Toward the end of the feast Agatha Winright came over to Max and asked him if he had scheduled his private consult with Rinpoche. When he said that he hadn’t, she was surprised.
“No? Well, you really should,” she said, smiling broadly. “Everyone else has already had their private consult. You were an excellent assistant, and I don’t want you to miss out.”
***
The next morning at 8:00, everyone gathered in the great hall for the final wrap-up session. Before the meditation chants began, the interpreter asked on behalf of Rinpoche if there was anyone in the room who had not already “taken refuge.” This referred to the act of accepting a special Tibetan name that would allow the recipient access to Padmasambhava during meditation and a chance—infinitesimal though it might be—of achieving enlightenment and rainbow-body.
Except for Max, everyone in the room had already “taken refuge,” so he was called to the front of the room. In a quick fifteen-minute ceremony he was given refuge, and Rinpoche slipped him a piece of paper on which was written his new Tibetan name.
Max immediately lost the paper and never learned to pronounce his Tibetan name. However, he was told that it meant “diamond” and signified a pure thinker of strength and brilliance.
Then there was one more order of business before the meditation could begin: Rinpoche had brought with him from Tibet a special black herb, which he passed around the room. His interpreter told everyone that the herb had been planted by ancient Tibetan lamas in gardens tended for centuries by monks. The special energy and blessing the monks and lamas had placed in the herb enhanced the spiritual journeys of all who consumed the herb.
Each person took a tiny portion of no more than a gram and chewed or swallowed it. Since everyone else seemed to find this business as usual, Max followed suit and swallowed the herb.
He didn’t notice anything particularly strange, but he was surprised to discover that for the first time he was able to endure a two-hour meditation without becoming completely bored or preoccupied with work and other more practical issues.
When the meditation ended, and everyone else was saying their goodbyes, Max headed down to Rinpoche’s private campsite for his private consultation. Both the teacher and his interpreter were already waiting.
The interpreter started the session.
“Rinpoche wants to know what you seek and if he can be of help to you,” she said.
“I actually seek nothing,” Max replied honestly. “But I do wonder why the world is full of so much violence and hatred and why so many people suffer.”
When his comment was translated, Rinpoche thought a moment and then replied.
“Just love everyone as if they were all your children,” the translator instructed. “In this way you will begin to understand that what you see as violence and hatred is simply hurt children acting out. There is no permanence to such behavior.”
Rinpoche then gave Max a picture of himself and a business card, so that Max could write to him if he had future questions. He thanked Max for assisting him and then went back into his tent to pack for his departure.
On the way back to his own campsite, Max found a strange sense of awareness creeping over him. He started to feel that the trees and plants were alive in a more vivid way than he had ever felt before. Next he began to feel a sense of communion with the rocks and even the ground upon which he was walking.
It all seemed very strange but pleasant—almost as if all boundaries between Max and all other matter had begun to fade away.
Could this be Samadhi, he wondered abstractly.
When he arrived, he found that Grace had already taken down the tent.
“I’ve got everything packed and ready to go,” she said. “All you have to do is bring the car around. We have forty-five minutes
to get to the airport, so let’s get moving.” Her crisp instructions broke into Max’s moment of acute awareness, and he did as she asked.
It wasn’t until Max was sitting on the plane from Wyoming to California that he actually looked at Rinpoche’s business card. The top of the card displayed simple yet elegant letters.
TURQUOISE MONASTERY XAN NEPAL
Below that appeared a name.
RINPOCHE GYUATMA CHIBA
Max had not really been paying much attention the first night of the retreat, when Agatha had announced that Tulku Chiba was replacing Tulku Hanka.
Now, as Max looked at the name “Gyuatma Chiba,” he knew with startling clarity that Rinpoche was one of the Twelve.
He leaned back in his seat and let it sink in. Finally, he turned to his wife and spoke.
“My God, Grace . . . ” he murmured. “Rinpoche is one of the Twelve.”
“The Twelve?” she responded. “The Twelve? What are you talking about?”
“The twelve names revealed to me during my near-death experience, when I was fifteen,” Max said, irritation rising up in him.
“Oh, that old story,” she replied dismissively. “I thought you’d given up on that years ago. You said that after meeting the first four, it was just a dead end, and no rhyme or reason or connection between the four you did find.”
“That’s true, but this changes everything—Rinpoche is one of the Twelve!” he said, excitement brushing aside his irritability. “Maybe I abandoned the quest too soon.”
To his chagrin, Grace just adjusted her special neck brace and the pillows she took on every flight.
“Well, that’s very nice, Max,” she said. “Now, I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I need to take a nap. You can tell me all about it when we get home.”
Max just stared at her, then gave up and tried to read a newspaper.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about Rinpoche and the unbidden return of the Twelve to his life. Without any distractions, he drifted back into the altered state he had experienced earlier in the day.
