Marco contemplated this. "Then who am I, Baba?" he said.
"That is among the great mysteries," said the baba. "Before you can learn who you are, you must learn who you are not."
"I am not my thoughts." Marco repeated the five words slowly. "But my thoughts are who I am, aren't they? My reasoning. My planning. My thinking. Everything inside my brain. Isn't that what defines me?"
Addy snorted. "You mostly think about sex anyway. And boring books about hobbits."
Marco glared at her. "Take this seriously, Addy. We're trying to learn wisdom." He took a deep breath and returned his attention to the guru. "So I'm not my thoughts."
The guru nodded. "This is a truth I cannot explain to you in words. You must experience this truth yourself with careful meditation. We will begin to meditate together. As we meditate, focus only on your breath. On the air entering and leaving your lungs. Nothing else. Let your mind be clear, like a pond on a peaceful summer day. Let us begin."
The guru rang a bronze bell.
They took deep breaths and began to meditate.
For a long time, they sat silently, breathing.
Marco tried to focus on his breathing, but soon his mind was wandering. He thought about the grays who had attacked them. He wondered where Ben-Ari and Lailani were. He thought of those he had lost, of his father, of Anisha, of Kemi. As those thoughts rose, he winced, the pain stabbing him. He tried to keep breathing deeply, to understand the lesson here. He was not his thoughts. Then who was he? He glanced at Addy. She seemed deep in reflection, her eyes closed. And she was beautiful. Looking at her, Marco felt his pain fade.
She's a huge pain in the ass, he thought. But I love her. I love her more than anything. She makes me so happy. I only wish I could have confessed my love to her earlier. During those two years in Haven, when I needed her most, when I drove her away . . .
Now the memories of Haven rose. Memories of being lost in darkness, descending into madness, finally driven onto a rooftop, moments from suicide. Who could blame him? He had seen such terror in the darkness. Scum and marauders and endless violence. Friends dying. He had lost so many. His parents. His friends. Almost everyone he had known—dead in the wars. Their bodies torn apart, and his mother dead in the snow.
His fists clenched. His jaw tightened. The muscles in his back tensed as the memories flooded him.
Addy had suffered too. Marco knew that she joked around to hide that pain. He knew that deep inside, she was different. Strong. Wise. Hurt. He knew she suffered nightmares most nights. Sometimes she woke up screaming. And she still bore the scars of war, scars she tried to hide, scars on her body and soul.
Marco couldn't take this anymore. This damn . . . silence! He wanted to banter with Addy. To read a book. To make love to Addy. To eat. To run. To do anything but just sit here, thinking, remembering. What did it mean, he wasn't his thoughts? That's all he was! Without thoughts, there was no Marco. There was no pain or joy, just emptiness. Just a body—broken, scarred, no longer soft with youth, and his fingers were trembling now. His breath was too fast. He couldn't focus on it. And—
Baba Mahanisha rang his bell again.
"Our meditation is over." The guru looked at Marco, raising his two trunks inquisitively. "How did it go?"
He slumped. "Not too good. I couldn't focus on my breath. My mind was racing with thoughts."
"Exactly!" said the baba. "Thus is the mind. Perhaps for the first time in your life, you have seen this. Never quiet, the mind! Forever racing with thoughts, memories, fears, worries, dreams, hopes, planning, organizing, fretting . . . The mind is like a sky full of clouds. Sometimes there are only several clouds afloat. Sometimes a storm rages, filled with thunder and lightning and gushing wind. But the mind is never completely quiet. Yet is the mind you?"
Marco contemplated this for a moment.
"I was thinking about hockey," Addy said. "And hot dogs! And . . ." She sighed and lowered her head. "And bad things. The war. And the marauders. And . . ." She winced and hugged herself. "Other things I don't want to talk about."
The guru nodded. "You have glimpsed your own minds. Perhaps for the first time, you mindgazed. Yet your thoughts took hold of you! They controlled you, pulled you in. During your meditation, you became your thoughts. You were your thoughts."
"But I thought we're not our thoughts," Marco said.
