* * *

The yak herdsman sang, as if to his yaks, "The full moon, tonight..." And later, he sang, "like a rising moon, my beloved..." And the yaks munched and nodded, as if they knew all the words to all the songs of Je Bo Tangsang Wangbo, as if all these sounds were as natural as wind and water.

* * *

Dorjii and I did not know where we were going. But luck was with us, we found a village that had a functioning sky-burial site. We knew that from the cloud of vultures which circled a spot just beyond the outskirts of the village. It was a flat rocky area amongst giant boulders. Everywhere there were posts driven into the hard soil, from which, one to the other, hung long strands of prayer flags. There were so many of them that the area looked like a wall of tattered tents. Few, if any, held any of their original colors any longer. Most, however, still sported the printed letters of mantras, and the image of the jewel-carrying wind horse. All of these were flapping in a steady wind which did not seem as if it would ever stop. But in this judgement we were wrong. For no good reason the wind would die down for a few minutes and the flags would merely hang there, shivering and quivering. It was during one of these lulls in which we approached two men at their profession, dismembering a corpse and getting it ready to return to nature via the sky burial, the vultures, or whatever other birds and animals came to help in this activity. They looked up at us, which to them was only Dorjii, and she spoke. "I have further work for you." "Yes, yes," they said, looking away from her battered face, grinding some bones to make it easier for small birds to eat them.

"Pay attention!" she said, tossing them the silver coins, which they grabbed before they rolled away. "Is this enough?"

Now they looked up grinning. "More than enough," one man said. "Where is the body?" At that moment, the two men had been looking at each other in satisfaction and not at Dorjii. She uttered one word, "Here!" They turned to see her collapse as I let go and left her body.

"What? What"" one man cried, leaping forward and touching her. "Aroo!" he cried. "By the pillars of the sky, she is dead!" The other held back, his eyes popping, his face like a kupie doll. "I don't like it!" he said. "It's magic. We had better not touch her. She might still be alive." "Yes, yes," nodded the first one.

"We won't touch her. Not lucky. It is usually a relative who pays, not the corpse itself!" "Besides," said the second one, "we already have the money."

Watching all this made me furious. I reentered Dorjii and lifted my head. "We made a bargain!" I rasped. "If you don't keep it, you will be cursed!" and with that, she fell dead again.

"Oh, by Buddha's toe!" cried the first man. "We had better do it." He tested her pulse and looked at her face. "She seems dead," he said. "I guess that was her last gasp." "UH> UH," said the second man. "Let us get to work and leave quickly afterwards." "Yes, Yes," his friend said, "Let us hurry before it gets dark."

"And," said the other, "before she changes her mind!" "No likelihood of that," the first said. "This body is very cold already."

I watched somberly for a while, looking away at the first swing of the chopper. I could hear a series of them follow. I also could hear them speaking softly to each other but loudly to the corpse. The words which they addressed to Dorjii were apologies for being clumsy and reassurances that soon there would be no body as such left, and hopes that she was satisfied with their work.

I looked at the vultures, who were beginning to hobble on their feet nearby. I noticed a red fox making his way up between the boulders. Saying "AUM MANI PADME HUM", the invocation to Chen-re-zi, the Changchug Sempa of Compassion, i left that vicinity going towards Lhasa.

* * *

"My landlord's daughter," you sang for the first time, "blossoming beauty," cup of hot chang in your hand in the tavern at Sho, "Peach, high on a branch, unreachable!" "Very good," they said to you. "Very good, Je Bo Tangsang Wangbo!"

* * *

"Ah, sighed Ippolito Desideri, "if I could worship my Lord Jesus as well as these people worship the Cotton Clad Mila!" "Be of good heart," said the old Jesuit. "These people are barbarians! They even worship their supposed god-leader, who drinks, is a whore-master, and writes obscene songs!"

"Ah," signed Ippolito again, 'I do not understand it at all! I have been studying their religion at Sera Gompa. Some even think that these filthy love songs have a religious basis!" "Oh, Mother of God, protect us," said the other, crossing himself. He did it over and over, faster and faster."

