Dirty Work

by Bull, Rod;

  My partner David went back to England. I carried on doing the stucco, advertising in the Village Voice as the “Stucco King” or “Funky Stucco.” This caused some strange phone calls. Come unstucco me.

  One time a woman asked me to come look at a job in Soho. She was a very good-looking blonde lady. I gave her a price and started the next week. The job went well, but I could not help staring at her. Particularly her tits, which she was displaying with gay abandon. I don’t know if it was my racing pulse or what, but I finished the job very quickly. The blonde lady said she did not have the money to pay me right then but to come back around 6:00 p.m. This I did, being greeted by the blonde’s boyfriend, who said, “Come in and have a seat.”

  He gave me a cold beer and my money. We started talking. The blonde lady started to say, “I saw you looking at me today.” I started to cringe mumbling something like, “I could hardly help it, showing off your tits like that.” She went on to say that they were in a commune where everybody took turns sleeping with one another. This was done in a large circle. You went from one girl to the next. I was thinking to myself, how do they keep it up? There was no Viagra in those days!

  As the evening progressed, some of the other members of the commune showed up. They did not look so good, so maybe the blonde was the carrot. At that time she was on the phone looking me up and down. Yes, she was saying, he’s about 5’8”, blue eyes, blond hair, then she handed me the phone.

  “Who’s this?” I asked.

  “I’m head of the commune,” a male voice was saying. “Are you English?”

  “What’s that got to do with it?” I asked. Maybe he thinks the English can’t get a hard-on.

  He just kept saying, “Why aren’t you in England? You should be in England, that’s where you’re needed.” Then he started to ask me why I was in America. The whole thing was like an interrogation.

  “What is this commune about?” I asked.

  “Jealousy,” he said. “Having sex with girls you don’t like, not just the good-looking ones, cures your jealousy,” he said. “So this is some kind of sexual exorcism?”

  I was having second thoughts about the whole thing. How could I just fuck the blonde and get out? Maybe I could get a headache and most likely, a dose of the clap. I just told them I would think about it. Actually, all the questioning, finger-pointing, had put me right off. Plus some of the other women looked a bit off.

  I was finding it hard to get a handle on the American way. I had made the mistake of thinking that just because Americans speak English, they were like the English. Big mistake. I thought America would solve my problems, hoping to capitalize on their work ethic and feeling that anything is possible and attainable. The problem was I was waiting around for something to happen rather than going out to get it. From time to time I would get photographic jobs for one of the oil companies. One of these jobs was traveling with a writer to research labs for a book on what to look out for in research development. It turns out that we were spies. After we had finished the job, some of the heads of departments got the boot.

  Another time, a friend asked me if I would shoot a wedding for a friend of his. I arrived at the house early one morning, a big house on Long Island Sound. I rang the bell. Suddenly the door opened. They told me to go away and come back later. The people did not seem pleased. This was not a good sign. I went back later. The mother of the bride took me aside telling me that her daughter did not want to be photographed, so make sure you hide. Great! Nobody had told me about this. I spent the whole day hiding behind trees, bushes, whatever. Eventually she spotted me, immediately sticking her tongue out and making horrible faces. The photos looked more like something from out of a horror film. They were not pleased.

  The dirty work kept coming. I couldn’t get away from it.

  Ski Bum

  While in America, I learned to ski, and becoming fairly good at it, decided to be a ski instructor. I was thinking that this would be a cool thing to do, and also I’d give something back to the sport.

  My first job was teaching kids, basically being an underpaid babysitter. In the holiday periods it could get really crowded. Once I had 20 students, three times the number you could really handle. I told some of them to come back in the afternoon, but they all wanted to stay. It was chaos, and after a half hour there were only five left. I could not find or see any of the others. Then I looked down by the lift and saw a pile of bodies, skis, poles, more bodies, all locked together in the big-gest cluster fuck I’d ever seen. Somehow, they had gotten going and could not stop, running into the lift lines and knocking people down like a pack of cards. I was not popular.

