Escape From Samsara

by Nicky Blue

  ‘Don’t you worry about us,’ replied Molly, ‘We’ve got twenty five years of catching up to do, haven’t we, Mindy, and there’s this great band I’ve been getting into called Knife Thru Head. I can’t wait to play them to you.’

  Barry got back in the van and plugged in the sat nav Terry had given him. A jingle started playing that sounded like a child’s xylophone, that was soon interrupted by an ethereal voice.

  ‘Hello and welcome to Cosmic Sat Navs Incorporated, a transcendental knowledge highway support guide brought to you by the Prophecy Allocation Department. We are proud to say we’ve been taking sentient life forms to where they need to go since the dawn of creation.’

  Barry drove off into the night. He was being directed down seemingly endless winding country lanes. He appeared to be headed northbound towards London, but he could have been anywhere. The monotony was stupefying. By the time the journey ended, Barry could barely keep his eyes open. He clambered into the back of the van and fell into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  6

  MOLLY’S KNOCKERS

  Barry awoke early the next morning, his face pressed hard up against the frosty metal shell of the van. He had produced a small stream of dribble that was making its way down the oily steel into layers of animal hair and crisp wrappers below. He peered out of the rear window and saw he was parked outside a tall grey building. One of those 1950s office blocks that looked like a giant lump of concrete no one had bothered to paint. There was a large bronze sculpture of a muscular man on the forecourt. The immaculately designed figure had one hand on his heart and the other pointing upward to the heavens. Barry bought himself a coffee from a nearby kiosk and sat down to look at the sculpture. He had a conflicted relationship with art; it nearly always intrigued him though he felt it was only intended for those who had been educated to understand and profit from it. The man’s expression seemed to convey a deep torment, just how Barry felt a lot of the time.

  He looked up at the sign above the building entrance, which read “The South London Centre for Experimental Psychotherapy”. Why would Terry bring me here? thought Barry. This is where Doctor Harper referred me to, wasn’t it? Is this a trap? If it is, I’ll cut down every hedge on the south coast! That’ll shut him up!

  Barry slid softly through the revolving front doors of the entrance in deep ninja stealth mode, reducing his breathing to one inhalation a minute to register no atmospheric trace. If it weren’t for the CCTV cameras this may have been quite an effective strategy. There’s no way I’m taking the lift. You leave yourself far too vulnerable. Barry started the long walk up the spiral staircase to the psychotherapy offices at the top of the building.

  The acoustics of this vast concrete and steel stairwell were such that each clang of Barry’s gardening boots seemed to merge with the next, reverberating and growing ever louder as he progressed upwards. This noise became entwined with his own rising anxiety levels the higher he climbed. What if the police are waiting for me up there? How will I escape?

  Barry arrived at the top floor and approached an office door that had the name Doctor Thomas Gilpgünter inscribed on the front of it. He knocked as quietly as he could, hoping he wouldn’t be heard. A tall man with a grey moustache and monocle appeared at the door. Despite his anxiety, Barry retained his ninja mindset, sharp and alert, poised for action.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘I’m Barry Harris. My GP, Doctor Harper, referred me to you.’

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You can’t just show up, Mr Harris. I’m really very busy. I’m supposed to be writing up my case notes this morning.’

  ‘I wasn’t quite sure I was coming here… It’s difficult to explain… I’ve come a long way.’

  The doctor paused a moment, removed his monocle, then ushered Barry into the room. ‘Come in, come in and take a seat. Help yourself to some water.’

  Barry sat down and picked up a jug of water but it slipped through his fingers, crashing down on the table.

  ‘Be careful! Be careful! Please relax, Mr Harris. There is really nothing to worry about.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ve had a rough few days.’

  The doctor sat down on a chair opposite Barry. ‘Listen, I’ll make an exception and see you this once, as you are here. This is an exception though do you understand?

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘OK well, First I will tell you about myself. Please call me by my first name, which is Thomas. May I call you Barry?’ Barry nodded and gave a weary smile.

