One night, as I was finishing a private session, he smiled at me and said, “A group of us from the dojo are getting together this weekend. Would you like to go? Maybe we could have dinner beforehand?”
“I’d love to,” I responded, my face glowing.
“Great,” he said and got my phone number so he could contact me.
The next day he texted to tell me where and when to meet him.
He didn’t offer to pick me up. I was new to New York, so I wasn’t sure if men usually offered to cross town in order to pick someone up, but a part of me felt disappointed. I ignored it, decided it made more sense for me to just meet him at the restaurant.
That night, I got home and checked my e-mail. I had been accepted to NYU Stern. The timing was magical. My life was finally falling into place. I had been in New York eight months. I had endured calculus at Columbia and countless GMAT practice tests and commuting through freezing rain and ice pellets. I had endured living in a huge city with no social support structure. And I had made it! I was working my way toward black belt in karate, I had gotten accepted into a top MBA program, and I had a date with a major hunk. Holy Crap! The only thing left I had to do was start the business that made ten million dollars after taxes.
Chapter 25 Bodhisattva
I took a cab in the rain to the restaurant to meet Hiroto for our first date. I was beyond excited. I was going on a date with a fifth-degree black belt. He was so New York: so tough, so masculine. When I got to the restaurant he was waiting for me inside by the front door. He was huge. He took up the whole window. And he looked so incredibly handsome. His eyes sparkled when he saw me. Mischievous and adoring and sexy. I really loved him.
At dinner, he pulled out a chair for me when we sat down. He ordered for me. He even did the half-stand-up each time I left the table (which I did three times to make sure I didn’t have food in my teeth, even though I barely ate because I was so nervous). Each time I came back to the table, he had his phone out and quickly put it away. He told me he didn’t eat meat and only ate shrimp. I thought that was an odd distinction, especially for someone so large, but I brushed it aside.
From dinner, we stopped by the dojo party and then headed to a cozy little Flamenco restaurant in the East Village. Hiroto rode a motorcycle. I had always thought men who rode bikes were immature, more interested in looking cool than being safe with their bodies. But Hiroto explained that he only rode one in order to navigate traffic in Manhattan. Still I hesitated to get on his motorcycle; they scare me. But something inside of me said, Do it. Go ahead; you’ll be safe. So I jumped on the back, put on his extra helmet, and wrapped my arms around him. I had been dying to hug him, and this was my first chance. I loved the way he felt.
He started the bike, and we took off down the block. I quickly turned my head to the left and saw a five-story mural of Padmasambhava, my favorite Buddhist tantric master, painted on the side of an art museum. Almost the same painting I had hanging on my bedroom wall in a thangka. To me it was a sign: This man is a part of your path.
In the Flamenco restaurant we sat side by side at the bar, and he told me he had been given a spiritual name when he completed his yoga certification: Varutra—a Hindu name meaning “Protector.”
My heart sang. I loved him even more. For twenty-three years, I had dreamed of having a man back in my life that protected me. This was my man, the Being I had dreamed about meeting ever since my father died. I was sure of it; everything about him fit me. I watched with joy as the older female dancer stomped her heart out on the dance floor. I could feel Hiroto’s eyes on me as I watched her dance. I could feel him adoring me, loving me. He was so sensitive underneath that tough exterior. I wanted to let him wrap me in his arms and hold me forever. It was close to midnight when we left the bar, and he was leaving for Japan in the morning, so we said good-bye, and I got into a cab to go home. The twelve days he was in Japan seemed like the longest days of my life.
I created a Facebook account to be in communication with Hiroto while he was away; he loved to communicate by Face-book. A few days into his trip he messaged me and told me how much he missed me, and how he couldn’t wait to get back and see me. He said he had never met anyone like me and that he felt “so much light” in my presence. “You radiate with light,” he said. “I feel so much love around you. You are an angel.”
This man can feel me, I thought. He gets it.
