Chapter 11
Bodgaya
Lama had indeed arrived. “YOU’VE COME!” He exclaimed. “YES!” I replied. “When are we going to Bodgaya?” I asked. “In a few days,” Lama replied tersely. Lama had a habit of clenching his teeth and almost hissing when he talked about important matters. “Please, sit down and have a cup of tea,” Lama gestured towards a chair. His deep stentorian voice was always reassuring. “How have you been?” Lama inquired. “I’ve been sick and I’m running out of money, other than that I’m OK,” I moaned. I felt like a child expecting deliverance from a long-suffering father. “I met the Rebellious Regent in Berlin,” I announced. “Oh, that man has no credibility,” Lama frowned. “ Oh boy, and that Grand Wizard.... “ Lama’s voice trailed off into unknown corners. Lama was becoming annoyed. He got up and handed me some tea.
Lama then sat down and adjusted his robes. He was robustly built and had a strong presence about him. Lama’s closely cropped hair made him look like a drill sergeant. I felt safe with him. “You know this thing with the Rebellious Regent,” Lama gravely intoned, making another frown, “it all has just to do with this curse. Hundreds of years ago the previous Regent sided with the Nepalis in a struggle with the Tibetans. The Kagyu ordered twenty thousand monks to put a curse on the traitor. Can you imagine the power?” Lama raised his finger to demand attention. “The mind can do incredible things with the psychic energy at its disposal.” Lama paused. “Yes!” Lama exclaimed gruffly. “All that psychic energy is now haunting us. The new Regent is creating a major disturbance. The curse has backfired and the boy in Tibet cannot come to Rumtek.”
I listened to this story with rapt attention. “Vows and curses have incredible psychic energy behind them. This Hitler demon you felt in Europe made a vow to kill millions. This vow manifested because of the awesome energy behind it. This Hitler is now cooking in the hell realms, but as you know, everything is impermanent and he’ll be released one day.” There was a dead pause. “Karma is very intricate, the more bumis a bodhisattvah has, the more he can see into the past and future.” Lama paused again. “What’s a bumi?” I asked. “It’s just a form of psychic memory. There are ten stages. The higher the stage, the more powerful the bumi is; of course there are other powers available,” Lama smiled. “A high-ranking bodhisattvah can multiply his body and perform all kinds of miracles, but enough of this. It just inflates the ego!” Lama got up and introduced me to his mother and father. His parents smiled and shuffled off to bring soup and noodles. “Yeah, the Rebellious Regent is teaching demon stuff with the Grand Wizard, ugh!” Lama’s eyes squinted in pain. I showed Lama a photo of Summer. “Why do you want a relationship with her?” Lama asked. Before I could answer, Lama interjected.” You must get clear about this woman. If it’s just an attachment then there’s going to be trouble. She has to take refuge and do some honest practice.” There was another endless pause. “She seems to have a strong connection to Kalu,” I volunteered. Lama’s face lit up. “That’s very good,” he intoned with deep satisfaction.
The next day I sent a telegram to Summer telling her to make an offering to Kalu. I also told her I was in India at last. I then sent a telegram to my stepmother asking her for more money. I was back in Siliguri, the Indian hungry ghost realm. I found an auto-rickshaw in the evil-smelling streets and tried to negotiate a price. The Indians were sharp operators. Often, one of them would under-bid the other competitors to bait his quarry and then demand more later, when all competitors were out of ear-shot. India was an endless struggle. I got to Salugara late at night. This was little Kalu’s winter hang-out. Lama introduced me to Kalu’s dad, a tall and beefy Tibetan with very dark skin. Tea and cookies were offered to me. I could hear the dying din of traffic outside. It was a hard world out there. My wretched baggage had been left at the other monastery. I was free now and protected.
Sleep was hard at Salugara. The monks got up early and started an ear-splitting chorus of mystery chants, right next to where I was sleeping. Earplugs were useless. Somehow, I survived the torture and went back to sleep. The next day all the Shampas began congregating at Salugara. Bokar arrived with his detachment of monks. Little Kalu also prepared to leave. Lama had hired three buses for his monks and after haggling with the Indian drivers, he gave the order to depart.
