She grins at me. “This is Kammoon.” She scratches the elephant behind its ears. “And Kammoon, this is our new friend, Pema.”
The elephant extends its long trunk out to me. I look up at Rinzen.
“She wants to shake your hand,” she laughs.
“Um, okay.” I set my almsbowl on the ground and take a few tentative steps forward. “Um, hello,” I say and shake the elephant’s trunk.
Rinzen grins. “Now she’s your friend, too.”
“Does she live here?”
Rinzen nods. “Yep. My uncle was Kammoon’s mahout for fifty years. When he died last year, I took over as her mahout. Kammoon and I begged on the streets for a while, but then Fah found us, and brought us here.”
“So Kammoon is your pet?” I ask, thinking about how I always wanted a dog, but Berg was too allergic so I never got one.
Rinzen shakes her head. “Nope. She’s my best friend. I feed her and care for her and bathe her in the river every day.” When Kammoon’s ears perk up, she laughs. “That’s our favorite part of the day.” She frowns. “My uncle was forced to use her for logging when she was younger, but as her mahout, he dedicated his life to caring for her needs, and he refused to let her be used in any shows. I promised him I would do the same.”
“How old is she?”
“Fifty-three,” Rinzen announces proudly. She wraps her arms around Kammoon’s neck in a hug. “And hopefully she’ll be with me another thirty years and live longer than any other elephant in the world.” She gently grabs Kammoon’s ear, and slides her belly down the elephant’s side until her feet touch the ground. Rinzen barks out another command and Kammooon follows her over to where she set her almsbowl on the ground. “She lost all her teeth a few years ago, so I have to feed her by hand.” She glances over at me. “Want to help?”
Feeding an elephant. That surely will break me out of this nothing mood and shake up some emotion.
“And don’t worry, Kammoon hardly ever eats girls,” Rinzen jokes.
That almost makes me smile. “Very funny.”
Rinzen pulls two tennis-size balls of rice out of her almsbowl. “Kammoon loves mango sticky rice. It’s her favorite.” She hands me one of the balls. “Squish it a bit onto your hand like this so it sticks.”
I watch her mash the ball flat onto her palm and then do the same. It’s warm and sticky and full of specks of mango just like what I ate earlier.
“Now flip your hand upside down, and rub it onto her tongue like this.”
Rinzen sticks her entire hand into Kammoon’s open mouth, smears the rice mixture on the elephant’s huge tongue, and then pulls her hand out. Kammoon’s eyes close as she manipulates the rice with her tongue and then swallows it. The elephant open its eyes and looks at my hand.
“Your turn, kid.”
I should feel nervous. My entire head could easily fit inside this elephant’s huge mouth. But I still feel nothing. I wonder if this girl has buried her emotions so deep they’re officially gone.
I take a step closer. Kammoon’s huge eyes are gentle and kind, framed by long, black eyelashes and surrounded by wrinkles. The light filtering in through the canopy above is just enough to illuminate the brown flecks of light in her irises. Kammoon opens her mouth. I wipe the sticky rice over her tongue and quickly pull out my hand. Kammoon pushes the rice deeper into her mouth with her trunk, gums it a little and then swallows. She looks back at me and I swear she’s grinning. I exhale a long breath and a deep peace settles over me. Kammoon has to be one of the sweetest animals I’ve ever seen.
Rinzen and I feed Kammoon the rest of the sticky rice in Rinzen’s almsbowl, and then give her a few of my leftovers. When we’re finished, my hands are sticky and full of elephant slobber, but I don’t care one bit.
Rinzen taps Kammoon’s leg and jumps up onto her shoulders again. “I need to take her for some water, but I’m supposed to take you to the meditation garden first. Do you want to ride?”
I shake my head.
She laughs. “Just let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll teach you that, too.”
She and Kammoon lumber ahead of me through the trees. I follow a safe distance behind, watching Kammoon’s tiny tail wag against her huge bottom. I almost feel a bubble of laughter, but then it skitters away.