  At one point, I was working at Heavenly ski area, a truly stunning resort overlooking Lake Tahoe. The lake, being very deep, never freezes, leaving the snow-covered mountains to slip into the turquoise blue water.

  One day, going to work, I saw the parking lot was filled with TV vehicles. “Somebody died up there,” they were saying. Later, I found out it was Sonny Bono. I would tell my students he was my best student. They were not sure how to take that. Some were curious. Others thought they would find another group.

  All in all, I enjoyed skiing and teaching, but it is mentally and physically exhausting, and also underpaid. Many instructors put a great deal of effort into their teaching. They are not often really appreciated. People can get badly hurt, and it’s the instructor’s job to get everyone back safely.

  My latest debacle has been helping a friend collect junk cars, hiding them in the woods on his property. Some of these cars have no steering wheels; some only two or three wheels. He tows while I try to steer these junkers between the trees or wedge them between other cars, All the while my friend shouts at me, “Left, left a bit!” “Right, right a bit!” “Stop, stop! Asshole!” “Not that tree!” One car was so badly crushed I had to sit on the hood trying to steer through the broken windshield facing backwards. He shouts directions, mainly “Not that way, asshole! Can’t you do anything right?” Some of these cars were full of beer cans and bottles, making it almost impossible to see out. All this in the hope that the price of scrap iron will go up.

  You would think that I would have learned something from all of these experiences. The only thing I have seen clearly is that the more I resent the work, the more I am thrown back in.

  All this frolicking about in gay abandonment was getting me nowhere. Thinking to make a serious effort to under-stand, practice, and maybe make some progress with some of the ideas I had looked into, I had a long talk with Veronica Player. I realized the Gurdjieff work was just too difficult, although I still think the teachings are brilliant—but not for chumps.

  Veronica spoke very highly of the Tibetan Tulkus, or reborn Lamas. Certainly going to Samye-Ling had been interesting, but what with the diabolical weather and all the weird sounds at the Pujas, I was not sure this was for me.

  Akon was in London at the time, staying with Veronica. They told me that two great Tulkus were going to be teaching all summer at Samye-Ling. This sounded great. Money was the problem—how to be away for so long and also pay for the teachings. Veronica suggested doing some work in exchange for the teachings and said to speak to Akon. He already had a bunch of chumps he was bringing in to help, and I would fit in perfectly. He also needed plasterers, amazingly. Something I could do! Akon thought about it for a while then said, “Okay, let’s see what you can do.”

  So, off to Samye-Ling I went. Thrangu Rinpoche, as a twelfth reborn Lama, was teaching in the morning. Tai Situ, also a twelfth reborn Tulku, was teaching in the afternoon. Basically, between the plastering and the teachings, everything was a blur. The teachings were on emptiness, how things do not have a real nature—somewhat similar to the scientific understanding that everything breaks down to atoms, electrons, and protons.

  The reason things exist is because of a combination of different phenomena and events that come together for a period of time. Whether it’s a longer or a shorter time depends upon the material. Then it
breaks down, reforming into something else. This was a bit over the top for my brain. Luckily, plastering brought me back to earth, and every now and again I splashed water on myself to see if I was still there. Both of these teachers were amazing and also very funny, joyful, and compassionate.

  At one of Tai Situ’s teachings, something weird happened. It felt like something was being plucked out of me. Back in London, my friend Chal asked about the summer’s teachings. I had tried to take notes, but looking at them made my head spin. Chal also seemed stumped. He said, “You seem different; something’s gone. You don’t seem to be so manipulative. What happened up there?” That was it—that’s what got plucked out. Amazing—how did that happen? How could it be? It was true: due to my ineptness and inability to get anything going, I would try to use other people to make it work for me. This often got me into trouble and pissed people off. It still amazes me that something like that could happen.

