by Young
In 1887, when Baron Etienne van Zuylen van Nijevelt, married Hélène de Rothschild, of the Rothschild family; the interior of this once opulent castle was in ruins. With Hélène’s inheritance, the couple set to rebuild and restore the castle with the help of Pierre Cuypers, the famous Dutch architect who had designed and built the Amsterdam Central Station, and the Rijksmuseum. By the time Kasteel de Haar was refurbished to its former glory, the 200 rooms and 30 bathrooms were the most resplendent in the Netherlands.
It was at this fairy-tale property that the gnostic, Jabril and the Muslim, Kifah signed a legal marriage contract which they would later regret. But on that sunny morning, beneath a host of ancient statuettes and amidst an abundance of blossoming blooms; the ethos of romance had encircled the bridal couple to surmise that their match was indeed made in heaven.
Little did the callow Kifah realize that Islamic marriages are not adjudged to be made in heaven or soul-mates destined for each other; but social contracts that provided rights and obligations to the involved parties. And these moral imperatives can only be successful if they were mutually respected and cherished. Unfortunate for this girlish lady-in-waiting, her marriage expectations were made within the mind and lacked intimacy. She saw the handsome Jabril as a fairytale prince charming who would dote over her every wish without reciprocations. She also envisioned a life of endless romance, passion, and affinity that automatically came with marriage.
On the contrary, the strapping Muslim-Jew regarded his nuptial as an obligation. After all, he had gotten the girl pregnant, and the right thing a gentleman would do was to marry her so the forthcoming child would not be deemed a bastard. Nor would the woman be considered an outcast if he had abandoned his responsibility. For Jabril, love did not enter the nuptial equation but obligations to his soon-to-be wife and parents; to provide an heir to continue his family’s genealogy. As far as he was concerned, this union was also a legal façade to camouflage his bisexuality. He saw no reason to discontinue his philandering after the completion of his filial duties.
The Ceremony
When Andy and I arrived at the grand hall, hundreds of guests were already ensconced in their assigned seats. Andy’s departure to Christchurch after the wedding had cast a foreboding shadow over us. Like Siamese twins, we were inseparable. Our fiery intimacy had grown intense during the weeks that led up to Jabril and Kifah’s nuptials. Unlike the bridal couple whose relationship was based on private reveries; Andy and my union were of collective hearts, minds, and souls. Over the years, our camaraderie had amalgamated into oneness. The more impassioned our amorousness, the more grueling it was to say our final farewell.
When the wedding couple uttered their “I Dos,” within the walls of this primordial hall; my lover and I broke into sorrowful sobs. We held each other’s quivering hands as anguished tears trickled down our cheeks. We wept in silence. Little were we cognizant that we were about to sacrifice the potent enamoredness we had shared so resplendently. The love that many seek but granted to few. Even these utopian halls of romanticism could not mend our shattered dreams of living happily ever after.
Back then, my lover and I were too ambitious, and career-driven to settle for anything less but to succeed in our chosen métiers. We thought true love would find us if we sauntered by but this unique flowering waits for no one, and certainly not for those who decide to forgo this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Yet my lover and I charged full steam ahead on our resolutions. Decisions that would eventually crash us like a ton of bricks as I documented in A Harem Boy’s Saga – book II – Unbridled; a memoir by Young.
The Reception
Under a majestic outdoor tent, resplendent guests sipped the finest champagne, alcoholic beverages and savored gourmet cuisine served on silver platters prepared by a three-star Michelin chef. The groom who was born and raised in the Netherlands wanted a westernized nuptial, and the bride who had dreamed of a Disneyesque fairytale wedding was more than happy to oblige. Hence, an occidental celebration was appropriated to the Amsterdamian. To appease the bride and her esteemed Saudi family, an elaborate Islamic jamboree would be held after the Amsterdam bash. Not only would the Riyadh ceremony showcase Kifah’s family’s social standing, but it also provided the bride with another opportunity to don her many haute couture ensembles that were specifically designed for her special day.
That late afternoon, Kasteel de Haar was ablaze with an idyllic glow. The evening sun had cast a gleaming radiance over this palatial estate. When the party was in full swing, Andy and I slipped away. We wanted to relive our time in Holland’s picturesque parks mainly in the Keukenhof Gardens where we had attained Sahasrāra (“thousand-petaled” – White Lotus). My lover held my hand as we ventured away from the madding crowd. As soon as we disappeared into the serene gardenscape, our heavy hearts grew lighter.
Like carefree children, we discarded our formal attires and bounced around joyously. We soared like blithe fletching through this glorious field of dreams before we collapsed atop one another in a loving embrace. My lover gazed at me as if he desired this enchantment never to end. Unwilling to relinquish the affection we had fostered over the years I held onto his sinewy physique. Once again, woeful tears welled in our eyes before our playfulness gave way to a lingering kiss. Our lips brushed tenderly against one another as if it was our first osculation. The rhythmic silent of our oral dance soon gave way to Andy’s dominance. His hypnotic greenish blues never left my gaze as I gave in to his supremacy. I was at once bewitched and bewildered by his sanguine amorousness. My Valet, chaperone, guardian, and mentor would soon be oceans away. I wanted to ravish my handsome beau and to cherish this dazzling moment as if our intimacy would never end. Time stood still as we traverse to rediscover love’s transient beauty.