Rinzen and Kammoon stop at a dirt path.
“This leads up to the garden,” Rinzen whispers. “I’m supposed to tell you that if you follow this path to Buddha you will be exactly where you need to be.”
I glance down the path. It’s a few feet wide with a row of trees forming a low canopy over it. At the end of the path, I can see a huge, marble Buddha reclining on a pedestal and a tiny monk sitting on a mat in front of it.
“Who’s that?” I whisper.
Rinzen bows slightly before answering. “That’s the Venerable Bhikkihuni Songkhandro. But we all call her Venerable Bhik. It’s easier.”
Something twitches inside me. I think I know that name.
“She’s the head of our monastery,” Rinzen continues. “And she’s been sitting there in a meditative trance for four days now.”
My eyes widen. “I don’t want to disturb her.”
Rinzen shrugs. “I doubt you will, kid. Just walk up there as quietly as you can.” She gives me a smile. “Good luck. And I’ll definitely see you later.” And with that promise, she waves goodbye and the two of them lumber off.
I stand there for a moment debating what to do. Rinzen said I’m supposed to follow the path to the Buddha, but I don’t want to get too close to this venerable person and bug her. What if she’s going for a world record trance-thingy, and I trip on a rock and wake her up? I bet she’d be pretty peeved. And if she’s head of this joint, she could throw me out.
But… maybe it’s a magic path, and something will whisk me away before I even reach the monk. That seems to be happening to me a lot in this never-ending dream.
Well, here goes nothing.
I walk down the path, both eyes on the monk and wary of what may be about to happen. The trees are still and there’s absolutely no sound. I keep walking. I’m on my tip-toes not ten feet away from the monk when I realize that she’s really still.
Almost too still.
Is she even breathing? I watch her shoulders. They’re not moving. Oh, I hope she’s not dead. But if she were dead, she’d fall over, right? Or what if she’s dying, and I’m supposed to follow this path and save her, and I’m taking so long that now she is dead and she just hasn’t fallen over yet. They all welcome me into their monastery, and I kill their leader. That’s not going to make me very popular.
I hurry over to the monk. She’s sitting tall but her shoulders aren’t moving. I guess she could still be breathing and maybe only her chest is moving. Can you be dead when you’re in a meditative trance? I should’ve asked Rinzen.
I tiptoe around and kneel in front of the maybe dead monk. I watch her chest. It is really still. I swear she’s not even moving a muscle. She has to be dead.
And that’s the last thought I have before her eyes pop open and she cries, “It’s about time, Lotus!”
I suck in a startled breath and fall over in a dead faint.
CHAPTER 19
I think my soul is crazy, or it may just be me
My body feels so warm and cozy that I know I must finally be back home snuggled under my comforter. In my bed. In my real life. With Mama, Daddy, and Berg.
I open my eyes. I’m lying flat on my back under the reclining Buddha staring at someone with muted green eyes. With pupils full of swirling, teeny, white stars.
Wait a minute.
It’s her. I know it is. But who is she? Rinzen called her the Venerable something. But she has the same eyes as the woman who bandaged my arm and died on me. And the henna artist. And my counselor Ms. Foofaraw. Are they all the same person? Is this my real life then?
“Hiya, Lotus!” she squeals in a happy, high-pitched voice that doesn’t at all match her brown, wrinkled face.
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“Who are you?” I ask.
She leans back and grins, exposing her crooked teeth. “I am me!” she cries extending both arms out wide.
I prop myself up on my elbow and face the reclining Buddha as if I was a mirror image. “Then who am I?”
“You are you!”
Ok, this is not getting me anywhere.
“If I’m me, then I think I’m Lottie. But why am I’m in Thailand and not in Colorado?”
She bows her head. “You are right where your soul wants you to be. That has always been the case.”
I arch my eyebrow. Oh-kay.