I could not believe how easily and perfectly he had just appeared in my life. He returned on a Friday and we made plans to have dinner together that Saturday. I couldn’t figure out why he didn’t want to see me Friday, but as with everything else that seemed a little odd, I brushed it aside. Waiting one extra night to see him, however, felt like an eternity.
Saturday night, we met on the corner outside a sushi restaurant at the end of his block, almost an hour from my apartment. Again, I took a cab. Again, I ignored the fact that he chose a spot in his neighborhood and I had to travel. As we waited outside for a table, I noticed he was in a foul mood—irritable and anxious. He was criticizing everything, pacing back and forth, complaining about the dojo.
I tried to lighten the mood, to get him focused on something he loved, so I asked him about a kicking technique. Then he started criticizing me. Rudely, he said I was doing the kick all-wrong, but he didn’t show me the correct form, insinuating I wouldn’t be able to do it.
I suddenly felt really sad, like a little kid being scolded by my mother. I felt stupid, like I was too dressed up and had on too much makeup. I felt vulnerable and small.
If I were in my right mind, I would have left and never gone out with him again. But I was not in my right mind. I had turned the volume to zero on my intuition and had gotten used to being surrounded by bipolar, narcissistic people. So standing outside a sushi restaurant being criticized by a man I hardly knew fit right into my idea of “normal” at this stage in my life.
After struggling through small talk and awkward silence for ten minutes, I suggested we go someplace else. He proposed the restaurant next door and walked in ahead of me, letting the door swing back and almost hit me in the face.
I felt sick the second we walked in. The energy of the place felt off, as if the restaurant was a front for something sordid. It was straight out of a Godfather movie—very dark inside, old furniture, low ceiling, stale air, and a waitstaff that looked as if they could double as hit men. There was only one other pair of patrons, at a table in the corner.
Hiroto was right at home; the entire staff knew him. He sat down and ordered his “usual” before I had a chance to look at the menu. When his food came, he shoveled it into his mouth as if I was not even there. He was nervous and fidgety and had trouble holding eye contact with me.
Suddenly, with a mouth full of food, he looked up and declared that he had a problem with women. “My cousin says I love women so much that I’m a lesbian,” he said and laughed, a dark heavy forced laugh.
I still have no idea what that means.
He told me that anytime he really liked a woman, he pushed her away. He said a few more things that should have made me run in the opposite direction, that were intended to make me run in the opposite direction.
Maya Angelou and Oprah Winfrey once had a conversation about bad relationships; the key takeaway was: When people show you who they are, believe them. I once attended an Al-Anon meeting and was told that people tell you everything you need to know about them in the first two minutes you meet them, but most of us don’t pay attention to the red flags.
Hiroto was showing me who he was, waving bright red flags, but I wanted to see something else. I wanted to see a Magnificent Being that I had known and loved in past lives. I saw a Magnificent Being that I had known and loved in past lives. I refused to see the Truth even though he kept showing me. Denial is so powerful.
Lakshmi had taught us that we were Bodhisattvas, that it was our duty to save people, to pull them out of hell. I sat across the table, listening to him tell me about his s
ordid past and his problems with women, about how he was not really loved or wanted as a child. I saw it as my Bodhisattva duty to save him with my love, pull him out of the dark and up into the light. In my mind, he was magnificent; he had just forgotten. All I had to do was believe in him and love him.
As if reading my mind he said, “I really like you. I can tell you would be really good for me. I’m worried I’m going to freak out and push you away. I don’t want to do that. I’ve been seeing someone, but that has been winding its way down. We’re moving in opposite directions. I want to be with you. I’m just worried I’m going to blow it.”
I grabbed his hand, looked into his eyes, and said, “I believe you are perfect. You are not going to blow it.”
He glanced around at the waitstaff and nervously pulled his hand away.