"Not when you follow the way of Deep Being," said Baba Mahanisha. "And that is our goal. Thoughts are merely clouds in the sky. You are consciousness. That is all! You are the observer, lying on the grass, gazing up at the sky of clouds. Most people let the clouds seize them. They become entangled in the storm, indistinguishable from their thoughts. They are no longer mind-gazing. But those who practice Deep Being merely lie in the grass, gazing up at the sky, seeing the clouds float by. They see them for what they are: transitory, ephemeral like a mandala of sand. Like clouds, thoughts come and go. They are not you."
Marco nodded, beginning to understand. "How can I achieve this state?"
"Whenever a thought arises in your mind, return your focus to your breath," said the guru. "Bring your awareness to the breath alone. Time and again, away from your thoughts and to your breath. Whenever the clouds grab you, descend back to the grass. Whenever thoughts seize you, descend back to the breath. Let us try again."
The baba rang his bell.
Again they began to meditate.
Marco focused on his breath—the air flowing through his nostrils, into his lungs, out of his mouth.
It felt like breathing through a gas mask, having to focus on each breath. As a child, he used to carry a gas mask everywhere. So many times in his childhood, he had run down the streets as the scum pods rained, spewing poisonous gas, and—
No! he thought. No thinking! Back to the breath.
Yet even that command had been a thought. Damn it! He inhaled sharply, shoving all thoughts away. He focused on another breath. Another. Another.
I think this is working. Finally! I'm doing this! He glanced at Addy. I think she is too. I'm glad we came here. The journey was long, and Addy kept annoying me, and I was going nuts inside that Volkswagen, but if we can find peace here, it'll be worth it. I just hope there's no war on Earth, that those grays aren't attacking. Is Lailani okay? What about Ben-Ari? If only I had a way to contact them, and—
He winced. Again he was thinking. No thinking!
He crushed those thoughts. He returned his awareness to the breath.
Yet again and again, his mind resisted. He could last one breath, sometimes two or three, before his thoughts seized him. Sometimes he could crush those thoughts quickly. Other times, it was long moments before he even realized his attention had wandered. Finally, when Baba Mahanisha rang the bell again, Marco was frustrated and antsy.
"I tried to push my thoughts away, Baba," he said. "But they kept resurfacing. I remembered what you said. How I'm not my thoughts. But they kept rising, and whenever I pushed one away, another replaced it." He sighed. "I failed."
"Same here," Addy said, shoulders slumped. "I could sometimes go three or four breaths without a thought, but they kept rising, and I couldn't push them away fast enough."
"I couldn't even last two breaths without a thought," Marco said.
Addy rolled her eyes. "Well, good for you, Mr. Smarty-pants."
They turned toward the guru. Mahanisha regarded them.
"You failed because you tried to push the thoughts away," he said. "You saw them as your enemies, as things to be banished. But they are like clouds in the sky. When clouds darken your sky, do you chase them, attempt to wrestle them? When the thoughts arrive, merely observe them. What are they about? How do they make you feel? Do they carry an emotional charge? Do they cause your body to tense? Lie on the metaphorical grass. Gaze up at the clouds of thought. Do not try to destroy them nor judge them. Merely greet them with friendly curiosity, then return your awareness to the breath, and watch the thoughts float away. The Deep Being mind is never blank. Medit
ation is not about achieving a mind empty of thought. Meditation is about turning your awareness again and again away from thought."
"But . . ." Marco frowned. "Who is doing the watching? Who is lying on the grass? How can I observe thoughts? What part of me is observing?"
"That is the first truth you must learn, my pupil," said Baba Mahanisha. "This is the first noble truth along the path of wisdom. Let us meditate."
The guru rang his bell.
They tried again.
For a long time—perhaps an hour—they sat in silence.
Thoughts kept rising in Marco's mind. Sometimes they seized him completely, pulling him in, until he forgot where he was. By the time he refocused on the breath, he realized that many moments had passed, lost in thought. Often he forgot about his breathing completely. Again and again, he tried to focus on the breath alone—the sensation of air in his nostrils, his lungs, his mouth. Again and again, those thoughts, memories, fears, reflections, all the clouds of his mind arose, grabbing him with their hooks, pulling him in.