* * *

"You bit me!" he said. "It will leave a mark!" Pema smiled at him, looking angelic. "This way, Je Bo, other women will know that you are mine!" He rolled on top of her, smiling. "They know that already! I don't wish to see them, now that I have found you!"

"Those are only words," she said, nibbling upon his earlobe. "They can fade and wash away." He laughed and softly created a song for her. "Words written in drops of black ink can be washed away, but what is imprinted on the mind, none can destroy."

He moved his hand and she giggled. "But what is that?" He answered, but he did not speak. Do you remember that?

* * *

"You cursed blue man," spat Sengey. "If you think that he is here in Lhasa, why can't you find him?" Dai Goro Bogdu squinted his red rimmed eyes. "It is simple," he stated flatly. "He is hiding in a body somewhere. But he must come out, sooner or later."

Sengey scowled. "What if he finds a body he likes, and stays in it?" he asked. The blue man laughed. "Then we will wait until it dies!"

The Tibetan shook his head. "That is all very well and good for you to say. But I cannot wait for decades for such a death." The blue man smiled. "Perhaps we can accelerate the rate of death in Lhasa with an arranged war. Some slaughter would be helpful." "Hmmm," said Sengey. Neither one of them noticed a nomad visitor to the Jokhang temple, doing awkward prostrations.

* * *

This name. Not that name. Before being named. A name before the name. A word before the word. Wordless.

* * *

Yes. Yeah. Sure. Nodding. Nodding. Carmella, god. Carmella! Merely the sight of Orion.

* * *

Oh, God. What is it? I don't know. Why should I know? God! To tell the truth, that is merely an expression.

* * *

Nyima is dead. Dorjii is dead. Pema is dead. Who is this Je Bo? What was his name before all of this? Can it be said? Can it be sung? Is the only human thing to do to praise it? Or fight it? How can you speak of the unmanifested?

* * *

I and I. You and you. He and she; they are lovers.

* * *

CLICK of the wheel. Goodbye forever. NO! None of that! What good is that? Don't fall into that trap!

* * *

Yes. Yeah. Sure. You're the superior one. You're the one that is always present. Whatever happens before your eyes, to the people and to the words, you continue to persist. You hang on, hold on, without even trying very hard. Well, then! Pay attention! You'll miss the spaces between events! Between thoughts! Ring! Ring! Ring! Howl! Why do little children suffer! I spit upon you!

* * *

Do you want to be a god? What for? Just to be crucified?

* * *

A rainbow over the Potala. i ran to see it, to catch it. The swampy ground stopped me.

* * *

The unnamed, the nomad, circled, clockwise, the Jokhang. With him were other pilgrims, merchants and Tibetans of the city. Around them were stalls and merchandise which occasionally stopped some of them. The Tibetans were not dualistic purists. People had to buy things, so what better place for shops than near one of the holiest of temples?

Some eyes must have observed him, for soon three men intercepted the nomad. Each elbow was gripped by a man on either side, while the third confronted him directly in the front. "Don't you recognize me?" he demanded. And you remember? I, truthfully, said, "No." "Isn't your name Sonam?" he answered. I made no reply, and the two men interjected, "Why bother asking! We know who he is!"

But the first persisted, and I did not feel happy about it. "Your name! What is your name?" he asked. Of course, being a visitor in that body, and not having been introduced, i did not know. "UH," I said, "Uh!"

"Let us be done with it!" said the man on the left. Suddenly a knife appeared. "God!" I thought. "They really don't like me. Whoever I am!" And with this basic recognition of the situation on my part, I left that body quickly. I zoomed away while it collapsed at their feet. Nervelessly, the hand which held the knife dropped it, letting it clatter next to the dead nomad. I did not look back.

* * *

What? What is it? Ayesha? Is it really you? How long has it been? Ah, yes, I see. You got married. That's nice. Congratulations. You have a baby? Uh, congratulations again? What? He's already in school? Why, uh, why, time does fly. Doesn't it? And your husband and you, well, uh. I see. Divorced. So you thought you'd just check in on me, to see how I was doing? Yeah. I see. No, I'm not mad. Uh. I've been busy, too. UH. How is my body? You've moved! But the body—oh. Still in the Egyptian coffin, but in your mother's attic? Yeah. I guess so. i understand, your sons friends might wonder at it in the living room. Yes. Yeah. Sure. Uh. Uh. Hum.