We were now on the road. The caravan traveled the night. Haze and smoke coated the endless horizon. We were in Bihar now, the poorest state in India. We stopped for a short break. The usual multitudes of brown and thin beings pressured and mingled with us as we ate and relieved ourselves. There was a feeling of ghosts and animals dancing together in the thick night air. I watched how Lama expertly shepherded his flock through this sweet, alien zone. The Tibetans seemed to have a strong sense of community and purpose. This was quite a contrast to the Indian mobs who seemed to thrive off endless chaos and misery. I personally felt little kinship with the Indians in Bihar. I started to listen to some Indian music on my Walkman and tried to visualize a movie in all this drag and frenzy. Every moment seemed to last a lifetime in India. The bus carrying me and Lama got a flat, and the pause in the dead night air was refreshing. I suddenly saw Summer. Her face was floating in the air and her energy was strong. She had gotten the telegram! It was a strange kind of existence here in this land of saints and con-men. Sleeping and dreaming seemed to easily intermingle with so-called waking consciousness. I felt like one of my own story-book characters floating through a private fantasy and I didn’t want to wake up. It was so sweet and womby an experience.
Just before Bodgaya, the Indian driver stopped and demanded more money. “These guys are a pain in the ass,” Lama frowned. We were at the gates of the Holy Land and the Indians knew it, so they wanted their tip. With Indians the deal is NEVER closed until the very end. I didn’t care. The karma was taking me home. Lama paid off the Indians and we were soon in Bodgaya!
Bodgaya. What sweet density. We all got off at Bero’s place, a huge Kagyu monastery abbotted by this huge wizard Lama. I found a room and took off for THE STUPA. This was the bliss zone. This was the spot where the Buddha got enlightened. It felt strong and light like an invisible Himalaya. Doing koras, walking around the stupa, was like smoking hash, an intensely sweet high. Breathing the air of the stupa environment was better than dropping acid. All my feelings and thoughts were amplified and then blissfully released with unconditional devotion. I felt so privileged to be here and with a teacher to boot. What merit! What blessings! The density squeezed the creative juices out of me. I could feel old karmic echoes reverberate on this rare spot. I had arrived at last to the bliss fields.
The next morning I awoke coughing from a terrible nightmare. Summer seemed sick with a hideous disease. I saw her breaking up with her boyfriend. Lama played it all down. “It’s just your confused thoughts being released,” he explained. Lama paused for a moment. “I think it will be OK with you and her. You’re not going to be a monk, so I think she’ll be fine, but she should do the practice.” With that Lama gave me the oral instructions for the Ngondro.
Dear Guardian Angel:
I’ve been here two days and it’s so intense. India’s a crazy place. There are a million catch-22s for doing everything. You can’t even make a collect call to the folks back home. Bihar is the asshole of India. The Mafia control this place and the road to Gaya is unsafe to travel at night. It’s the wild west here. I just try to enjoy this circus the best I can. India has its own way of doing things and YOU CAN’T CHANGE IT. You need to rely on the buddy system here. You need to talk to other foreigners and they need to contact their Indian friends to get anything done around here. Things sorta work and sorta don’t. Today Lama told me to read every word in the Ngondro manual and to deeply reflect on the words. I mean really reflect on them. What’s Ngondro? It’s a series of preliminary practices for advanced mind flying. I mean I have to do a hundred thousand prostrations! Can you believe it? Why do this crazy stuff? Well, it’s like this. Having a physical body is really important. You can’t do prostrations without one, but having a precious body is even more crucial. A precious body is receptive to dharma. All existence is pretty stressful, so escape from it is pretty important. Life is like an engineering problem that needs an engineering solution. The prostration phase is the first release operation after looking at the facts on the ground. You visualize bliss fields and that’s kinda like turning on the navigation lights before preparing an ascent into heaven. The actual prostrations kickstart the plane’s engine and kinda lift the plane up. While flying in the air you collect the bliss from the Guides. You then do prayers to descend back to Earth and when you land you have to share the bliss with all other beings. Here in Bodgaya, it’s kinda like the NO STRESS capital of the world. It’s the home of the arahats and bodhisattvahs. An arahat is someone who has attained freedom from ignorance and stress. These guys kinda made it to the other shore and have the option of fading away forever. A bodhisattvah just kinda hangs around until everybody’s made it to the other shore. Like a captain on a sinking ship! There are human bodhisattvahs and angelic bodhisattvahs. They LOVE us and look after us all the time. To fade away or to stay? That is the question here. If you fade you get to NO STRESS. If you stay you live in VERY LOW STRESS. If you become a bodhisattvah that