His senses seemed to expand again, and he could see the connections that linked everything around him, whether animate or inanimate. Everything seemed alive, seemed to have consciousness—even the ink on the newspaper he was reading.
The negative feelings he had been experiencing melted away, and Max felt nothing but love and compassion. There was a story in the newspaper about a young girl who had been raped, and his feelings extended, not only to the girl, but also to the ink that was trapped forever in this story about rape.
To him, it seemed as if the ink itself was experiencing the horror contained in the words it formed, and that the consciousness of the ink would never be released from that horror until the paper itself disintegrated.
It was in this state that Max recognized his life purpose. He was, indeed, destined to pursue the Twelve. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t know how. He had no idea how the Twelve were actually connected.
But he did know that he had to find them.
Chapter Nineteen
The Chinese Sun
1996–2001
MAXIMUM PRODUCTIONS CONTINUED TO FLOURISH, TO THE POINT that Max didn’t need to be on hand to make all of the decisions. So soon he found himself living outside of Charlottesville, Virginia, on Grace’s dream estate.
Summit Farms had been built in 1908 by the Du Pont family at the same time they had purchased and renovated James Madison’s birthplace of Montpelier. Summit was even grander than Montpelier, having been built in the traditional southern style with large columns supporting the entrance to the three-story, twelve-thousand-square-foot mansion.
At the time it was built it was among the most beautiful homes in the United States and certainly the most fortified. The walls were three-feet thick and built to last. There was a three thousand foot, two-story library that Max converted to his office. Grace had her own wing, as well, and there were five guest bedrooms and a converted servants quarter on the third floor.
The basement boasted a billiard room, wine cellar, washing area, and an ancient kitchen harking back to the original custom of using a dumbwaiter and pulley system to deli
ver the food to the upstairs dining rooms.
There was a full, three-story high ballroom that allowed up to two hundred couples to dance without being crowded, with balconies built above the dance floor to house the musicians.
Max liked the house, but Grace loved it. To guarantee her future there, he put the property in her name. And she took to it with relish.
She went to auctions at Sotheby’s and Christie’s and found chandeliers from the original period, along with antiques and rugs and dining tables and knickknacks and statues that she thought would accent the home’s natural beauty.
Max’s friends commented that the house seemed too large for just two people, but Max explained that he liked to entertain and that their home gave Grace an outlet for her aesthetic creativity. Her plan was to turn the two-hundred-acre horse farm into a winery. She would convert the original carriage house to a fully functioning office building, fortify the bridge that crossed the creek on the mile-long driveway that led to the main home, refurbish some of the barns and other outbuildings, add a modern indoor horse training ring, and install a three-acre lake to replace the corn field that lay between the back woods and the main house.
It would be good “feng shui,” she told Max.
He had almost nothing to do except pay the bills. Grace hired housekeepers, farm managers, and building managers. The house was always teeming with people, and all in all it was quite a circus. Max would just retreat to his library and focus on business opportunities.
Occasionally he would slip out to nearby Keswick for a round or two of golf. Keswick was a unique private club that also housed a luxury inn and Charlottesville’s highest-rated gourmet restaurant. Max wasn’t much for the high style and slow service of the restaurant, but the bar and grill at the golf club served the same food without any of the fuss.
Max had come to like doing things quickly, and for that reason Keswick was perfect. There were relatively few members, so that when he arrived late in the afternoon after work, he could get in a round in two hours or less.
As much as he enjoyed golfing, however, he found himself disliking the materialism his wife had embraced and wondered if being a member of an exclusive golf club fed her desires more than his.
He hardly recognized the man he had become.
Once again he began to question his life’s purpose. Was this it? Did he exist merely to create wealth and provide Grace with a lavish lifestyle?
More and more he longed for answers, and he was always looking for new challenges.
***
One such challenge came in the form of a business opportunity through a referral to Mike Gallaway.
Gallaway was the man who in 1999 created the Easyread Book—the first electronic reading device that could hold dozens of novels, newspapers, and magazines, and would allow readers to take their reading materials with them wherever they went. There was tremendous hype that this device might change the nature of book publishing and generate billions of dollars for early investors.
Consequently, Max became an early investor and developed a friendship with Mike, who was a technical genius and had many exciting hobbies—including racing high-speed cars.
Max began to fly out to Palo Alto, California, to race cars with Mike. On one of these outings he was approached by a young Chinese investor named Simpak, who had flown in from Vancouver, Canada, specifically to meet with them. Simpak joined them as they headed out to the track. On the drive, he explained that his company was launching new publishing and film ventures in China, and they wanted to secure the rights to produce the Easyread Book there.
Mike turned and asked Max what he thought.
“China’s a big market,” Max said frankly. “We should explore it.”
***
The next thing Max and Mike knew, they were on their way to Beijing.
Simpak’s company—Quinoot—was hosting a major conference on the future of publishing, and they had invited both men to be speakers—Mike, because he was the technological genius behind the Easyread Book, and Max, to discuss the business applications. The Chinese government was partnering with Quinoot and the major television, radio, and newspapers would be covering the event.
