.” Kathy murmured.

  “Christian takes care of people. And gives to everyone who asks. I suppose the last serious affair he had was with a Belgian woman, Anita. But she went back to Amsterdam.”

  “Why do you think he didn’t come last night?”

  “Did you give him an invitation?”

  Kathy thought about it. “Maybe not. Maybe I didn’t want to. I’m not sure I could have a casual affair with him.”

  “Why not just flow with it?”

  “There’s something about him …”

  But before Kathy could admit that a relationship with him might mean a commitment she wasn’t sure she was ready to make, Dharma came through the door.

  “Morning,” Julie smiled. “There’s breakfast on the table. Where’s Christian?”

  “Gone for a swim at the river. He’ll be here soon. We’re going to screen our sleeping porch this morning.”

  “I’ll do some weeding in the garden,” Kathy told Julie. “Before the day gets too hot.”

  “Could you pick about a dozen large beets for dinner? And some green beans. The tools are outside underneath the steps.”

  “Wait,” Dharma stopped her, “have a toke before you go.”

  And picking up a hash pipe, he lit it, puffing several times. When the hash was red and smoking, he moved close, and placed the pipe slowly into her palm, his eyes connecting with hers, his touch tiny prickles of electricity tickling her hand.

  She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

  Behind Dharma, she saw Julie mouth the words, “Just flow.”

  Kathy followed the path to the garden, walking slowly, stoned, breathing deeply. Marcie had been telling her all summer how wonderful it was to work in the garden at Merlin’s without clothes. She stripped and wove her hair into a long braid, wearing only flip-flops. The sun fell on her back as she leaned over the plants, pulling grass and weeds from the moistened red earth. As she worked, she listened to the ramblings of her own thoughts. Sunlight surrounded her, everything aglow. She held her hand up, studied it. Translucent, she watched the veins run down her fingers, the bones dark shapes beneath the skin, a precious personal moment that involved neither past nor future. Just herself, this body, and the now.

  What is this moment? she wondered. What is time?

  “It must be time to quit,” a voice said.

  She turned abruptly. Christian.

  Kathy dropped her hand and stood up as he walked over. How long had he been watching her? Long enough to know every part of her body and wonder at her introspection.

  “Do you always work so hard?” he asked. “You’ve been here for a couple of hours.”

  “I’m about ready for a swim,” she agreed.

  “Mind if I come?”

  Even this late in the morning with the sun up, the river pool was cold, but the sweat and dirt were gone and the water refreshing. Kathy picked up the towel, dried off, and made a single, wet braid down her back.

  There’s no point in getting dressed now, she thought.

  “Could you do that to me?” Christian asked. “Braid my hair?”

  “Sure. Sit down.”

  Christian put a towel down on a log, sat, and Kathy stood behind him, running h
er fingers through his hair to comb it out. “You’re a strong swimmer. Did you grow up near water?”

  “I spent lots of vacations on some seashore.”

  “Where?”

  “Mostly in India.”

  “India?”

  “My parents were missionaries.”

  “So that’s where you get your name. I hear Annie and Keith are involved with the Hare Krishna temple here. Are you interested?”

  “No. Religion brings people together, but it also separates them from others who hold different beliefs.” As he spoke, the words became forced from a place she suspected he didn’t like, his voice a confusing mix of sorrow and anger. “Religion makes adherents sanctimonious. Sure, they’ve found the one Truth. They become locked into form, without substance …”

  Kathy finished the braid slowly and sat next to him.

  CHRISTIAN

  MAUI, HAWAIIAN ISLANDS

  SEPTEMBER 1968

  “… They forget the goodness that each philosophy teaches. The whole point of the practice …”

  Her look stopped him. Suddenly, Christian felt vulnerable, reached for his shorts and put them on, already too naked.

  “Did you ever think of becoming a minister like your father?”

  He looked away into the trees. “Every moment of my childhood was filled with that one expectation,” he answered quietly. “Not until I was seventeen did I realize the choice was mine to make.”

  The braid Kathy had woven fell over his shoulder. He felt her fingertips as she pushed it to his back, lightly touching his skin. The warmth of her body close to his, the intimacy of the moment, the compassion in her eyes, decided him.

  “I had other teachers,” he began, his voice low. “One of them was very special to me. Geshe Loden Rinpoche, a lama from Tibet. A refugee from the Chinese takeover. Very learned. A high incarnate.”

  Kathy leaned closer and asked softly, “Where is he now?”

  “He died. Several years ago. I haven’t spoken his name aloud since his death.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, placing a hand on his arm, “so very sorry.”

  “He was everything to me.” The words stumbled on the edge of a sob. “I was fifteen years old when I met him. And too inquisitive. Geshe-la said that trait would be the source of both joy and sorrow.”

  The English boarding school Christian attended in Dehradun in northern India was internationally known, and his history teacher, Mr. Hodges, one of the school’s most respected scholars. Knocking respectfully at his office door, Christian called, “Mr. Hodges?”

  “Christian! Come in. I thought you were going home for the holiday.”

  “I am. But Nareesh isn’t well. He should be better in a day or so, and then we’ll leave together. Mr. Hodges, who was the man who walked in the chapel garden with you yesterday? The one with the gold robes.”

  Mr. Hodges smiled. “An old friend. A lama.”

  “A lama? I’ve heard stories that lamas can do wondrous things. Make miracles. Is it true they can float in the air and walk through walls?”

  “Perhaps,” Mr. Hodges’s eyes sparkled. “But these are things I have never seen, and I have known Lama Loden for many years.”

  “But why would people tell such stories if there wasn’t some truth to them?”