is. NO-STRESS of course, is beyond all BLACK and WHITE STRESS. It’s tough to do. Most of us are caught in HIGH STRESS of all kinds, and things are actually much more complicated than all this. Way more. You see, there are these stages on the path to NO-STRESS and LOW STRESS. As you fly up to the heaven realms, the BLACK and WHITE STRESS gets subtler and it’s easy to fool yourself you’ve made it! That’s why a teacher is really important. They know all the traps, Angel! SUBTLE BLACK and WHITE STRESS can be even more dangerous than the GROSS STUFF. Why? Cuz it’s harder to see and often more potent. Psychic tricks and subtle mind-fuck are lethal and have drastic karmic consequences. Indeed, that’s what wrathful practice is for. It clears out the subtle garbage. I did four hundred prostrations today! The big three have been leading this ten-day endless puja ever since we got here. Lama, Bokar, and Kalu seem quite a contrast to all the beggars, touts, gangsters, and soldiers hanging around the stupa here. The spaceship is like an island of bliss surrounded by this sea of really smelly sewage. Bihar has a pretty dense vibe. I spoke to my stepmother today. She didn’t want to give me any extra scratch. She said: “I had to go my own way.” So much for mission control! We agreed to talk again in Calcutta. I mean she doesn’t even really want me to be here. I think my stepmother will come through, but I think big trouble is coming. I mean my stepmother’s so unreliable in a crisis. Lama laughed and told me I was just one big baby! Everything is up and down here. It’s not easy wiping off all the dust from this silly diseased mirror. I mean the choice is clear. Choose bliss or choose suffering, uh .... STRESS. See, all attachments lead to STRESS. They prevent you from tasting BLISS. You see, attachments are like a tricky kind of BLISS. They mimic it so well! It tastes so good! I guess for most beings it’s the ONLY BLISS IN TOWN. There’s nothing else to compare it with. But the first day here at the spaceship gave me a taste of the real thing! I now have something to compare fool’s bliss with. This fleeting taste is just a memory now. I’m as confused as ever, but I now know I have a choice. FOOL’S GOLD or REAL GOLD? You need to be clear on this. You need to be really honest. It’s a tough game. Spiritual marriage is a toughie. But I’m game. Oh, did you ever taste this thing called “tsampa”? It’s roasted barley flower mixed with sweet milk tea. It really keeps you going! The Tibetans are crazy about it, but I can’t stand the salt tea they sometimes wash it down with. YUK!
Yours,
Blissful Determination
Lama kept ragging on me that I was too pessimistic. He was impressed by my understanding of dharma, but told me I had to live it now. Sacrifices were needed. I had to do more prostrations. I was exhausted and was in no mood for a lecture. Lama also got pissed off about my not bowing quickly enough when Lamas passed me by. “You should have more respect,” he scolded. I just withdrew into my room and sulked. I understood the stakes now. I was trying to transcend the swing zone. Europe and the Middle East had no idea a swing zone even existed. Here in Bodgaya, this was a given. It was already being engaged. Ngondro was a HIGH STRESS practice to get to LOW STRESS. The faders and arahats, who also descended in droves here, would have none of this. It was NO STRESS or bust! But whether you were a fader or a stayer, the new riff was BLACK and WHITE STRESS in the subtle realms. Would-be angels could get stressed out too. At Auschwitz, it had all been demon stuff. IT was GROSS. Humans had already checked out. Now in Bodgaya, humans were also checking out, but taking the elevator UP. But the STRESS was still there. The initial release and freedom could fool you. The mambo beat was subtle. The Oom-ta-ta-poom-poom-ta could still fry you, if you weren’t careful.
Life at “The Airport” had its ups and downs. Indians, Westerners, Theravadans, Zen guys, and Tibetans all added color to the huge Samantabadhra spectacle Lama had cooked up. Begging children would sometimes riot when offerings were passed around. My Ngondro flights also wavered and surged. I started logging my flights and charting the waves. Five hundred, seven hundred, and finally a thousand prostrations a day. That was the peak. All kinds of mental sludge poured out. I was sick a lot. My dreams frightened and exhausted me. I saw Summer’s bloated corpse rotting away in the hot sun; it had a queasy blue tinge to it. I saw myself being accused in court of turning the spiritual path into a commercial art work. I WAS SELLING OUT. Silly conflicts broke out over the use of the Ngondro boards which were strewn out all around the stupa site. A bald-headed French woman wrapped herself around her coveted board and hissed at anyone who touched it. Two days later, I started developing chest pains from the constant slamming of my body against the hardwood boards. Lama told me to put a rolled up blanket on the board. I could feel his mind following me constantly. He sensed my fatigue and KNEW when I was at the stupa and when I wasn’t. Diarrhea fluttered through my body and weakened me further. Thumb and toe infections plagued me like hairy ghosts as I continued my canoe trip through unknown spiritual waters. Mornings were usually better for flying than evenings. By the end of the day my energy was usually gone.