I felt strangely elated. I felt that, if anyone could handle this man, because of my spiritual practice, I could. I could love him with all his flaws. I could tame him with my love. I was the answer. I could heal him, save him.
After dinner, we walked to the corner of the street, and I turned to hug him good-bye and said, “I’m not going anywhere; I can wait. Work things out with the woman you have been dating. I’ll see you at the dojo,” and I turned to hail a cab.
But he held on to me and said, “I don’t want you to go home.” It felt so good to have a man’s arms around me, to have human contact and to be held so close. “I want you to come over,” he said.
So I did.
Chapter 26 Spirit Guides
His apartment was great. It was large with a nice balcony, on a beautiful tree-lined street, directly above his fitness studio. It was sparsely furnished and very masculine, but warm. I felt immediately at home.
We sat side by side on the sofa, making awkward small talk. I was tense. It had been so long since I had been touched or kissed by a man and I was very nervous.
Suddenly I blurted out, “I haven’t dated in close to two years. I got ordained as a monk; I was planning to be celibate for the rest of my life if I had to. I’m really nervous.”
He did not respond. Instead, he leaned over and kissed me. A warm, tender, soft, loving, gentle kiss. I melted. He let his lips linger on mine, then he pulled away and stood up. He looked at me adoringly, smiled, and picked me up and carried me into his bedroom—very romantic. I wasn’t sure having sex with him was a good idea, but I was desperate to hit the “reset button” after Vishnu. I had to wash away the residue from “consort” and “family slave” and “witch.” I had been living in ugly, baggy clothing for close to four years, and I was dying to feel sexy again, to use my body in a sexual way.
As we entered his room, I looked around. He had an altar, just like mine. He had a meditation cushion and statues of Hindu deities. He had paintings of Buddhas on his walls. His bedroom looked like mine. This man was everything. He was strong and fierce and mighty, and he was soft and spiritual and searching. We made love, and it was making love. He was a very attentive lover. As we drifted off to sleep, with me nestled in his arms, he whispered in my ear, “Renee, I have never felt that much love in my entire life. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I responded, a huge smile across my face.
His alarm woke me up at 7:00 a.m. He jumped out of bed and said he had to be at the dojo, which surprised me; he hadn’t mentioned anything the night before about having to be someplace early. He got in the shower and dressed quickly.
“You can stay here and sleep as long as you want, I will be gone all day,” he said. Then he left. My plans to make love and have breakfast and spend the day together were dashed. I went home a bit disappointed and slept all day, calling that night to check in and tell him what a great time I had, but he did not answer. Instead he sent me a message through Facebook saying he had a great time with me too and was looking forward to seeing me Wednesday at the dojo.
When I saw him Wednesday night, he was distant. I called him after class to ask about it, and he did not answer. I thought about him saying, “I have never felt that much love in my entire life” after we made love. I wondered if maybe he was afraid. Then I got another message through Facebook: I have spoken to my spirit guides and they tell me I need to take a break from women for forty days. Please help me with this. Please understand.
Of course I understand, I wrote back. After all my time with Vishnu and Lakshmi, it made perfect sense to me. There is a lot of light between us and the occult will try to keep us away from each other, I wrote, believing it to be true.
And so we began a pattern—a relationship of sorts. We would sleep together, and he would tell me how much he loved me and how he had never met anybody like me. Then he would request a forty-day break. Twenty to thirty days into his break, he would contact me, tell me he missed me, and invite me to dinner near his apartment. I’d spend the night, he’d hold me and say, “I love you, Renee,” and then his “spirit guides” would tell him he needed to take a break.
The breaks broke my heart. I yearned to see him and sometimes I got to, but just as friends. I travelled around Manhattan with a toothbrush and an extra pair of panties in my purse just in case he called and invited me to spend the night. I was permanently on call.