Listen, I'm glad you're talking to me. I need some help. Look up, somewhere, at the library, anywhere, whether the Mongols invade Tibet. Yeah, during the reign of the sixth Dalai Lama. Yeah, only one "l" in lama. His name is, was, Ringdzen Tsangyang Gyatso. I'll spell it for you. What do you mean you know how to spell it? Hey. Wait! Where are you going? Your son has to be picked up at school? What? Ayesha? Gone.

* * *

RING! RING! RING! DZEN. DZEN. DZEN.

RINGDZEN TSANGYANG GYATSO.

RING! RING! RING!

* * *

I was flying about in the Nd-Drwa, both dark and light fields, moving in and out above the Potala, singing a song of Milarepa. "Knowing the meaning of the wordless,' I sang, "forgetting dictionary definitions, I say to you, learned one, see if you can find this in any book!"

It was just then that I spotted Thubten Sengey and the blue man, just as they saw me! "There he is!" they cried in unison, hurtling in my direction. I dropped completely into the blue sky above the palace, with them in hot pursuit.

* * *

Near the so-called highway was this beautiful peach of a girl. Was her name Pema or Susan? Pema! It was Pema! Don't get confused!

* * *

I had to escape! I couldn't be fussy! I had to do it now!

* * *

AH. AHRRGH! Electricity! Everything shuddering through me! Falling down, shaking and quivering. A face before me, half outside, half inside, like a kupie doll undergoing shock therapy.

* * *

Who are you? What are you? What are you doing here?





* * *

There were no dying people or corpses about. I couldn't be fussy! I would have to enter a live person. Thus I streaked down towards the roof of the Potala Palace. Large hammered gold lion faces overlooked a crowd of dignitaries upon that rooftop. Desperately, I chose a young man, who unlike many of the others, did not wear monk's robes. He was standing near an open doorway when I dove straight towards him and with an electrifying impact, into his very body. The force of this entrance threw him off balance, and he stumbled into the nearby chapel with its darkness, Buddhas and flickering lamp lights. "Where has the Gyalwa Rinpoche gone?" I heard someone ask, but paid no more attention, since I was being smothered by waves of energy, which was, it seems, the consequence of being in a body that was already occupied. I, he, we shook and quivered with the spasms of erotic fever. AH! AHRRGH!

* * *

Footprints in the snow. I am sure that the old yellow-hat lama has seen me. But there is nothing to be done about that. After all, am I not the Presence? And cannot the Presence come and go as it wishes?

* * *

"Vile self-rationalizations," spat the Chinese Amban.

* * *

Ayesha! Okay, tell me. What news from the history books? The Mongol armies! Tell me about the Mongols! What? Invasion? Slaughter? The destruction of all of Lhasa? Good God! When does this happen? 1702? Dammit! That doesn't help! They don't use our system or calendar! Oh? When the Dalai Lama reached age twenty? When he took his vows in Shigatze? Fine! That will help! Uh. How is your son? Oh? Doing fine in school, especially art? That is nice. how is your mother? Yes, I appreciate the use of her attic by my body. Oh? She doesn't know. Okay. I certainly won't tell her. Yes. Goodbye for now. Yes. Goodbye.

* * *

Dai Goro Bogdu and Thubten Sengey did not see where I had taken refuge. This was more than a guess on my part. I discovered this later from the talk of others who had been upon the Potala roof. At the time, I, we, were to wrapped up in the merging experience. It was not easy. I had no time to pay any attention to anything else. With two beings in one body the resulting conflict was sensational, to say the least. While I was going through the adjustment, out of sight, in the nearby chapel Sengey ferociously was investigating the bodies of the people on the roof to see if I had entered them. Of course, this caused a painful turmoil, temporarily, of which I heard later.

