* * *

Aren't you grateful? Yield to me! What? They I withhold...

* * *

We made love near the lake, near the tree struck by lightning. In fact, it was during that first love making that the lightning struck, splitting the tree into two parts. However, when seen again, even apart, it was obvious that it was one living thing.

* * *

SENIOR. SENIORITA.

He tried flexing his fingers. He moved his index finger to the switch, and the wheels turned on the electric wheel chair. Around and around.

"AUM" said the monk

"AH," said the fulling tiger.

"HUM" came the noise of the wheel chair.

"AHRRGH!" said Dai Goro Bogdu.

* * *

"You cannot continue to outwit him," said Geshe Sengey. "In fact, you haven't done so up until now at all." "What do you call my survival?" I asked, a little proudly. he shook his head. I continued, asking him, "Do you think it is just dumb luck?" He scowled. "You certainly are dumb" he said, "but I do not believe in luck. He will grab you yet! Your slippery karma will be exhausted, sooner or later!" "Then teach me some siddhi, some magic," I suggested. he paused. "I dare not," he answered, and then, catching himself, said, "even if I knew any, which I do not, you are too unpredictable!" Laughing, I shrugged, "Then I shall be killed," I said, "and you will be stuck with gods like Dai Goro Bogdu." He pursed his lips tight enough to make them go white but said nothing.

* * *

"Well, well," said the blue man. "He is dead at last!"

* * *

"I could do so much, Geshe-la, if you would only let me! Don't you understand at all?" you had said to the monk. He frowned, turning his back upon you. "That is it," he said. "You would do too much. All the wrong things!"

"But," you insisted, "I have a theory. I've worked it all out. I've figured it out logically. I'm here now, but I came from a future then. Now can affect then. I could gain so much power, I'd be the greatest god!" "Pah," he spat out of the window, "talk of theories, logic and godhood. One ignorance compounding another. It all pollutes the truth of the law." You became annoyed with him and spoke too quickly. "And what is the truth? And what is the law?" He turned towards you and his eyes shone with something unimaginable. It may have been joy, or it may have been suffering. You could not tell. He did not speak. The room remained silent as the sun set, and as the moon rose. All the while, he continued to demonstrate the law.

* * *

Ah. Goodbye Suzanne.





* * *

The man in the wheel chair was not in his room. it was empty. I held my breath until I heard the sound of it coming down the hall. "HUM!" And he appeared. He was smiling as he worked his moving digit, the index finger. The chair zig-zagged around objects. His smile seemed all the greater because of his white moustache. The nurses must have enjoyed, under his direction, trimming it so neatly.

"Soon," he said to me, "I'll be walking. I'll walk right out of here!"

A nearby nurse, overhearing this, caught my eyes and sadly shook her head. He did not see this but responded nonetheless. "Don't believe the nurses!" He said, "I'll be out of here before Christmas!" I was startled by the forecast. It was mid-summer, and it had taken all this time to perform the miracle of the one finger. I said, "Yes. Yeah. Sure."

* * *

"The sixth Gyalwa Rinpoche," he mused aloud, as if to himself, "has long since been reborn." "What?" I asked, looking up from a scripture which I had been trying to read, unsuccessfully. "Dalai Lama," he sniffed condescendingly, "may be the way you know of him in your country."

"My time," I said, but he ignored that. "But, hardly anyone knows about Tibet where I come from." He tilted his head, and continued, as if talking to himself. "Tibet needs the Changchub Sempa of Compassion. Bodhisattva to your country." I said nothing. "Many years ago, the Great Fifth Presence passed away. It's been a secret, but I've known," he continued. He was very talkative for a change. "Luckily, other incarnations of Chen-re-zi can manifest or the world would indeed be dark. The compassion that such a being holds for the world is a great antidote." I almost spoke, but realized that I had waited too long. The monk was nodding, nodding. Soon he was asleep, sitting up. He was not demonstrating an obvious silent truth, for he was demonstrating a snoring truth.