Lama was younger than I was, and his role of elder teacher was confusing at times. He watched over me like a diligent father, but also would come and hang out with me in my room, like a close buddy laughing at my jokes and thumbing through my photo albums. Lama would always give me a short dharma talk. “Always distribute the weight of your body evenly when you dive. That way you won’t hurt yourself. This is all about BASIC NATURE. Everything comes out of it, everything returns to it, and everything is in it. There’s no separation,” he said with a slight hiss. “Always give offerings to everybody, this will expand your mind faster and help the individual you care about more efficiently.” Lama looked straight at me, anticipating a question. “You mean one tide lifts all boats?” I inquired. “Yes, something like that,” he nodded slowly. “You start from the high ground, this limitless vision amplifies your compassion. It’s not an easy lesson to learn,” Lama mused.
Bero’s monastery had all kinds of erotic frescos. The Buddha at birth looked like the curly baby Jesus. Buddha’s Mom walked around bare-breasted a lot. This was a big contrast to outside where pathetic hairless dogs manged around searching for any scrap of food and dirty Bihari gamins burned plastic bottles for cheap thrills. Bodgaya was a study in extremes. Yuppie Indians adjusted their T-shirts and focused their cameras with minute care, while nearby, professional beggars took turns waiting in line for their undeserved alms. Bicycle rickshaw drivers waited like patient vultures outside the gates of Bero’s place. There was no escape for me or anyone else. All I could do was puja my way out of my nasty mindframes. Summer’s photo seemed to wink at times from its cozy little corner on the altar. The blonde bomber also got in her licks. There were rumors that Nepal was lowering its visa bribes. The noise pollution in Bodgaya never let up. All signals were hopelessly garbled. Telephone calls were scratchy. Megaphones and muezzins snuffed out the holy chants, and I soon realized that the year was almost gone. The Burmese place was now Bodgaya, and Jim had been transformed into Summer.
A Supernovae as seen from Bodgaya:
Events in deep space have influenced terrestrial affairs over and over again, sometimes decisively. The most common agent of these changes has been the nova: sudden amounts of explosive radiation being thrown out by a star, with supernovae being the grandest explosions of all. There have been rumors that writing and arithmetic were inspired by such stellar fireworks. The ancients had myths about a specific star-god teaching mankind how to write and count. Supernovae don’t happen often. There have been none in the Milky Way for over four hundred years. Only large stars turn into supernovae; our sun is too small for such a stellar drama, that’s why supernovae are rare. Their sonic boom creates new star systems and destroys old ones. It has been calculated that supernovae occur within one hundred light years of our sun, every sixty million years. Anything that close to the epicenter of this stellar mushroom cloud could have a few problems. A refreshing fact: the rate at which species have become extinct on Earth seems to peak about every sixty million years.
Another refreshing fact: gas, insomnia, and massive chest pains continued to torture me. My mind and body were being cleaned out with spiritual DRAINO. I read up on the crazy saints who lost all awareness of their bodies. Bugs ate their flesh and many almost starved to death. Lama warned me not to be inspired by such weirdoes. “Just keep doing the prostrations, don’t waste precious time,” he urged. I could feel Lama’s powerful mind give me a boost whenever I began to furiously flag. The practice often tasted like poison in the beginning phases, but that’s because so much psychic garbage was being flushed out. Only later did the practice start to taste like nectar. And there were many nectar days when I seemed to float many miles up in the air. I let the bliss wave carry me to wherever I had to go. Miraculous recovery always followed each surrender cycle. The poison days guaranteed this.