It seemed a futile battle.
And now I'm thinking about Kemi again, he realized. Stop it! Stop thinking. Just observe the thoughts. Let them float away. Like the guru teaches. Stop thinking about it! You're thinking again. Just do it without thinking!
He was frustrated, antsy, his mind a storm. There it was—the memory of Kemi dying. How he had held her in his arms, gazing into her eyes. And he was there, reliving it again, feeling that loss, that pain.
Breathe.
He let the air flow into his lungs.
The memory of Kemi was still in his mind. A cloud in the sky, dark, overwhelming.
He let the air flow out.
He lay on the grass, watching the storm.
He breathed in again, filled his lungs, then released the air.
He gazed up at the dark cloud. It reached down to grab him, to pull him in, to drown him in the memory.
He breathed.
His body loosened.
The dark cloud floated away.
He took another breath.
He spent the rest of the meditation struggling, thoughts grabbing him, and he had to keep forcing himself back to the breath. That one moment of lucidity did not return. When the meditation finally ended, Marco was exhausted. It had been surprisingly hard work. Yet he felt like he had accomplished something.
"I think I experienced it," he said to his guru. "Just for an instant. Maybe a couple seconds. It was like . . . I was an observer. Outside my thoughts. As if indeed I lay on some grassy hill, watching a thought like a cloud above." His eyes dampened. "I wasn't my thought. I wasn't that pain, that memory. It was there in my brain. But it wasn't me."
He was surprised that tears flowed down his cheek.
The baba nodded, smiling thinly. "You have experienced a moment of Deep Being. With practice, these moments will grow. You will see all thoughts for what they are: ephemeral as a mandala of sand, no matter how intricate. Thoughts are merely activity in your mind, little sparks in the storm. Memories are no more real. The past is gone; a memory is but a shadow of it. Memories are mere echoes. The path to inner peace lies in learning these truths. Learning to connect with the deep well of tranquility inside you, to let your soul, the world, the cosmos itself breathe through you."
Marco thought about this for a long moment.
"Baba," he finally said, "so who was that lying on the metaphorical grass, observing the thought? I was not my thought. Was that the true me, the self?"
The guru smiled. "The self is but an illusion, my pupil. The self is woven of memories, thoughts, plans, dreams, fears, likes, dislikes . . . all clouds. Only your consciousness is real."
Marco frowned. "But is the consciousness not the self?"
The baba shook his head. "The consciousness observes the self dissipate like the mandala, like the clouds in the wind. Once you can watch all else fade away—the self, the mind, the past, the future, you will simply be. Simply rest in awareness. And all the cosmos will open up around you. And you will be one with everything." Mahanisha inhaled deeply and held out his arms. "That is true wisdom. True tranquility. True Deep Being. That is the light at the end of the noble path. You have taken your first step toward wisdom."
Suddenly Addy let out a sob. She was trembling. Marco rushed toward her and embraced her. She clung to him.
"I'm not my thoughts," she whispered to him, shaking. "I'm not my fear. I'm not my pain. I'm not my memories. All those memories. All those nightmares. They're not me." She wept. "They're not me, Marco. They're not us. They can never be us."
He held her for a long time, and they cried together.
That night, Marco and Addy made slow, solemn love, gazing into each other's eyes. Normally in bed, Addy was something of a wild animal, but tonight she was soft intensity, comfort, a deeper connection. They slept in the temple, wrapped in each other's arms. They had taken a first step, perhaps the most important step in their lives. They would continue along this path together, walking through a valley of shadows to a shimmering light on a distant mountaintop.
* * * * *
They woke up before dawn.
They ate a simple meal. Bread. Fruit. Roots.
They meditated.
For hours, they sat in silence, clad in robes, gazing down at the valleys, deep in awareness.
"Just be," Baba Mahanisha taught them. "Resting in awareness. One with the breath. One with the world. One with everything. Let the self fade. Breathe."
They breathed.
And it was a hard.
And it was a battle.