* * *

The young Tibetan girl was at the door of Geshe Sengey's house. I was surprised when I heard the metal ring, designed like a snake with a skull's head, heavily performing its function as a knocker. "Why could be out here, in nowhere? And up this cliffside besides?"

She stood there radiant. I don't know why I thought so, but light seemed to flow out of her. her face dazzled me, and her eyes hypnotized me. I must have stood speechless for a long time. However, when she lowered her head, looking up while rolling her eyes, my feet shook. And when she stuck out her long pink tongue, my hands quivered. "I have been sent," her soft voice began, and then grew softer and softer, until I could not hear her voice. My blushing might have set hers off and we both stood there audibly breathing until I heard the monk gruffly shout, "Show her in, you imbecile!"

I was glad that he said it in English so she did not hear his words. The door clanked behind us, and we made our way up the dark stone stairwell. Although I led the way, I felt a feminine freshness of air following me until we reached the nearby room which held Geshe Sengey. "Ah, you are here at last!" laughed the monk, his eyes glittering with a light which I did not wish to recognize. She merely nodded, looking at the floor. He turned to me, a broad smile showing his teeth. in English, he stated matter-of-factly to me, "This is Dorjii, she is to be my consort."

I was stunned, looking back and forth between them. Such a sweet girl, and such an old man! My fists, hidden in the long sleeves of my chuba, clenched tightly, the nails digging into the palms. I tried to smile. What? In congratulations? But I thought hotly, "I will kill him first!"

* * *

Goodbye, Susan.

* * *

Ayesha. Listen. Find out who IPPOLITO DESIDERI is, I mean was. Yeah. Seventeenth century. A Jesuit missionary, I think. Where? Go to the library, and as a librarian. They know a lot of things. Yeah. sure. The mummy is okay, huh? Yeah. Well, take it easy.

* * *

Goodbye, Suzy.

* * *

The girl Dorjii just seems too innocent. She doesn't seem to know why she is at Geshe Sengey's. I don't know. What does she think, that she's been hired as a housekeeper? Damn. I'd like to warn her, but I can never get alone with her for more than a split second. And in that short time, her eyes confuse me. Why do I get so flustered? How long have I been in Tibet? Damn.

* * *

"Dai Goro Bogdu," I called, standing on the flat rooftop at night. I waved, my hands at the stars, as if that would attract his attention. The constellation Orion shone brightly. "Hey! Pay attention! You want to be worshipped? Well, I want something too! Let's make a bargain! Where are you?"

"Behind you," came a whispered voice and I spun on my heel, to see him floating in the air, twelve feet beyond the edge of the building. "What do you wish?"

I hesitated and answered. "Some siddhi," I answered. and when he asked further as to the purpose of these powers, I whispered, "I wish to kill Geshe Sengey."

He only said, "EREN-NOON-SHIM-TAL."

* * *

Goodbye, Suzi.

* * *

He was better with the wheel chair each time that I visited. Only once did he bump into someone, and at that time, it was the other person's fault. "No speeding!" the nurses laughed, half proud of his progress. However, after all, it still was only one finger. And after all, he still said, "I've got to get out of here. There's another nursing home. I'm on their waiting list. They must have therapy available." But time was passing. The longer into the stroke, the longer with no change, the worse the likelihood of change.

* * *

Goodbye, Sue.

* * *

"The Buddha has a threefold form," Geshe Sengey said. "Two manifest forms; one earthly, one subtle. And one unmanifested. Repeat after me." And I did. "Two manifest, one earthly, one subtle. And one unmanifested."

* * *

Goodbye, Su.

* * *

"You have delivered no knowledge," I snapped at the blue man in the dark night. He shrugged, "You have delivered no worship," he answered matter-of-factly. "You have to demonstrate the worthiness of it," I said. He laughed and turned to leave, floating over a nearby lake. "You don't understand worship at all," he said, flying off. "Hey! What about my siddhi?" I called after him. "It would slip right through your fingers," his voice came back. "You don't understand that, either." He was gone. Damn.