Neither of us desired our closeness to cease as our palpitating hardness drummed in synchronicity. We wanted our souls to envelop us in an inextricable cocoon of devotion. Unable to defy our urgencies Andy eased into my unbridled sanctity. To sanction nature’s potency to govern his quivering bulbousness, we remained unmoved. Not only did our nonaction ignite my yearning pruriency, but his pulsations had also aroused my debaucherous concupiscence to pleasure his intemperance. We merged into the Oneness of Being as our imperceptible gyrations catapulted us to precipices of ineffable moksha. As we journeyed through love’s expansive mindscape, a nonspatial continuum of events occurred in constant succession. The past, present, and future flashed through our minds eyes. Within this Aleph of timelessness, our intimacy magnified a thousand-fold. Neither of us desired to renounce our fruits of verboten pleasures in this heavenly garden of earthly delights. Yet all good things must end no matter how disinclined we were to conserve those treasured moments. Even though we knew this was the final residuum of our consecrated union, Andy’s forceful potencies claimed my sacredness as our heightened eroticism impelled us across the Rubicon.
I spilled my venerated blest into his oral fissure when I straddled my lover’s muscular chest. As if my seeds were Eucharist divinity, he savored my sacrosanctity with reverence. We remained buried in the confines of each other’s bosom until the first light of dawn reminded us that we would soon be separated permanently. Only then did we return to the castle in the hope that time would stand still for us to relive that nirvanic state of Sahasrāra.
Emptiness (The Final Chapter)
“The inner emptiness is the door to God.”
Swami Dhyan Giten
Early April 2015
My Response to Andy’s Private Message
Dearest Andy,
I am saddened by your news. I hope you are coping well with your CKD treatment. You are a resilient man, and I am sure you will overcome this virulence.
After your departure to Christchurch, I was devastated by your absence. I made it through those difficult times. Like me, you are an irrepressible survivor, and you will trump this complication.
That June 1969 afternoon, after Monsieur Alain Dubois, Señor Victor Angel Tri
queros and I saw you off at Amsterdam airport, emptiness overshadowed my person. I could not stop crying. I would have drowned my sorrows with alcohol and drugs, if not for Alain and Victor. That sense of inner emptiness left me emotionally numb, anxious, despondent, and isolated. I was at a loss. Self-doubt and a lack of purpose seeped in like the world had crashed on me. That heaviness drained my energy. Thoughts of catching the next flight to New Zealand did enter my mind. It was Dubois and Triqueros who stopped me.
Before Alain and I boarded our respective flights to Paris and London, my ex-tutors counseled me at the Schiphol first-class lounge.
“Young, I know you are lost without Andy, and you feel like a stranger to yourself.” Alain commented before he resumed, “It is okay to cry because our emotions are an essential aspect of our experience. If we refuse to acknowledge these sentiments, they will lurk in the shadows of our minds and obstruct our emotions. It will eventually cut us off from ourselves.”
Victor added, “That would be devastating. We have a pulse, but we are not really ‘alive.’ We’ll experience feelings of emptiness.”
Even though I nodded in acknowledgment, I was absorbed in my desolation and continued to weep.
Triqueros consoled, “I’ll give you some suggestions. Hopefully, these tips will help you out of your miserable state.”
I stared at the professor blankly.
He spoke, “Young, you’re an extraordinary individual. Your purpose springs from that uniqueness and your E.R.O.S. education provided you with a solid sense of who you are. I understand that during this challenging time, it is hard to be in touch with your purpose but remember….” He paused before he recommenced, “You have a unique narrative, and you are the star of that story. Do not look outside the self for your sense of purpose but search within for the answer.”
Alain added, “Your authentic self is the person who cries when you’re sad and laughs when you’re tickled. At this very instant, it is your authenticity who wish to inhabit the void you are experiencing. The self wants to fill you with purpose, meaning, and connection. I propose you ask yourself how you’ll feel if you weren’t feeling empty? Do a checklist on your past, present, and future. Emptiness, disappointment, and despair are temporary numbing blankets to protect you from sliding into depression.
“Embrace your current emotions. Although feelings aren’t exactly a part of you, they are a genuine reflection of you at this point. How you feel in any given moment is the map that connects you with your authentic self. By all means, wallow in your emotions. But remember that curiosity and compassion is the recovery from emptiness. Not judgment.”
Victor championed, “Share your feelings with others like you are doing with us. A grief support group will help you fill the void, but do not regret or shame yourself with the decisions you’ve made. Remember, there are no right or wrong choices. A choice does not judge. It is the person who made the determination that judges. My advice to you is to hold up an allegorical mirror to help you appreciate the authentic you, the person you really are. You deserve a great relationship and a purposeful life with yourself. This emptiness is a griefing phase and will pass in due course.”