Mike and Max explained that the device would enable all Chinese texts to be stored on a simple electronic device, thus saving millions of trees and billions of dollars spent in producing, warehousing, and shipping physical books. Their presentations caused quite a stir, and afterward there was a major banquet at which the founder of Quinoot publicly announced that both men would serve as advisers for the new electronic initiative.
At the banquet, Max sat next to Quinoot’s chief technology officer, who was introduced to Max simply as Sun. He was in his early forties, tall, intellectual, reserved, and meticulous. He wore heavy spectacles and a conservative suit with a gold tie.
Sun spoke excellent English, yet thought carefully before he spoke. Over the course of the meal, however, Max learned that he had an unusual history.
He had been a teenager during Mao Zedong’s Cultural Revolution, and had demonstrated an extraordinary talent as an ice hockey player. He’d represented China in the 1980 Winter Olympics and was the star of the team.
Sun was offered a full scholarship to study neurology at China’s leading medical school, and as China began to open up to capitalism, he was chosen to be the spokesperson and to serve on the boards of several medical care companies. As his prominence grew, he was sent to Wharton Business School in the United States and received a masters in business administration. He had homes in Vancouver, Chicago, and Beijing. Though business occupied much of his time, he exercised to remain fit and studied numerology as a hobby.
His involvement with Quinoot was significant, but represented only about 20 percent of his work time, since he had important roles with several other leading Chinese companies and was sought after by major American venture capitalists interested in exploring investment opportunities in the growing China marketplace.
Yet none of these things interested Max as much as one pivotal piece of information—Sun’s full name. It was Dr. Cho Sun Pak, and the moment he heard it, Max knew Sun was one of the Twelve.
Number six, to be precise.
Somehow, a chance meeting in Palo Alto, California, had sent Max thousands of miles to Beijing and the latest in a series of impossible encounters.
Yet as startling as it was to be struck by that familiar feeling of sudden recognition, Max remained calm.
“Sun, let’s have lunch tomorrow,” he proposed cautiously. “I want to learn more about Quinoot, and I think there are other opportunities we might be able to discuss, as well.”
***
The next day, over a delicious lunch at one of Sun’s favorite restaurants, Max slowly guided the conversation away from business, carefully observing Sun’s reactions. When it became clear that the man was open to new and esoteric ideas, he described to Sun his near-death experience and the unfolding mystery of the twelve names.
Sun listened patiently. As a man of science he was skeptical—although equally curious—about Max’s story.
“From what you have said, there is no proof that you actually were dead,” he said, speaking as if he was analyzing a business model. “You could have been hallucinating. When oxygen is cut off from the brain, the mind can do strange things.”
Max appreciated his frankness, but as always, he remained undeterred.
“That may have been true at the time,” he countered, “but if that was the case, how is it that I have now met six of the twelve persons? How would you explain the ways in which they have reacted as well?”
Sun considered his question seriously before responding.
“It is a true mystery. I have read that the new physics is positing that all space and time coexist in a single zero point where all matter, all energy, and all events coexist. Perhaps there is some truth to this theory, and somehow you entered that space during your out-of-body experience.
“While ther
e,” he continued, “perhaps you encountered my name. Or perhaps something in that event stayed with you and caused you to think mine was a name you saw.” He shook his head. “In any event, we must stay in touch, not only to pursue our business interests, but to see if either of us can learn more about these mysterious twelve names.”
With that—and, Max realized, with more questions and still no answers—they parted.
***
Over the next two years, Sun and Max formed a steadfast friendship, and in the course of many philosophical discussions, Sun was drawn further into the mystery of the twelve names through his use of numerology. Sun noticed that the numerology of the letters in both his name and Maria’s were “nines,” but none of the other names had identical numerological vibrations—so that analysis, too, seemed to be a dead end.
The Chinese market for Easyread Books proved to be a disappointment as well. It was much harder to penetrate than had been anticipated, and after an investment of tens of millions of dollars by venture capitalists, Quinoot was shut down—written off as a good idea that was ahead of its time.
While it was a financial disappointment for Max, he nonetheless felt as if his friendship with Sun outweighed the downside.
Before long, however, that viewpoint would change.
Chapter Twenty
Financial Collapse
2000–2004
MAX FELT THE BUBBLE BURSTING.
By the year 2000, he had taken positions in a number of Internet startups.
In 2001, by the time vesting was completed and he was able to exit these companies, he saw $30 million in paper options shrink to $30,000.
That amount didn’t even cover one month of living expenses at Summit Farms, and Grace wasn’t pleased when Max informed her that there would be no restaurant, vineyard, or horse training facility and that they would have to sell the house, move back to California, and start again.
“That will never happen,” she said calmly but forcefully. “The big earthquake is coming, and it’s not safe to live in California. I’m not moving, and we are not selling Summit Farms.
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