* * *

Ayesha? Desideri was an Italian Jesuit who travelled through India to Ladakh, then Tibet to convert them? Yes. Go on. Wait! Someone just came into the room. Uh. Uh. Dorjii. Hello. Ah. How are you? No, you're not disturbing me. Ah. What can I do for you? What? You were told to make love to me? What! Wait a minute. Uh. Wait. (Ayesha. I'll speak with you later. Yes. Yeah. Sure.) Ah. Dorjii, wait!

* * *

EREN-N0ON-SHIM-TAL.

Goodbye everything. Every thought, every manifested concept.

* * *

Afterwards, puzzled and confused, almost disappointed, the body of Nyima lay with that of Dorjii in his arms. She seemed to be asleep, but suddenly she sat up, dropping the covering robes from her body. I gasped again at the sight of her breasts with the dark nipples. "Do you know about Milarepa?" she asked, to my astonishment. "Oh, yes," I answered, reaching up to touch one nipple. "He's the poet saint who once had been a murderer and then changed, becoming like a Buddha."

"Not like a Buddha," she giggled, my thumb and index finger moving in a slow circle, "A true Buddha. You know his songs?" "No,' I said, wetting my fingers and circling the other nipple. "I shall sing one to you," she said. "This one he made and gave to a proud scholar, a man of words and books, who came to visit him." I lay back, the palm of my hand flat on her stomach, feeling it rise and fall as she sang the song. It was very warm, and very smooth, that stomach.

"Having long meditated," she sand with Milarepa's words, "on whispered chosen truths, forgotten are sayings of handwritten or blockprinted books. Accustomed to the study of the simple science, I've dropped the knowledge of explanation-saturated ignorance. My mind, accustomed to the uncreated freedom, I remember not the everyday fake and created."

My index finger played at her navel.

"Long accustomed to the meaning of the wordless,

Forgotten to me, are definitions and derivations of words and phrases.,

Go then, Great Scholar! See if these things are found in Books!"

My hand had stopped moving, and she settled down into my arms once more. She was beginning to make cooing sounds when I looked up to see the figure of Geshe Sengey. i do not know how long he had been there. I half expected fire to fall from his fingers, but it did not. He turned and left silently. "Dorjii," I said softly, "Geshe-la has seen us." "Of course," she cooed. "It was he who sent me to you."

* * *

Goodbye, words.

* * *

Ayesha. Listen! Don't be silly. It was just that, just that...

Ayesha!

* * *

When I went to see my brother, his room was empty. My heart sank. how long does a heart beat in an inactive body? "Oh, he's gone," they said ambiguously. "Where?" I asked in a whisper. "Over the hill," they started. I held my breath. "Over those hills north to another center." "Uh," I paused, angry at their way of giving information. "Why wasn't I told?"

A nose that looked as it it had sniffed something bad, "You're not listed as a responsible person." I said nothing. "I'm responsible," I angrily said to myself, "but not responsible for everything." I shook my head, went to the parking lot, and with a screech of the tires left the vicinity of that ex-school building. "I'm not responsible for everything," I muttered, driving faster and faster. "How could I be responsible for everything?"

* * *

"He is the one on the right," said one shadow. "Quickly! Kill him!" The knife was thrust forward.

* * *

Thousands of monks prayed, swaying, wrapped in their robes and firm in their keeping of their vows. Millions of Tibetans said the beads of their malas, struggling to be compassionate in a violent world. The ancient warrior psychology of these people did not manifest in attacks upon their neighbors, sought sweetness in their behavior and blossomed into a comparative happiness in the midst of a world of suffering. All believed in the powers of the spiritual life, of the mind and of those beings dedicated to helping them. These were the Chang Chub Sempas, Bodhisattvas, who forgo release from the rat-race of the cycle of rebirth, although they have come to the brink of Buddhahood. "I cannot go," they would say. "I cannot escape while others are suffering." That is what they say. Don't you remember ever thinking that? The people of Tibet think of it and pray and ponder it, day by day, minute by minute, bead by bead, as they finger their malas.