  ‘I have been living in England for forty years but was born in Switzerland. I come from a tradition of psychoanalysis dating back to a famous therapist by the name of Carl Jung. Tell me, Barry, did you see the statue on our forecourt? I had this commissioned especially.’

  ‘Yes. I sat down to look at it. I found it quite compelling.’ Barry reclined in his chair, trying to relax.

  ‘What did it make you think of when you looked at it?’

  ‘There’s something quite powerful but a bit dark about it.’

  Thomas got up to walk over to the window to observe his masterpiece.

  ‘Ah, interesting! It represents our shadow self. There are shadows in all of us which are the nasty or painful aspects we spend our lives hiding from. We project these parts of ourselves onto the outside world and they come back and bite us! The statue has one hand on his heart and the other pointing to the stars. It is our job in therapy to hunt out this shadow, make it conscious so we can release its grip on us.’ Thomas sprayed his window with a fine mist of spittle as he excitedly assumed the statue’s posture. ‘I often stare down at that sculpture and wonder what it would be like to be truly integrated with my shadow.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll have time to do that for me today?’ asked Barry.

  ‘Ha ha. If only that were possible. It’s a life’s journey but today you take your first steps. So tell me, why have you come to see me?’

  ‘I seem to get myself into trouble without meaning to. I get this extreme anger that takes hold of me and I feel powerless to control it. I’ve tried all kinds of things to calm myself down but I feel like I’m surrounded by idiots who are constantly provoking me. I try to be a good Buddhist, as compassionate as I can be, but it always seems to get out of hand.’

  ‘I see. Can you remember a time when this problem didn’t affect you?’

  ‘That must have been before my father left home twenty-five years ago.’

  ‘I see. I would like to start by doing some hypnosis, if that is okay with you? We need to find out what it is you are running from.’

  ‘I’ll try it if you think it will work, Doctor.’

  ‘Yes, yes. It can be very effective. Please make yourself comfortable and close your eyes. Take three slow deep breaths. I want you to visualise yourself walking down a hill towards a beautiful sunny meadow. With every step, you become more and more at peace until eventually you lie down in the long grass and all you can hear is my voice. With every breath, you are falling deeper and deeper into relaxation. You are very safe – nothing can harm you. Are you feeling at peace, Barry?’

  ‘Yes, Thomas.’

  ‘I would like you to speak freely without self-regulation to the questions I ask you. No one is judging you. I would to talk to you about your sex life. Can you remember your earliest sexual experience?’

  ‘I had a snog with Joanna Tarry in the back row of the cinema in 1995. We were watching Die Hard.’

  ‘Can you remember the first time you had sex?’

  ‘No…I’ve…. never had sex.’

  ‘Fascinating! The virgin man, a raging torrent of repressed desires and social humiliation. Why have you waited so long? At this rate you will die hard, Barry. Tell me, were you bottle fed?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘Do you remember preferring one of your mother’s breasts over the other?’

  ‘What?’ said Barry, his cal
m beginning to fray at the edges.

  Thomas continued. ‘Do you still think about your mother’s breasts?’

  ‘What! Leave my mum’s tits out of it – she’s eighty-two!’

  ‘I believe you may have transferred your latent rage of being denied your mother’s breasts into a fear of women. What do you think about when you masturbate?’

  Barry could feel himself gripping handfuls of leather upholstery. ‘Golf; it helps me last longer.’

  ‘Tell me about your dreams, Barry. Do you ever remember what they are about?’

  ‘I have a reoccurring nightmare where I am hanging off a cliff. There are samurai with swords coming at me and sharp rocks in the ocean below. I can hear my father’s voice warning me of danger. I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Fascinating! Maybe your hanging from a cliff is a metaphor for the memory of your father. You must let go! Let go!’

  ‘No, I can’t. He’s still alive. I know he is!’ Barry’s heartbeat quickened.

  ‘He’s never coming back. You must move on. Let go! Let go!’