It was obvious that he did not find me. Else I would have known about it. And in the hours that followed, there was enough of other things to learn. First of all, I had to calm the owner of the body which I had entered. This took a wile, but eventually the intense turmoil subsided. it was just as well, since the erotic overtones of the joining was exhausting until it faded away. The Tibetan I had entered was an intelligent young man. He, at first, thought that he had been entered by a malignant spirit and was frightened. However, even in the midst of his greatest fear, he did not succumb to hopelessness. Finally, as the electricity, which surprise had induced, subsided, we managed to communicate.

"What are you?" he repeatedly asked until I reassured him that I was human. It was not easy to do, but finally, feeling that no harm was being done to him, he accepted my visit. i did not tell him about Sengey or the blue man, since I did not wish to frighten him again. He began to accept me merely as an inner voice. I helped this along by not interfering with his control of the body. That would have thrown him into a complete panic. I tried to be as soft a presence as possible. it seemed to work I did not wish to leave to the Nd-Drwa too soon. I waited.

* * *

"ERIN-NOON-SHIM-TAL", the words rang through the darkness. Sengey looked at Dai Goro Bogdu. The other frowned in return.

* * *

"You?" you asked, "are the Presence?"

"So I am told," you answered.

* * *

Yes. Yeah. Sure. The Changchub Sempa of Compassion. What do you think you are saying? "Well," you said, 'i am neither layman nor priest, neither grey robed nor yellow. It is like a yellow mouthed cloud with black within, the source of freezing rain and hailstorms. AH!" Could you be a foe of the Buddha's teaching? Don't you know?



* * *

"Why do we not just kill everyone in the Palace?" said the blue man. "Thus we will know if we have got him or not."

The invisible Sengey went in and out of audience rooms, private bedrooms, small and large chapels. "You do not understand," he growled. "We want him alive!" The blue man laughed, "But you have tried to kill him yourself!"

The Tibetan nodded. "Yes, but that was a slip, a letting go, a loss of temper. I lost control of my mind momentarily. But that shall not happen again!"

Dai Goro Bogdu squinted and pressed his white lips together tightly.

* * *

"Why do you call me the god-king?" you asked. "I am no god, and as far as the title 'king' pertains, that is a foolish word." "Oh?" I asked. "Are you not worshipped, and are you not ruler?" "Revered indeed, for that which is incarnate," you answered, "mystery of mysteries. Ruler is the least of these."

You seemed to wrestle with these thoughts, so I did not pursue these words. But in the silence which ensued, I heard a singing, sweet beyond any voice. "Lhasa gathers great assemblies, Chung-gye has the pretty peaches, AH! It is in Chung-gye, my love, 'Little Intimate' lives." An emotion of unknown quality saturated us both. It was not happiness or joy.





* * *

Ring. Ring. Ring. The great wheel shines in the sun, resting upon the roof of the Jokhang. The metal deer listen adoringly to its silent spinning.

* * *

"I shall disturb you no longer," I said, as the Presence turned the pages of a manuscript. "You need not go," you smiled. "I am not disturbed. The words of black ink before me do not leave the page. My mind rests elsewhere." "Ah," I said, "but my presence may endanger your Presence." You laughed. "Not likely, " you said.. "There is only one Presence."

"It would be interesting," I said, to stay here indefinitely and live as an incarnate Changchub Sempa." "Ah," you said, "but then you would run the risk of becoming a god-king, as you say." "That is not real problem," I suggested. "What do you think?" "It is pleasant to have a private guest without a host of observers," you said, "but my being might endanger yours." "How is that possible? Do you think I would be swamped by compassion?" I asked.

"No, no," you laughed. "But," and he seemed to whisper, almost inaudibly, "If I die, you may also." I was surprised by this talk of death from such a young man. "Fear not," I said. "Even in the worst of circumstances, I shall not be caught off guard." And you, in reply, said, "I shall do my best to hang on, to hold fast." "And I," I said, "shall remain for the moment." "Good," you said.





* * *

"Measuring movements of the constellations," we sang, "I drew mandalas of the deities; though her sweet flesh is near me, her mind I cannot measure."

