Shambala book 02:13

Transcription

Shambala book 02:13

Shambala
- The Path to Paradise -
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Shambala
- The Path to Paradise -
A Novel
David Dakan Allison
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This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events are either the product
of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Shambala
- T he P ath to Parad ise Text copyright © 2013 by David B. Allison
Published by Ki Earth, Inc.
823 NW 56th St. Seattle, WA 98107
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Allison, David Dakan
Twins of Kashal / David Dakan Allison
ISBN 978-1-4507-0593-6
1. Fantasy 2. Romance 3. Detective
4. Himalaya Mythology. 5. Adventure - Fiction. 6. Spirituality
7. Dementia 8. Reality Fiction 9. Travel 10. Portland, Oregon
11. Kathmandu 12. Immortal Masters 1. Title
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition
All Rights Reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in a review, no part of
this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information
storage and retrieval system, without permissions in writing from the publisher.
Printed in USA.
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Namaste
I honor the place in you that is the same in me.
I honor the place in you where the whole universe resides.
I honor the place in you of love, of light, of peace and of truth.
I honor the place in you that is the same in me.
There is but one.
Namaste

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Listen to the reed . . . how it sings of separation:
Ever since they cut me from the reed bed
my cry has caused weeping. . . .
Whoever has been parted from his source
longs to return to the state of union.
--Rumi
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Shambala
Part One
-
The Mystery-
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A comprehensive history of the St. Clair family from 1725 to
present day is included in the back of this book.
Haiku by David Dakan Allison
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Shambala - The Path to Paradise
I was old. Eighty years old. After twenty-nine
thousand moons I welcomed death, even though I
entertained no good reason besides old age to
suggest it. Still, it pulled me to itself . . . until finally . . .
a stroke took me by surprise. In physical weakness,
with mental and spiritual resignation, I thought I was
ready, stood most willingly at the tunnel entrance,
waiting for the passage light when, for reasons I didn’t
then understand, that door closed; the passing was
postponed. My entire being was suddenly shrouded
in stillness. Starting in Aries - the days of Taurus were
lost in coma, in the almost certain dark curtain of
death.
They said it would all end that still dark day in
April; the monitors said so, the doctors knew.
Robert St. Clair
1
1
R aking his garden-a sparrow glides by-the forgotten past.
After nearly forty-five years of police work, Captain Jimmy
Meriweather was six months shy of retirement. Sitting on his
futon, he looked around his office, remembering how it used to
be before he finally turned the mess of banged-up police
furnishings into his personal Zen retreat. Gone were his framed
diplomas and certificates, the twelve most wanted posters, the
beyond repair pressboard shelves stacked with decades of case
files--paper references to another era, the classroom sized green
chalkboard scribbled with names, clues and guesses, lines
leading to Scotch-taped photos of people and places, scribbled
names on yellow Post-its--and its companion cork-board,
cluttered with push-pinned memos, notes and mostly ignored
inter-office such and such that went into the trash at the end of
the month. "
That was all gone--over thirty years of Jimmy
Meriweather’s police history now rested in peace, in a dark
corner of the bureau’s archive basement. "
Jimmy smiled and looked at the street and office
windows covered with noren curtains. Shakuhachi flute music
filled the darkened space, contrasting the world outside his door,
the crazy chaos of a metropolitan police bureau in full swing.
Relaxed in his serene ambiance, he eyed his shiny black marbletop desk, barren except for a centrally placed eighteen-inch
silver reclining Buddha, softly illuminated by the glow of an overhanging white paper-ball lamp. Behind the front door-facing desk
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an ancient samurai sword rested on its black lacquer display.
The one shelf of the black bookcase held just five books,
guarded by two fierce-looking celadon dragons: The Art of War
by Lao Tzu; A Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi; The
Way of Zen by Osho; The Essence of Aikido: Spiritual Teachings
of Morihei Ueshiba; and a tattered Many Gods, One Heart by
Lama Chogyal Da. Within the covers of these books was just
about all Jimmy needed to know, or so he thought.
"
He looked across the room to a white silk kimono which
hung from a horizontal bamboo pole. It was embroidered with a
green-eyed red dragon, dominating the right-to-the-entrancedoor wall. He then glanced at the white rice paper lamp to his
right--painted with the black kanji for honor, and the one to his