"AUM MANI PADME HUM."

The Jewel is in the lotus.

AUM. AH. HUM.

* * *

Dorjii went down the hill to get containers of water, since the cliffside had none. I wondered. Should I confront Geshe-la? But how and under what terms? How could I object to the situation? I was the one who had intercourse with Dorjii, not he. Should I be indignant about this? I was angry, and I did not know why. perhaps it was my wounded male ego. She had come to me allright. But under his orders! Dammit! I have to speak to him. I thought he said she was to be his consort? What the hell is going on?

* * *

The Potala was finished, and the previously-found rebirth of the Gyalwa Rinpoche was revealed. Some people were annoyed, but did not openly reveal it. The Regent was too powerful to challenge. The balance of power had been maintained vis-a-vis the Mongols and the Chinese, but all of that was now again open. Some other candidates were weakly put forth, but the chosen Sixth Dalai Lama soon was coming into Lhasa in a triumphal parade. He was already a young man, leaving boyhood.

* * *

The knife! Where is the knife? He had said it had made a click before he was stabbed. That was while he still could speak. it must have been a switchblade. But where was it? Gone! Hidden. it would be a miracle to find it.

* * *

Drip. Drip. Drip. The container which Dorjii carried moved and in its swaying dripped water on the stone stairs inside the doorway. She did not look at him, and he let her pass without saying a word. Drip! Drip!

* * *

"The Chang Chub Sempa," said Dorjii, "had to return to MYING DI to have his exploded head restored." "Mying Di? What is that?" I asked, looking up. Geshe Sengey snapped in Tibetan, thus Dorjii understood. "You imbecile!" he said. "Don't you know anything? Don't you remember?" I bit my lip, glancing at Dorjii. She looked away. "How can I be responsible for something which I've never heard?" I asked. He sneered. "You must be responsible for everything." "That is what a Changchub Sempa does," whispered Dorjii. "And that is why his head explodes?" I asked her. "Sometimes," she smiled. "but then he had Mying Di to go to for a replacement?" "Not only replacement," said Geshe Sengey. "He could then have more heads to work with."

"That's a lot of consciousness," I mused. Dorjii looked at me sweetly. The monk looked at a thangka, a painting, of a fierce blue figure, and said his beads, "AUM MANI PADME HUM." It was the mantra of the Changchub Sempa Chen-re-zi, the Great One of Compassion.

* * *

The stopped looking for the knife, but I did not.

* * *

He sipped his buttered tea, looking at me over the rim of the cup. I glanced up, and looked down, in rapid succession. His gaze was unswerving. I frowned, and bit my lip. "Yes?" he asked in Tibetan. I did not answer. "Yes?" he asked in Hindi. I remained quiet after that, and the following dozen languages—Chinese, Mongolian, Italian, French, etc. Suddenly, it dawned upon me what he was doing. "Geshe-la!" I asked, startled, "How is it that I know all those languages?"

He laughed and answered, "Perhaps you have absorbed my knowledge." He sipped his buttered tea and did not look at me. I could say nothing.

* * *

"Uh. Uh," she said.

"Hmm," I said.

"Coo," she said. "Coo-coo, you mean!" I said.

* * *

"And what about the reverse?" you asked the monk later. "Oh," said Geshe Sengey, "What do you mean?" "What have you absorbed from me?" you asked. "From you? What is there to absorb from you?" he laughed. "I know things also, you know," you retorted. "I doubt it, man!" he laughed. You shuddered. Dammit! What the hell was going on?

* * *

You cannot become immortal! Even a god must die," shouted Dorjii. Geshe Thubten Sengey laughed, and answered, "They are beings, great beings, but beings nonetheless. They are caught in time like all beings on the wheel of rebirth! I will go beyond being! Beyond time!" Her eyes rolled in her head, and she tried to pull away from the monk. "But he does not know the secret, so how can he share it?" "He is a fool," snapped the other. "He doesn't know what he knows! I will milk it from his mind!" "But will you kill him?" she asked. "Of course," he snapped. "For he is the only one who can stop me!" "AH!" she cried.