The purification days rolled on. My stomach problems churned me and infected my spirit. Lama came to my room to check up on me. I propped myself on the corner of my bed. “How are you today?” the karmic surgeon asked. “Oh, I’ve done about five thousand prostrations and I think that’s about it. I’m too weak to do more,” I quietly complained. “Good, good,” Lama intoned. “Don’t waste time, do as many as you can. I used to do four thousand a day.” So Lama, said as dogs began to bark outside. I dreamed that the blonde bomber’s ship was sinking fast. It was Christmas and the Big Puja was finally over. “Tell me more about Tantra,” I asked. “Well, there is only one peak and many paths to it. There are also all sorts of delusions on every path. Tantra is the best bargain you can have in a single lifetime. That’s what the Vajrayana’s about. You yourself have a profound philosophical outlook, but you must check your non-compromising ways. People have a hard time with it. Karma can be transformed, but it’s tough work. Jim and the Great Dane are merely hallucinating. This happens a lot. The Vajrayana is a tough path. You know, even the idea of karma has no meaning in the higher vajra realms. Still, Sharmapa and his clan are heading for trouble. Right now, Situ, the regent who found the new kid in Tibet, is stuck in Rumtek, trying to ease the strains of this mess. It’s important for you to stick to your practice and stay out of politics. These negative vibes affect everybody on a subtle quantum level. Do you understand?” Lama then got up and slowly made his way to the door. “Rest up,” he counseled in a fatherly tone.
Bodgaya on a quantum level:
Kalu, Bokar, Lama, and myself soon entered the metal enclosure surrounding the Bodhi tree: so the physical universe does not exist independent of the thought of the participator. We construct ourselves and each other. Self-organizing fields come and go. We construct our individual realities. There are an indefinite number of possible worlds. Each individual world forms all others and each individual world is connected to all others. There is no beginning. There is no end. There is only change. For all of us an indefinite number of worlds exist simultaneously. All things are possible. All things are interconnected. Most connections cannot be perceived in ordinary states of consciousness. You cannot move without influencing everything in the Universe. You cannot observe anything without changing the object and even yourself. It is even possible that just thinking about an object can change it and yourself. There is life in everything, but with varying degrees of consciousness, and time is not absolute. Neither is space. The entire Universe and all the knowledge in it is contained within each individual and each thing. Every part contains the whole and matter is light trapped by gravity. Time always flows in many directions and space is not nothingness. It’s all just constant interaction between vibrational patterns. There is something other than space time, but we don’t know what it is. Thought patterns and their vibrations structure all matter and light as we experience it. The mind may be a filter, psychokinesis is real, telepathy also. Light can be bent out of shape as things materialize and dematerialize over and over again. Water temperature can be changed. Metallic structures too. There is time travel and space travel and mind travel too. There can be total knowledge of others and of the present, and of the past, and of the future too. Reincarnation is a fact. Auras are a fact too. Teleportation is real. Healing with the mind too. It’s also possible to be influenced by higher levels of consciousness. Consciousness, the totality that is everything. The Universe is not contained in anything. It contains itself, and if you want something badly enough maybe the mind layer in which this something dwells will link up with your perception and appear in front of you someday just like magic. Indeed, every thought, every dream is an awareness of another reality that coexists. Individual awareness can be guided to the most harmonious of futures. Basic energy relationships just manifest concurrently throughout an indefinite number of levels of perception. We simply experience the relationships differently at different levels. When we communicate with others we are simply talking to ourselves so that old knowledge can finally re-emerge. Even reincarnation is a form of self-communication. We don’t have to control or direct anything. All we have to do is to allow consciousness to find us. Then the thought becomes the experience. Actually, there is no death, only a change in awareness, just a change of cosmic address. There is only change and lots of it. We must understand the basics. When thought and experience become one, consciousness has changed. All is constructed from thought and all mind worlds interpenetrate and all we have to do is reunite ourselves with our selves. As we turn inward we will realize we directly affect all worlds and the need to take responsibility becomes important. So why are we here? We are here, really, in order to contact higher consciousness. This consciousness is called LOVE and it’s the real us. And it will find us eventually and someday we won’t stop smiling. And when we walk, we’ll float, and the light will simply just pour out of our eyes.