While Baba Mahanisha seemed tranquil in meditation, Marco and Addy fretted. Their legs fell asleep, their backs ached, their skin itched, but the guru forbade them from moving.
"Be aware of the discomfort," he told them. "Be aware of the pain. View it as a friendly observer, curious. Breathe into your pain. Let it fade."
"Can't we at least get pillows to sit on?" Addy said, twisting uncomfortably in the sunlit courtyard. "These cobblestones are hard."
"At least you have lots of natural padding," Marco said, earning a well-deserved punch.
Their stomachs rumbled with hunger. Yet Baba Mahanisha allowed them no further meals that day. Hours went by, and they did not eat or drink again. Their mouths dried up. Their stomachs grumbled.
"Let it fade," he told them. "Breathe into the pain. Let it be. Observe. Breathe."
The hours went by. Hours of sitting still. Of gazing. Hours—intolerable. Frustrating. Agonizing. Their bodies hurt from lack of movement. The sun beat down, and they couldn't even wipe away their sweat.
"Be still, be calm," the baba told them. "Observe the pain as one observes a cloud. Let it flow away."
Yet worse than the physical discomfort were the memories.
During the past couple of years, Marco had found refuge from trauma in busyness. On Haven, he had brooded too much, remembered too much, and it had broken him. Since leaving that colony, he had buried himself in his quest to defeat the marauders, later in his writing, never allowing himself time to think. The memories resurfaced at night, twisting into nightmares, waking him up in cold sweat, and during the days he suppressed them.
He could not suppress his memories here.
"Let them rise," the baba said. "Do not let them go. You would if you could. Instead, let them be."
"It hurts," Marco said.
The baba nodded. "That is why you are here. Because you suffer pain. The path of Deep Being offers not freedom from pain but power over pain. Not through repression but through acceptance. Let the pain rise. Let the memories hurt. And breathe. Let them be. Let them float away."
Marco tried.
And it hurt.
In the silence, the stillness, his mind open, there were no distractions. And the demons—those terrors that still manifested as nightmares most nights—had nowhere to hide. They twisted under the light, exposed and bleeding.
Memories of his mother dying in the snow. Of the
terrors of the scum war. Of his destruction in Haven. Of the marauders and the loss of his friends. Of losing Tomiko, losing his home, losing everything that he had fought for.
Agony.
Despair.
Anger, rage, fury, fear, shame, guilt.
They all rose to play like demons, the seal of their underworld broken.
At his side, Addy struggled too. Marco saw her twitching, clenching her fists, tears in her eyes. He wanted to stop this. To stop the silence! To busy himself. To fight. To run. To build. To do anything but just let this pain resurface.
"Let it rise," the baba said, voice calm. "Observe the pain with compassion. With curiosity. Do not judge. Lie on the grass and gaze upon the storm. It cannot hurt you. The past is gone. The memories are mere visions. They are not real. Only illusions. Only the present is real. Only consciousness is real. Let them be. Let them flow away. Breathe. Breathe into them. Rest in awareness. Let the healing air flow through you. Breathe into every part that hurts, that is tense, that is scarred. With every breath, let the pain flow away. Breathe."
They breathed.
As the pain rose—breath.
As the memories haunted—awareness.
Anger. Guilt. Fear. Storms in the sky, but Marco lay below them. Observing them. Not letting them grab him. They were demons in the mirror, trapped behind the glass.
"I am not my thoughts," he whispered, tears on his cheeks. "I am not my pain. I am not my fear. The self is an illusion. The past is gone. The future has not yet come. There is only now. Only the breath. Breathe."
He breathed.
Air through his nostrils, healing, soothing, filling his lungs.
He breathed into every part that hurt. Into his aching legs. His twisting back. His empty stomach. His dry mouth. His tight jaw. He breathed into the memories, scattering them with breath. He breathed until everything disappeared.
He imagined that he was like an anemone, clinging to the seabed, swaying with the waves, with the breath of the sea. Just aware. Conscious. No past, no future, no thoughts, no memories. Only awareness. Only the pulse of the cosmos.
Earth Honor (Earthrise Book 8) Page 8