* * *

"This place is a little better," my brother said. "Food is better and they are trying to do some therapy." "Good," I said, looking out at the rolling hills covered with blazing maples in full autumn flaming color.. "Then I will get out of here!" "Damn," I thought. "He is still at it."

* * *

Dai Goro Bogdu smiled and spoke. "Do you still respect your Tibetan friend?" he sneered. I did not answer. In the silence, the floating blue man, hanging above me in the night sky, next to the constellation Orion, continued. "And how is that sweet little peach of yours? What was her name? Dorjii?" "She is not my peach," I snapped. "Oh, of course," he laughed. "Of course. I keep forgetting what a fool you are!"

* * *

She said; "He wishes to be the master of your world." "This is not my world," you answered. "It is his. I am the visitor." "No, not this limited world," she whispered, her eyes wide with hear. "Worlds that have not come yet. All worlds which will ever be!"

You frowned. "How could that be? He can't live forever," you said. "He expects you to help him," she said, turning her face away from you. "How?" you questioned. "With my help," was her solemn answer.

* * *

"Meditating on whispered truths," Dorjii sang, "Forgetting all that is said or written." And all the while, I contemplated murder, without knowing the means. "It's ridiculous I don't have a ghost of a chance. He has all the power!" I looked out the window and saw the monk on the terrace below. At first, he seemed to be dancing. But then I recognized that he was going through various motions very familiar to people in another century. He was concentrating hands at his chest, as if holding something. he took a quick glance to his left. Then he was winding up, bending forward, and thrusting his arm quickly out, as if throwing something. he was acting out being a pitcher in a baseball game! This is insane! What does it mean?

* * *

"You may know the meaning of the wordless," said the blue man, "but it will do you no good, since you have to belief." "You're insane," I spat out. But he merely laughed. "That filthy priest will not succeed over me, either. he doesn't have a ghost of a chance!" I shuddered at his choice of words. My legs shook.

* * *

Ayesha! Uh. How are you? Oh, sorry about that. Yes. I was interrupted by someone, something, important. Now don't be that way. Yes. I have an errand for you. Two in fact. Should be easy at the library. Look up the Changchub Sempa Chen-re-zi. No, not Changching Chubpa! Look. He is also called a Bodhisattva. Yes, of compassion. Called Avalokitesvara in India. Ava-lo-, never mind. Also Kwan-Yin, yes, Kwan-Yin, as a Goddess of Mercy in China. Yeah, for some reason there is a sex change. Not important. But look up the Tibetan one. See how many heads he has. HEADS. H. E. A. D. S. Eleven, sometimes at least. The other thing? Oh, yeah. See when the Mongols invaded Tibet, early eighteenth century, thereabouts. Got it? Okay. Talk to you later.

* * *

It was more pleasant when Geshe-la and I travelled to Lhasa in our bodies, he in his own and I in Nyima's. It was longer that way, and harder, but a little more gratifying. At a slower pace, you could see rocks, feel the ground, and taste the wind. The Tsang-po River was the major feature of the flat valley with its quickly encroaching mountains. It was in semi-flood when we made the trip. Various islands and peninsulas appeared which were usually on the shore. Upon them were erected poles full of flags, as if to ward off the floods. However, one of the most impressive sights before we got to Lhasa was the great Buddha carved into a cliffside near the trail. it was only a bas-relief, but the flatness of the image jumped into space, due to the colors which had been applied to it. As we approached it, we came towards it from the edge. As a consequence, it swung out at us like a great hinged door. A Buddha door. Travellers prostrated before it, piled stones before it or threw katas, scarves, up at it. I did the latter, making it drape over and stick to his nose because I had wet it first. The Tibetans were impressed by my method. Geshe Sengey frowned. The Potala Palace was unfinished and everyone assumed that the Great Fifth was still alive. Geshe Sengey learned form the soon-to-be-killed Netchung Oracle that this was not so. Luckily, the regent did not know that we were aware of this.