Śūnyatā (Emptiness)
Unable to contain myself, I continued to bawl.
My teacher put his arms around me and said, “My dear boy, look at it this way. In my Zentology awareness, emptiness is a mode of perception, a method of looking at experience. It adds nothing to or takes away anything from the raw data of physical and mental events. Without judgment, you discern the facts and senses within the mind. This ‘emptiness’ approach is void of assumptions to explain the stories and worldviews we fashion to define who you are and the world you live in.”
The Zentologist paused to see if I understood his exegesis.
He resumed, “Although our stories and views have their uses; the questions raised, and your perceived reality distracts you from the experience of the present. Therefore, the adjudged fact gets in the way when you try to understand and solve your dis-ease.”
Since I had no idea to Dubois’ explication, I stared at the professor puzzlingly.
Alain, conscious of my obfuscation, explicated, “Let me give you an example: you are meditating, and an angry resentment towards your father appears. The mind’s immediate reaction identifies the vexation as ‘my’ indignation, and say, ‘I’m’ outraged. It then amplifies on the feeling by working it into the story of your relationship with your father and to your overviews about when and where your displeasures towards your dad are justified.
“The problem is that these stories and views entail a lot of anguish. The more you get involved in your mind’s stories, the more distracted you are from seeing the actual cause of your agony. Labels such as ‘I,’ ‘me’ and ‘mine’ set the entire process in motion. As a result, you have difficulty unraveling the cause that brought on the pain and to terminate the anger once and for all.”
I questioned, “How can I stop this unpleasantness permanently?”
“Simple!” Alain exclaimed.
I looked at the erudite professor for clarification.
“By adopting the emptiness mode and not acting on or reacting to the agony. By observing it as a series of events - in and of themselves. You will realize that the dis-ease is empty of any identification or possession. When you master the emptiness mode, you’ll automatically register that this truth holds not just for emotions like indignations, but also for subtle events in the realm of our experience,” Dubois advised.
Victor injected, “Śūnyatā is the sense in which all things are empty. Once you comprehend Śūnyatā, you will realize that labels like ‘I,’ ‘me,’ and ‘mine’ are inconsequential and unnecessary. These ego-driven tags do nothing but create stress and pain. Discard them completely, and you’ll discover an experience that will wholly free you from pain.”
“How do I master Śūnyatā?” I pressed.
“To master this emptiness approach of perception requires training in virtue, concentration, and discernment. Without these practices, the mind will continue to stay in the manner that keeps creating stories and worldviews. From the Śūnyatā perspective, the teaching of emptiness merely sounds like another story or worldview with new ground rules,” Triqueros stated.
Victor paused before he continued, “Though stories and worldviews do serve a purpose; dis-ease comes from the perceptions of a person’s actions, and the freedom from pain comes from being more insightful.
“Focus on the quality of the consciousness and intentions within the mind in the present. In other words, get the self into Śūnyatā. Once you are in that realm, apply the Śūnyatā teachings for your intended purpose - to detach all attachments to views, stories, assumptions, and leave the mind empty of disillusionment. Only then can you nullify dis-ease, anger, and stress. The emptiness that holds your current unhappiness is also the key to your enlightenment.”
I perked up and chirped, “You are telling me that the flip side of emptiness is contentment?”
Both sages nodded in unison before they concluded.
“Young, when you see a plum blossom or hear the sound of a small stone hitting bamboo, that is a letter from the world of emptiness,” Victor declared equitably before Alain finalized, “To empty is not the same as to deny. When we reject something, we want to replace it with something else. The effort is to be rid of self-centeredness. This is the secret to cleanse our experience from dis-ease.”
The Monsieur, the Señor and I held each other’s hands before the announcements to board our respective flights came over the intercom. That was the last I saw of my two erudite teachers.
My dearest Andy, here we are, forty-nine years to date. Again, I find myself in a state of discombobulation by the news of your life-threatening health issues. Walter and I pray for your rapid recovery and be in excellent health for a long time to come. My dear friend, keep us posted on your progress.
Love and hugs,
Young
XOXOX
O
Epilogue
“Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.”
Oscar Wilde
Moi
The months following Andy’s departure, I plunged myself into work. Not only did I graduate with a magnum cum laude from Daltonbury Hall School for Boys, but I also drove full steam ahead as Samuel and Helius’ prudent Big-Brother. I mentored and groomed the new E.R.O.S. recruits to the best of my ability. When the boys were assigned to their first Arabian Household – Alqalea (The Castle), the official residence of the two Ajman aristocrats, Rash and Amm; I handed the reins to their respective Valets, Marcus and Anthony.
With my responsibilities behind me, I applied to several Art and Design colleges in the United Kingdom. I was accepted into The Belfast College of Art & Technology, Northern Ireland for a two-year Foundation course. Although in the early days of Andy and my separation, we corresponded regularly; that nagging emptiness never left my person. The harder I worked on my allotted tasks, the more depressed I became. There were many nights I cried myself to sleep. When morning broke, I had joined the ranks of the walking dead.