Bodgaya from the Newtonian level:
I knew now that my mind had healed Summer, and was still healing her every second of the day and night. Our karma was very strong. I also knew that she was healing me. My dread began to ease, the tough Ngondro shuttle had landed. I would never sell my mind short again. Lama was soon leaving for parts unknown. He gave me some money for security. I decided to go out for a walk. Bodgaya, weeee! I was leaving confusion and nonsense behind. I watched the farmers push their animals in their tiny matchbox fields. I was in a First Wave time-warp. Life seemed so simple and cruel. America had too many distractions. It was hard to lead a spiritual life there. I realized now that the ancients everywhere were more advanced than our greatest scientists of today. Was there a cosmic law? The more advanced a material technology, the greater the spiritual retardation of a culture? Was that why the Tulku failure rate was so high now, since the Tibetans went into exile? Material technology demanded outward focus. It was a game of outer conquest. Spiritual technology demanded an inner focus. It was all about inner conquest. “We’re living in a debased age,” Lama had once said. And he was right. We were living in an age of GROSS STRESS of all kinds. The age of SUBTLE STRESS had vanished long ago. The little monks playing with their computer games were the New Wave now. I watched the farmers silently pushing their animals. These toiling beings were performing the one noble function of their time. Like a sentinel, the stupa stood and gleamed in the distance with its secret and silent promise of redemption. The haze floated lazily in the dusty streets nearby. There was a strange silence in the air and fleecy clouds hung in the skies like silent outlaws. IT had creeped up on me, yet again.
Mahakala. It was time to go visit him. Lama was now taking all the monks to Mahakala’s cave for one last excursion into bliss. I missed the bus and was helped by a kind and selfless Tibetan nun. We bussed through the Hong-Kong-like streets of Bodgaya and hopped off in the middle of nowhere to get to Mahakala’s cave. A small boy guided the nun and me through the parched yellow wastelands. We then forded a small river. It was a timeless scene. The sun was golden and the air was a milky blue. We found ourselves walking in a desert graveyard with its sandy hot spaces and sudden biblical shade, and we could see the old cave and its dusty monastery, high up in the chocolate hills silently beckoning to us in peace. For it was here that Mahakala dwelled. It was a harsh land. The inhabitants toiled eternally in its suckling fields; to them the computer and the A-bomb were irrelevant. The dense, dark, and ancient earth was all that mattered here. Millions of beggars awaited the nun and I at the foot of the mountain. All had their hands outstretched. Their sad eyes oozed a broken kind of strange and hungry illusion. This was life in the stone-age jumble and these beggars knew it; they all were resigned to their ugly karmic guilt.
I found Lama whipping up a storm at the cave. The wrathful puja drums ceaselessly pounded the arid landscape. I sat down and felt the sweat on my brow. I went into the cave and mingled there. This was the final coda of my private pilgrimage. I could see Lama kicking ass and releasing all kinds of greasy clinging. When it was over, Lama led the flock down the dusty steps into the mouth of the begging mobs. “Many of these beggars were once thieves,” Lama explained. “That man with no arm maimed a saint,” he continued. “What about people who are physically beautiful, but always sick?” I asked. “That’s easy,” Lama answered. “They are the kind of people who hurt you with a smile.” I remained silent. I wanted to ask no more questions. The begging mobs stalked us all the way to the bus. Lama let me videotape these curious waves of humanity as they exploded and scattered to the beat of coin tosses and silly food flings. Our bus roared off leaving the mobs choking and chasing dust fumes in fields baking below the slowly fading sun.
That night millions of candles were lit at the stupa. The pilgrimage season was at an end and the whole scene reminded me of APOCALYPSE NOW. Mist and light bathed the ancient holy ruins as people milled, prayed, and chanted about. Food was distributed to all the beggars as they were gently guarded by a chain of angelic kid monks. The discipline and compassion of this little mission of mercy impressed me deeply. I followed little Kalu as he was carried around the endless maze of celestial corridors. The little holy toddler would stop and light a candle, then chant silently, only to resume the chore of lighting yet another sacred flame. I asked little Kalu for a blessing. So he blew on my mala and WHUMP! The force of the blast threw me against the wall. THIS WAS KALU! He really had come back. I asked Kalu to send Summer a blessing. He excitedly shook his head up and down. I was so thrilled. This was angel talk and it was so sweet.
The next morning it all ended. Everyone was leaving, except me. Little Kalu touched my forehead one last time as he was preparing to leave with his family. He let out a jazzy squeal and quickly cupped his hands in playful benediction. I was satisfied. He and I had finally physically bonded in this lifetime. Then it was Lama’s turn to say good-bye. “Take care of yourself,” he cautioned. “Watch your pockets,” he added. Lama then slowly walked off into the silent haze, his assistant trailing closely behind him. Soon the buses arrived and all the monk kids noisily disappeared as well. I was now alone, sick and depressed. My spiritual family was gone and I had only a few days left to recuperate before my next ordeal. I was going to Calcutta now, and my money was almost gone.