  ‘No!’ Barry’s lip was quivering, he gripped the arms of the chair as if to stop himself falling.

  ‘If you stay on the cliff you will never heal, Barry. Let go!’

  ‘I’ll never let go and I’ll never give up!’

  Thomas went quiet. Then, standing up, he grabbed a huge plant pot and lifted it high above Barry’s head. Black lumpy sludge was spewing out of his mouth and he spluttered a coarse monotone chant in Japanese. ‘Watashi wa yogen o korosu.’ Barry’s translation skills were improving, he understood the words instantly. ’I kill the prophecy.’

  Barry’s eyes sprang open as he jumped to his feet and launched into the most awesome roundhouse that caught Thomas square on the chin. It sent him flying backwards crashing through his office window and hurtling toward to the street below. Barry ran to the window just in time to see Thomas impaled onto the pointing finger of his precious sculpture. Looking at his dangling lifeless body, Barry thought to himself, at least he now knows what it’s like to be fully integrated with his shadow. His next thought was, time to leave.

  Barry sneaked out into the hallway of the offices, wondering where that move had come from. His father had taught him ninjutsu, yes, but that was so long ago, and the details were foggy. He only hoped the fog was beginning to lift. About time, considering what he was up against.

  A painting in the hallway grabbed his attention. Exactly the same painting of a wooden temple as his father had given him! Only there was something different about this copy. Its inscription read:

  私を見つけて

  It’s got the missing symbol. He read aloud, ‘Watashi o mitsukete’ – that doesn’t mean “can’t find me” it means “come find me”!’ Barry threw his arms into the air. ‘I knew it!’

  He ran to the van and drove without blinking all the way back to his allotment. If ever I needed spiritual guidance, it’s now, thought Barry as he pulled up in front of his plot.

  Hunting through his impossibly overcrowded shed, Barry found a pair of rusty old shears and chopped away at the boundary hedge.

  ‘Afternoon, sparrow. You been busy,’ piped up Terry. ‘I think I owe you an apology this time. I never thought it was going to kick off with that therapist. It looks like everyone you come into contact with is getting possessed by Cygloar, a demonic samurai ghost!’

  Barry drew a deep breath.

  ‘It must be what my dad’s been warning me about in my nightmares. I can’t take it any longer, I need to get away from here. I know my dad’s alive. I just need to find a way to locate him.’

  Terry’s leaves rustled in the breeze.

  ‘That might be more tricky than what you fink, me old china.’

  ‘What? Is that the best you can do? I need divine intervention! You’re supposed to be a spiritual guide, so fucking guide me!’

  ‘All right, geezer, don’t get a cob on. How about I give you another riddle?’

  ‘Fuck me, another riddle, you haven’t give me the first one yet… Is this a riddle to replace the first riddle?’

  ‘No it’s as well as the first riddle, but you could have it before if you like? It could be a pre-riddle riddle.’

  ‘Bloody Nora. Can’t you just tell me what I need to know?’

  ‘Sorry, not licensed to, mate. That would be way above me pay grade. Anyway that’s not the way transcendental wisdom works. Where would be the adventure in that?’

  ‘I don’t need an adventure. I’m desperate. I really need your help!’

  ‘Okay. Look, I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you. I’m still gonna give you your first riddle, that’s yours to keep and trust me, you’ll need it. What I can do you for you today is also give you a conundrum.’

  Barry looked at the ground. ‘I’m knackered.’

  ‘Don’t be like that. I’ll walk you through the first riddle. Listen carefully as I’ll only say this once. There’s a well-known teaching within the Buddhist tradition that goes: “Mindfulness is the Path to the Deathless”.’

  ‘Yes I know that but how does that help me?’

  ‘For any meditation master there is an escape hatch from this world of suffering, a gateway to a deathless realm.’

  ‘But I’ve only been meditating regularly for the last few months,’ said Barry. ‘I’m definitely no master!’