I made excuses to myself for his behavior. I told myself it was okay, that I was a monk and my mind was the ashram and that this was perfect training ground, that I could not control him or his actions, but I could control the way I felt about him and his actions—and he was perfect just the way he was. I told myself he was my soul mate and the occult was trying to keep us apart. One night he called and asked me to come over. I had just finished class at the dojo. It was raining and I could not get a cab so I walked, in pouring rain, half an hour to his apartment. Soul mates—I was convinced we were soul mates, and I was willing to do anything to be with him.
Throughout the summer and the off and on of our “relationship,” we began planning to build a business together. He had a vision of a huge studio with enough space and enough machines to have large group classes. He envisioned twenty people on machines moving as one. His eyes lit up as he spoke about it. I began envisioning a franchise of studios, building our first studio in my mind. I saw “wombs of light” in which people—mostly women—would nurture their bodies, minds, and spirits. I imagined pitching his system as the best-kept secret in exercise, premium branding and a premium spa. And I began fantasizing about the start of my final task: to build a company that made $10 million profit after taxes. I was afraid to do it on my own, but I thought with Hiroto by my side, we could pull it off. And, the truth is, I thought if he and I were business partners, he would eventually fall in love with and commit romantically to me. He had massive potential. I figured I would heal him with my love, and together, we would take on the world. I imagined him meditating downtown and me meditating in the Upper West Side and the two of us flooding Manhattan with gold light.
We began looking for studio spaces. I would sit on the back of his motorcycle, my arms lovingly wrapped around him, and we would cruise up and down the streets of Manhattan looking for For Lease signs. We saw space after space. We ran around like little kids inside them, eyes sparkling, imagining our studio.
While on the back of his bike, I watched his head turn to look at every woman we passed, and I felt, every single time, as if I was being stabbed in the heart. But I ignored it, shoved the feelings deep down inside—telling myself I was a monk and it did not matter.
One morning in August, I woke up panicked. How could I go into business with a guy I just met that I was in love with that was not in love with me? He said he loved me, yes, but he clearly could not commit. Something else was going on, something he did not want to tell me. Going into business with this guy was asinine.
I called him immediately. “I can’t do this,” I said. “I’m in love with you. I can’t go into business with you. It’s a horrible idea.”
He was crushed. He said he understood, although he sounded bitter, and hung up the phone.
&
nbsp; During class that Wednesday, he was so powerful, so dedicated to his teaching and students, that I was reminded of what a master he was in all that he did, what a powerful asset as a business partner he would be. I approached him after class and told him I was wrong. We could build a wonderful business together; we would find a way to make it work.
He smiled and hugged me. “I love you,” he said. “I know I can’t be a good boyfriend right now, but I do love you. I think we could be great together in the future. No one has ever believed in me the way you do. I will not let you down.”
Those words were all I needed to keep my dream alive.
Chapter 27 Monster
Meanwhile, I was about to start the executive MBA program at NYU Stern and was incredibly nervous to start school; I did not believe I would fit in. I knew I wouldn’t be able to talk about my spiritual path and my guru sending me to get my MBA. I was going to have to lie some more.
I hated lying, but Vishnu and Lakshmi had stressed the importance of inaccessibility, so people couldn’t pin us down with their thoughts. According to them, that meant we had to lie—we had to lie a lot.
My first week at Stern was an orientation—held off campus at a resort in Westchester. I arrived early in the morning and checked into my room. I dressed in a black suit with an oxblood silk shirt and high heels and sat in the lobby, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the other students.
Hiroto called. I was so happy to hear from him.
“I’m so proud of you,” he said. “You are going to do just fine. You are amazing.”
I glowed. He was giving me the support I needed. It was such a godsend to have a man in my life again, someone to stand by my side. The first week of school empowered me. It was incredibly intense. We had so much work to do and so little time to do it. By the end of the week, we were completely broken down, bonded. There was no energy left for ego or façade. We had become a team. My sense of self rose. My power rose. And I suddenly questioned what the hell I was doing with Hiroto.
The Burn Zone Page 20