  Later that year, there was another retreat with Thrangu Rinpoche on POWA, or the transference of consciousness through the top of the head—a preparation to be used at the time of death, to be reborn in the Buddha field of Amitabha, so as to work on future enlightenment.

  One of the things you do at a certain point is a giant hiccup, pronouncing a loud Hic as you try to bring your consciousness into the top of your head. Of course I was having a lot of difficulty with this, when suddenly I felt a jolt inside me raising me off the floor, as though somebody had picked me up and thrown me into the air. Thinking that the Rinp had crept up behind me and thrown me into the air, I opened my eyes, looked around—no one. Looking ahead, there was the Rinp with a big smile on his face. What was going on? Was I dreaming? Pinched myself—no, still there.

  Over the years I have gone to many teachings given by these two amazing teachers. They are both teaching the seventeenth Karmapa at this time. I feel very lucky to have met them and am truly indebted to these two remarkable men, as well as Akon Rinpoche for making it all possible.

  I would try to get up to Samye-Ling at least once a year, to help build the new monastery. This was an amazing feat by Akon, as he had very little money. For help, he had just a few blokes that he was trying to help out, and some of them had severe mental problems. He would get them into government trade programs to learn bricklaying, carpentry, plumbing, and so on. This is how the building was started.

  In the beginning, all we had was picks, shovels, and one wheelbarrow to dig out the rock for the foundation of this massive building. Akon would always get me to work with this one geezer, who he knew I could not stand because I had to get him out of bed every morning or look all over for him. This really pissed me off. The geezer was my teacher, reflecting all my own shortcomings. Akon was always using such situations to help you see yourself. It was amazing that the place got built.

  By this time, Wendy, Joel, and my newly born daughter, Arabella, had moved to the farm in upstate New York. Wendy was trying to farm, and it was proving difficult. I was still in England, trying to get out of dirty work and into photography. This was also proving difficult. The thought of farming sent shivers down my spine, so I was thinking I could earn some good cash from photography to support the farming, but this only partially happened.

  Dark Retreat

  Islands, ticks, viruses, doubles, weird dreams, the two Karmapas? Was I starting to become unhinged?

  Remembering back to the weeks after the windsurfing incident, being bitten by the mayflies, I recalled how I started to feel ill back then. Different ailments occurred: stomach and kidney pains alternated with back and jaw pains. Slowly, these ailments went away, leaving only a slight stomach upset. Putting this down to having a nervous stomach, something I had had most of my life, I thought no more about it.

  The events of my life are still highly erratic, come to no satisfying conclusion, and are half-baked or just simply fucked-up.

  All in all, magic, hypnotism, and astral travel had, if anything, made me more confused. Glimpses of this and that, learning nothing conclusive, have brought me close to madness.

  Something that really helped me at this time was the meditation practices of Mahamudra and Dzogchen. In the Dzogchen tradition, the practice of the dark retreat is sometimes recommended as a way to see your real nature. This is always done with the help of a qualified teacher, someone who has experienced Instant Presence or Naked Awareness, whatever one wants to call it. A good friend of mine had become a nun in the Kagyu tradition of Tibetan Buddhism. She had done a four-week dark retreat, saying it had been very helpful. This seemed a bit much to me, as most people start with just a day or two. As always, there are certain precautions. You must mentally prepare yourself with meditation practices, and have somebody to bring you food to make sure you eat well. The room must not let in any light, but you have to know when to stop if things get out of control.

  What was my double trying to tell me? What was the Karmapa trying to say, what was that island all about, and how was it all connected to me?

  Maybe doing a dark retreat could help me sort some of this out. I decided to go to a nearby Dzogchen centre where they had dark retreat huts. Several weeks before the retreat, I tried to prepare myself by doing purification practices mixed with long periods of meditation, trying to get into the natural state.