  ‘That’s where I can help, see. I is the undisputed king of shortcuts! All you need to do is go on the internet and buy yourself a mindfulness teacher certificate for twenty quid. You don’t even need to have meditated once. As soon as you done that, all you need is to solve the following conundrum: “The transcendental gateway lies beneath the carpet of infinity”.’

  Bugger me, thought Barry, it’s all prophecies, conundrums and riddles with these ethereal beings.

  * * *

  7

  THE PROPHECY ALLOCATION DEPARTMENT

  After possibly his most disturbed night’s sleep ever, Barry rose early and circumnavigated a small patch of grass in front of his allotment shed. I can’t think straight, I need to meditate, no I can’t concentrate, but I must keep my focus, where can this carpet of infinity be? I need to act fast or I’m a goner.

  Crossing the road from the allotments, Barry went over to the shopping centre and entered a giant discount carpet showroom. He found himself aimlessly running up and down the aisles, not knowing what he was looking for.

  A teenage sales assistant appeared from behind the offcuts section. ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  ‘Do you have anything called a carpet of infinity, by any chance?’

  ‘We have the Raspberry Infinity Twist range if that’s what you mean? It’s on special offer at £3.99 a square metre and comes with a one-year stain-free guaran—’

  Barry was out the shop and back at the allotments by the time the assistant had finished his sentence. Floating around in a daze, Barry was unable to form even the simplest of thoughts. He was beyond exhausted. Collapsing to his knees, he wept into the soil like a little boy.

  ‘Where are you when I need you most, Dad? Where are you?’

  Barry heard a shuffling of feet in front of him and he looked up to see Brian staring down.

  ‘Is everything okay, old chap? You look a little down on your luck if you don’t mind me saying.’

  ‘Oh, Brian. Things are little rough for me at the moment… I’m looking for somewhere that has a carpet. Can you think of anywhere?’

  ‘You know I was talking about my perennial weeds the other day?’

  ‘Brian I really haven’t got time for weeds now.’

  ‘I think that maybe you do… actually. As you know my dandelions have been reeking havoc on my plot, so much so I got a warning letter about them from the council.’

  ‘Brian, I’m begging you please don’t talk to me about weeds.’

  ‘Now hear me out, Barry… Last year, I made a compost bin out of some old wood pallets, filled it with the weeds, mixed in some herbal
preparations and used an old carpet to cover it with—’

  ‘Brian I’ve got to go…’

  ‘Wait! Wait! You haven’t heard the really interesting part. I checked to see how the compost was doing about two weeks ago, and realised it had spontaneously turned into a time travel portal.’

  Barry opened his mouth but nothing came out.

  ‘Interesting, hey? I naturally figured it must be some kind of intergalactic gateway to an alternative time zone. So I thought I’d try it out – me and the wife have been flying all around the universe. It’s exhilarating. We’ve been into the past… into the future. Last week, we saw the Battle of Hastings. It was a cracking day out.’

  Barry opened his mouth again – nothing.

  ‘Come and have a look, old boy.’

  Looking like he’d just done a few rounds with Mike Tyson, Barry wobbled over to the compost heap.

  ‘Give me a hand.’ Brian pulled back the old rotting carpet from the top of the heap. ‘Is this what you were looking for?’

  Barry leant over and stared into a deep cavernous expanse in the centre of the heap. It was like looking through a space telescope. Stars were shooting past and there was a large network of transparent tubes going off in all directions. He turned to Brian. ‘It’s a… er… er.’

  ‘It’s amazing is what it is, Barry!’

  ‘Yes… but why is it here?’

  ‘Now that’s a very good question. I have a feeling you will need to go in there to find that out. One thing you do need to know though is you don’t get to choose where you go.’

  ‘How will I know…’ Barry paused as he knelt in front of the hole. ‘Where I’m going?’

  Brian shrugged and smiled.

  ‘What’s all this jelly-like stuff coming out of the bottom of the hole?’

  ‘You need to cover yourself in that before you jump into the tube; it helps you move quicker. There’s some kind of suction force that pulls you through the tube.’