  Mr. Hodges looked down at his desk as if the answer might be neatly typed somewhere among his papers. “Lamas are special people,” he began, “this one is both a geshe, meaning that he has completed a very extensive course in the study of Buddhism, and a rinpoche, an incarnate being, a man of high spiritual consciousness who has chosen to return to earth to help teach the dharma to others.”

  “Dharma?” Fascinated, Christian took a seat without being asked. “The dharma is the body of Buddhist spiritual teachings.”

  “How did you meet the lama?”

  “Well,” Mr. Hodges said thoughtfully, “where to begin? To make it simple, I was in intelligence during the Second World War. Lama Loden was abbot of a monastery where I stayed while monitoring Japanese movements in China. Fortunately for me, Loden Rinpoche learned to speak English and was patient with my Tibetan. Come to my office tomorrow at nine in the morning. I’m sure the lama would enjoy meeting a boy with many questions. In fact, he teaches many boys and requires that they ask questions.”

  At nine o’clock the next morning, Christian waited impatiently on the dark green leather chair for the man with the orange and maroon robes. Twenty minutes later, Lama Loden arrived, with a boy of fifteen or sixteen in attendance. Christian watched the lama closely as he walked, leaning forward, almost on his toes. The robes added weight to the proportions of his body. One bared shoulder was thick and broad, his skin dark, his shaved head perfectly round with a short stubble of new hair, alternately gray and black. Only as he came closer could Christian see the smooth skin of his face, relaxed muscle tone, contented smile, and shining eyes.

  “Lama Loden, I’d like you to meet a young student of mine. This is Christian Brooks.”

  Christian stood and placed his hands together over his heart and bowed, “Namaste.”

  Lama Loden bowed in return, “Namaste.” The words from Lama’s throat were deep, resonant, vibrating through Christian’s body, piercing his heart.

  “Christian has heard tales of lamas,” Mr. Hodges grinned. “I thought he should meet one.”

  Lama Loden made himself comfortable in a chair, his attendant sitting behind. “How old are you, Christian?”

  “Fifteen, sir. And I am interested in religion. My father is a minister,” Christian began proudly.

  “A noble profession,” Lama answered. “Christianity has many useful and practical aspects. Yet, there are things that Buddhism can teach Christianity. We can learn from one another.”

  Christian leaned forward, eagerly nodding his head. “I have heard it said that lamas can walk through walls.” Then, to everyone’s surprise, Christian asked without hesitation, “Will you teach me?”

  The lama studied the boy. “Is it Truth you seek?”

  “Why, yes,” Christian answered, openly, honestly.

  “Have you patience?” Lama laughed, watching the way he squirmed in the chair. “I think not. But that is one of the secrets I can teach. Patience.”

  Lama closed his eyes and began to chant, his voice deep, forcefully resonant, the vibrations passing through Christian’s body. Geshe’s prayer beads moved through his hands. He rocked rhythmically back and forth in soft concentration, serious but not serious, rubbing one eye as he did.

  “You must always remember,” Lama began, “your first good fortune. That of your birth into a human body.”

  “How else may one be born?”

  “As an animal, an insect, or bird. Or a creature of one of thousands of worlds. To receive a human body is as difficult as a blind turtle finding an egg yolk on the surface of the ocean. But your karma has given you a human body. That is most fortunate, for with a human body, you can reason. With a human body, you can achieve liberation.”

  For a long time that afternoon, Lama spoke to Christian of karma and the results of his actions. He spoke of suffering and its sources, and how all suffering could be ended.

  Astonished, Christian asked, “We can end suffering?”

  “Yes! By disciplining the mind with wisdom and compassion. Compassion for all the earth’s sentient beings. Loving kindness to all you meet.”

  “But I already try to do so. That is the message of Jesus, to love one another.”

  “Being good and kind to all things is important. But to practice compassion, you will need to have knowledge of cause and effect. You will have to understand the intent of your right action.”

  “Where do I start?” Christian asked simply.

  Lama laughed, for the boy was asking important questions. “I will give you a simple breathing exercise. Take the breath into your body through your nose. Fill your lungs and then your stomach with air. Now, slowly release the air, starting in the very bottom
of your stomach, breathing out until the breath is gone. This is the beginning of achieving clarity of mind through meditation.”

  “And after my mind is clear?” Christian asked as if one breath should do it.

  “You will achieve special insight. Wisdom consciousness. Eventually you will realize the final nature of the mind exactly as it is.”

  “Then,” Christian’s eyes beamed, “will I be able to walk through walls?”

  Christian was laughing now as he told Kathy the story, laughing and shaking his head, knowing his own foolishness.

  “But, Christian, could the lama walk through walls?”

  “Before I tell you, I need to get to know you better,” he teased.

  “Well, at least tell me what the choice was you had to make!”

  Christian was still smiling, but suddenly, the pain was back in his eyes. “Whether or not to enter the ministry, to fulfill my father’s lifelong ambition for me. My relationship with Geshe-la was very difficult for him.”

  Then, moving away from his story of Lama Loden, he said, “I actually did spend one quarter in divinity school. But it didn’t take long to see it wasn’t for me.”

  Kathy watched him. Something was still unsaid, something sad and heavy. “What did your father say when you dropped out of Berkeley?”

  “I sent my parents a note. That was almost three years ago. I haven’t spoken with either of them since.” He looked up at her. “I wish I could talk to them. I wish they were capable of understanding. But my father would never understand. If he couldn’t understand Hinduism or Buddhism, even though he lived surrounded by those doctrines all his life, how do you think he would feel about LSD?”

  Kathy looked beyond him to the smooth flow of the river.

  “It’s a hard one,” she whispered.