She plops down in front of me, crosses her legs, and sets her hands palms up on her knees. “Okie dokie. I am ready for your questions now. Ask away.”
I don’t know whether to laugh, or cry, or run away screaming with my hands in the air. I really don’t know what to feel.
She frowns. “Actually, you don’t know how to feel.”
How did she know I was just thinking that?
She grins. “I know more than you think. And that is why we are both here.” She pokes my head. “Because you have forgotten how to feel.” She glances up at the sun. “Now I must eat before noon, and since I have been following your soul around for four days, I am starving.” She leans close to me and grins. “So, get on with the questions.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
She claps her hands. “That is a question! Good! We are making progress. What about why?”
I shake my head. “Huh?”
She shrugs. “That is not why, but it is close.” She smiles like a mother prodding her child to talk. “Now why are you here?”
I frown. “You mean why am I stuck in this dream?”
“Why do you keep saying this is a dream?”
I snort. “Because it has to be. I was a girl in Morocco, and then I was a boy in Afghanistan, and then I died.” I arch an eyebrow. “And you did, too. I thought we both died, but obviously we didn’t because now I’m sitting here in Thailand with you.” I pause, remembering something Rinzen said when I first met her about not being in hell much longer. “Maybe I am dead.” I glance around. “Is this heaven?”
She answers my question with a question. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m in a crazy dream that just won’t end.”
“Then why don’t you just wake up?” she cries.
“I’ve tried. I can’t.”
The monk nods her head a few times. “Yes, I can see why you think that.” She yawns. “But, you are wrong. You are not in a dream. Try again.”
I sit up. “Excuse me?”
“Yes, you are excused.” She leans closer until we are nose-to-nose, and then grins. “You are not in a dream.”
I pull my head back. “That’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible.” She reaches into her robes and pulls out a wrench. She looks confused and then laughs. “That is not what I was looking for. Although this will be useful when I must fix the sink later.” She holds up her index finger. “One moment.” She returns the wrench to her robes, and rummages around again. I’m thinking that she’s pretty tiny to have anything else hidden in there, when she proves me wrong and pulls out a kitten.
A teeny-tiny, white mewing kitten. A white kitten that looks exactly like the one that was rejected by its mother in Morocco. The same one that I found cold and dead.
But this one is very much alive.
She holds the kitten out to me. “You are as alive as your friend here.”
I cradle the kitten close to my body. It’s warm, and soft, and so very tiny. It looks up at me with brown eyes and squeaks out a mew. I look closer. It sure looks like the kitten from Morocco. It even has the same black spot shaped like a butterfly on its forehead. I stroke its tiny head, and it closes its eyes and purrs.
I look up at the old woman in disbelief. “This can’t be the same kitten.”
She nods. “But it is.”
“Then this is definitely a dream.”
“Nope. Not a dream.”
I shake my head. “If this isn’t a dream, then how in the world is this possible? This kitten was dead. I was dead. You were dead. But now we’re all alive?”
The monk shrugs. “Depends on how you define dream and how you define reality.” She grins. “And how you define alive.”
I shake my head, thoroughly confused. “What do you mean?”
“Our souls are very powerful. Way stronger than our feeble, animal minds. Way stronger than death.” She arches an eyebrow. “And capable of so much more than just going to heaven or hell.” She strokes the kitten’s head and its purr grows louder. “Lotus, do you believe this kitten is alive?”
I don’t understand how, but I can see that this little, white, fluff ball swatting at my fingers is very much alive. I have to nod. “I guess so.”
“Then you must believe that you are alive and real.”
“Real? And not dreaming?” I shake my head. “Nope. I can’t be.”
“Then how are you speaking Thai with me? And you spoke Duri in Kabul. And Arabic in Morocco.”
I shrug. “I’m in a dream. You can do anything in a dream.”
“But you are not dreaming. You are as real as your kitten.”
I shake my head. “That’s impossible.”