  The place was about an hour and a half drive away through beautiful countryside. Everything was sparkling in the early morning sunlight as it burnt through the morning mist. Seeing this brought up a feeling of well-being, allowing my mind to naturally become vividly aware. Arriving at the center in this state, I was met by the lady who ran the retreats. She advised me to start with two days, just to see how it would go. This sounded like good advice. She showed me where everything was: the bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom. I tried to keep a mental image of where everything was, as I knew from past experience that trying to find things in total darkness is difficult, as well as frustrating. The lady said she would stop by again at around 5:00 every evening with food. At this point she left, shutting the door behind her.

  Everything went pitch black.

  Death

  Suddenly disaster struck. Wendy had a cancerous tumor removed from her breast. She tried working with natural and holistic healing; they seemed to work for a while. I was trying to get her to see some of the Tibetans, which she was reluctant to do. I had already tried to force Gurdjieff’s ideas down her throat. Eventually she agreed, going to see the Karmapa do a Black Hat ceremony.

  As she watched, the Karmapa’s body turned into lights. She thought she was seeing things, as she had left her glasses behind. The next time she went, she had her glasses on, and the same thing happened. When she asked one of the lamas about this, he told her that she was seeing his rainbow body. This amazed her and got rid of any doubts she had. The Karmapa is head of the Kagyu school of Tibetan Buddhism and a truly remarkable man. A friend had seen him do a Black Hat ceremony in India. He did the ceremony standing by a window. My friend suddenly realized that he cast no shadow.

  Meanwhile, Wendy was not doing well. So I decided to move to the farm. Before this I had been going back and forth between New York and London. This was a very upsetting time, as Wendy was not getting any better. The therapies were not working, the cancer was spreading, and she was drinking. It was very taxing not only for me but for Joel and Arabella—and particularly for Joel, who had to assume a man’s role. Arabella took on the role of nurse, and I felt totally helpless and impotent, not knowing what to do. Somehow, Tibetan Buddhism was not Wendy’s thing, so I didn’t want to push it, even though I knew some of the practices would help her. She had become very interested in American Indian healing and practices, traveling around the States visiting medicine men.

  On returning, she was invited to a gathering of chiefs and medicine men being held at the World Trade Center. Frank Fools Crow, Leonard Crow Dog, and Wallace Black Elk were a few of the names. We stayed in New York with a direct descendent of Crazy Horse. I was mainly there as chauffeur. After the ga
thering, we were invited to a sweat lodge at someone’s house in Cos Cob, Connecticut. Black Elk was to do the sweat, making sure everything was prepared in the right way. I was asked if I wanted to join it: What the hell, I thought.

  We were the first to go in. The sweat lodge was like a tent that could seat about ten people, sitting in a circle, with a pit in the middle. Hot stones were brought in from a fire outside and put into the pit. Black Elk started the ceremony with prayers, then asked everybody to say something for the good of humanity. I stammered out something about all spiritual practices trying to understand each other.

  It was starting to get hot, as more hot stones were put in the pit. Black Elk was pouring water on the stones, and the steam was intense. It was burning my skin. The woman next to me started puking. My mind was racing. What the fuck—does this geezer know what he’s doing? Covering my face, I tried to get out. Suddenly a voice from the darkness said, “You have to face your fear.” Black Elk was speaking. Then a weird thing happened: it was as if my body was feeling the discomfort, but inside I was totally calm. There was no fear. Somehow the inner self—being, awareness, or whatever you want to call it—could not be harmed. Calming down, I realized it really was not that hot. I had blown it up in my mind, exaggerating the whole thing.

  Leaving the sweat lodge, we jumped into an icy cold pond. What a wake-up call! Everything seemed brilliantly alive. All my senses were at peak awareness. I had never really felt this way. It was a great feeling and made me realize that we do not use most of our potential. As Einstein said, we only use one-third of our brains. This whole experience made me appreciate these amazing but misunderstood people. They have a childlike quality and simplicity that we all need.