* * *

Circle around Mt. Kailash; rainbow around Rirab. You and you. I and I. circle around the wheel. What is it? Who observes the twining? Words after Words. The spinning of the prayer wheels and the flapping of the prayer flags. Horses with jewels on the wind!

* * *

The chang was hot, and the dancing girls in Lhasa lovely. There were taverns in many of the villages and lovely flowers blossoming everywhere. "Suzy," I thought at the sight of her. "Pema," you said.

* * *

"What shall be done?" they asked. "He does not act like Chen-re-zi." But they answered themselves. "Who are we to say how a Changchub Sempa should act?" "But a monk," insisted others, "we know how a monk should act!" "That is true," one said, "but he has not taken those vows!"

"We must insist that he do so!" others growled. "Insist?" the regent asked. "We had better try, merely, to persuade the Presence of his duty to the people and the world." "Yes, yes," they agreed. "That is what we meant."





* * *

Yes. Yeah. Sure. We try to leave at night when we cannot be observed. We go through the Naga King's Park and stroll steadily towards Sho. Later, we do not walk back so steadily, or so silently. "Here comes the cuckoo," we sang, hearing inside and outside, "from the lowlands with as much fluid as the yearly rains, I've been joined to my love, peace has come! To Body, speech and mind!" We stumbled, simultaneously of course, on the lower steps of the Potala Palace, even though the moon had peeked out from behind clouds.

* * *

The Tibetans knew the songs and they knew their source. They felt that it was a blessing from Chen-re-zi to know the words. it was both sensual and religious. It was also not religious and not sensual. They did not understand all the meanings, but then, they accepted the words like the rays of the sun without analysis and debate. "Of course he is the Presence!" they insisted if any foreigner would question them about his behavior. "He has a purpose for all which he does. he is spreading his merit everywhere! He is inexhaustible! He puts his Presence here, and he puts his Presence there. Wherever the Presence is put, there is joy, delight and bliss."

* * *

"Do you not believe," asked one chang drinker, "that these flower girls are only trying to drain away your spiritual merit?" You remember his saying that? Je Bo squinted at him, and laughed. "They can have all the spiritual joy they wish, for it is from the mind. It starts in the body, goes to speech and resides in mind. There, it is infinite in scope; material and spiritual. Fear not, there is no end to the unspoken, the unwritten..." "Words," laughed Pema, interrupting the work of his lips with the work of hers.

* * *

It was pleasant being a so-called god-king. Although Ringdzen Tsangyang Gyatso preferred to live a surprisingly simple and spartan life, it had a smooth rhythm to it, much to my liking. He avoided pomp and show, preferring to walk to being carried in palanquins or riding. Although he was sure to indulge in the pleasures of Lhasa, he did this as secretly as he could. He also studied scriptures and wrote about religion.

Of these, the general populace knew nothing. But his songs! Even the illiterate sang those. Their hearts memorized them, holding them as dear as prayers and mantras. His loves were many and I shall not speak of them, although their faces come to my mind as well as to his, for being in the body of a god-king took me everywhere that he, himself, travelled. Being in his body, I heard no more than he did, thus when news came that he must take his monkish vows, at last, I was startled as much as he was. "Why now?" we asked. The regent was diplomatic. "After all, your Holiness, you are now twenty years of age. Why not now?"

Tsangyang Gyatso had thoughts of his own about this which he did not share with the regent. I gasped at the conversation. He was twenty years old! Ayesha told me that the Mongols would destroy Lhasa when he was twenty! Not knowing how to prevent that, I thought of a plan to help him escape the live.

Tsangyang Gyatso had no intention of taking the full vows, but he said nothing. Upon my advice, he said he would go to Shigatze for the ceremonies and spare the Panchen Lama the trip to Lhasa. Everyone was delighted. I was as well, since we would leave the city before the Mongol army came. "When the cuckoo comes from Mou," we sang, knowing full well that he, the Presence, was said cuckoo bird, and that he was found in his birthplace of Mou, "my love and I join as one, in body, speech and mind." We were off to escape to Shigatze.

* * *

Yes. Yeah. Sure. Nodded. Nodded.