The old monk smiles at me, like Mama would do when she knows something I don’t. “But it is possible, Lotus. Tell me, do you feel any emotions right now? Holding this precious life in your hands. Do you feel anything?”
I look down at the kitten, its tiny belly breathing in and out, vibrating my hand with its purring. I should feel happiness, and calmness, and a tinge of sadness remembering that it was dead. But I don’t feel any of those things. I still feel empty.
The old monk places her hand on mine. Her skin is rough and papery, but very warm. “Don’t you find that odd?” she asks me in a soft voice.
I look down at the kitten, searching for any emotion, but feeling nothing.
The monk sticks her face under mine. “You are empty, right?”
I jerk my head away. This chick has a lot to learn about personal bubbles.
She arches an eyebrow. “Right?”
“Well, I don’t feel sad or angry, and that’s perfectly okay in my book. I’ve been trying not to feel that crap for years anyway.” I pause and frown. “But then again I don’t feel happy or excited. I guess I just feel… blank.”
“And you have always felt emotions very strongly, right? Especially those that caused you pain?”
I nod. “Yeah. But I hated that.”
“Well, guess what?” She widens her eyes and splays her lips into a huge grin.
I don’t think I really want to know, but I ask anyway. “What?”
She claps her hands together. “Hooray! And now we have come full circle to your very first question. What!”
I give up. “Okay, what?”
“Remember what I told you about the soul being very powerful?”
“Yes.”
“Older souls are much more powerful than new souls. Some have been around for a millennium or even longer and they have experienced so much that they feel emotions more strongly. They know how it is to feel way more than happy, but they also know how it is to feel so very brutally sad or angry. They know life is all these emotions.” She leans closer. “The problem is that our human body longs to be happy and worries that pain and sadness may someday take over. This sounds like you, yes?”
I nod, remembering how many times I couldn’t handle all the painful emotions and just wanted to close my eyes and disappear. “I hated feeling that way. Worrying all the time. Worrying about too much. It was a curse.”
She vehemently shakes her head. “No, Lotus. No. Not a curse. It is a gift! To feel so strongly is to truly live life to its fullest.”
I feel like I’ve heard this before.
She grins. “You now understand, right? I can go eat?”
She looks so thrilled that I almos
t say yes, but I’m just as confused as before.
I shake my head. “Sorry, but I don’t understand. If I’m not dreaming, then why am I here in this body, and not in my real Lottie body?”
She sighs. “A soul can only take so much. Your powerful soul was drowning in the unhappiness and pain you kept burying that it had to break free from your Lotus body. It is now searching for a body where you will allow it to feel every emotion.” She raises one pale grey eyebrow. “Both the good, and the bad.”
Huh?
“So, you’re saying that I’m not dreaming?”
She nods.
“And I’m as alive as this kitten?”
“Yes!”
“And because I buried all my pain, my soul is upset with me.”
She claps her hands. “You got it!”
I raise an eyebrow.
She raises hers.
This old bat is loco.
She grins. “True. I am a little crazy because that’s what makes life fun, but I am also telling you the truth. You just have to choose to believe it.”
I sigh. “Okay. I’ll join you in your hippie fairyland for a second and believe that I’m not dreaming and I’m not dead. But my soul being upset is beyond crazy. You’re talking about my soul as if it’s a living thing.”
“It is! Your soul is more alive than the body you are in now.”
I have a horrid thought. “If my soul is in this body, then is someone else’s soul in my real Lottie body in Colorado?” I make a face. “That’s just gross. That’s like wearing someone else’s underwear.”
She presses her palm against my heart. “You don’t understand. Your soul is your real body. It doesn’t matter the shell. Your soul is you.”
I have a good thought. “So, I can go back to being Lottie?”
“Maybe you can,” she arches an eyebrow, “or maybe you will choose not to.”
The sudden realization that I may never see Mama, Daddy, and Berg ever again shoots a pain through me that’s worse than being hit by that bomb shrapnel. A feeling of utter despair grips my heart and squeezes the breath out of me.
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