left, painted with surrender. They sat on shiny black end tables,
guarding Jimmy’s favorite resting place, the white futon couch. "
It was almost eleven o’clock on a Thursday morning; he
had nothing more pressing to do for the rest of the day besides
listening to flute music and sipping green jasmine tea. Jimmy
had already retired in his mind and, although his body showed
up for work everyday, his spirit for police work was long gone. He
had proved his worth after decades of exemplary service; so the
Chief tolerated his captain’s daylong retreats in seclusion. They
had agreed. No new assignments. Period. No new partners or
further captain responsibilities. A senior officer had already been
promoted to take his place, freeing Jimmy to ride out his time
with no questions asked. "
But that’s not what happened--the Chief broke his word.
A new crop of rookies had just graduated from the Police
Academy, and among them was an attractive woman named
Taylor Banks. All of the graduates were given street assignments
with a senior officer. But not her. She was immediately made a
detective, and assigned to partner with the bureau’s second
most senior police officer, Captain Jimmy Meriweather. 
3
Four months later:
The sky was full of ominous gray and a steady drizzle of rain
bounced off my black umbrella as we headed to Starbucks for
our morning coffee. Jimmy braved the rain with his wide-rimmed
oiled leather fedora and a long coat of the same material. He
looked a bit like a 19th century black long-rider. I stopped and
commanded my partner’s attention, disregarding the water
dripping from his brim, “Why is this happening to me, Jimmy?” "
He lowered his eyes and half-smiled. “There are no
external happenings, Taylor.” He liked answering me in cryptic
puzzles, my baffled look always eliciting a smug grin. Even in the
steady drizzle he stood erect as if the rain wasn’t falling, his solid
chest and flat belly in display of exceptionally excellent health for
a sixty-four year old man.
"
I liked Jimmy; respected and admired him, even though
my own secret snooping suggested he didn’t support my
immediate aspirations. I wasn’t supposed to be in his world,
which didn’t require an assistant at all. Apparently, after my
academy graduation, a heated discussion with the Chief ended
with an agreement--I was assigned to him and he would do little
more than babysit me until his retirement. And, as became
apparent after my first month, no homicide investigations
whatsoever would cross his desk. He told me on my first day that
until his retirement I would only be given missing person
assignments, under his supervision. For the past four months
I’ve had an occasional simple case to solve, about one a month.
Which is why I complain.
"
I’m not the sort of woman who needs babysitting. I’m high
wired, strong willed and anxious to get down and dirty with police
work. Jimmy agrees with me about my detective potential, and
even though I have a Master’s degree in Behavioral Science,
graduated near the top of my police academy class and come
from a high profile family--my father’s the commanding general
of the Oregon National Guard--Jimmy training me was obviously
not part of the deal he made with the Chief. My only recourse
has been a constant request to be reassigned and placed in
homicide. Jimmy always patiently listens. I thought he would
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understand my female and ethnic discrimination pleas, since he
began his career on the force as a minority. He was the first and
only African-American to receive that rank of senior captain in
the history of the Portland Police Bureau. As the semi-retired
commanding officer of Homicide and Missing Persons, he still
has the power to put me wherever he wants.
"
But all he does is wish me well and tell me that rookie
placements in homicide are rare, though I wouldn’t be the first.
The persisting bureau rumors, which I can’t help but hear, paint
me as under-qualified, arrogant and presumptuous, suited for a
street beat and nothing else. Jimmy agrees--saying the street is
the best place to begin--but he is not one to join in the gossip or
other negative office chatter. He disagrees with my insistence
that I was born to be a detective and ready for murder. To him,
nobody should be ready for murder, or the least bit interested in
it. Most of all he doesn’t want to become attached to me, or
anyone in the bureau for that matter--he wants the days to pass
quickly, without any new distractions. He plans on retiring with a
clean slate.
"
I’m aware that as a rookie I’m too new to be complaining
at all. I have whined to too many people, looking for some way in
the back door. My self-generated attention has only created
more negative rumors; questionings why I was made full
detective right out of the gate. Everyone seems to presume it’s
because my Army general father is buddies with Portland’s
mayor. These rumors exaggerate the facts, and although Jimmy
has no interest in them--the facts or the rumors, they continue to
disturb his Zen nature.
“Come on, Jimmy, you know what I’m talking about.” I paused as
he studied my strong facial features, considered by men as both
handsome and beautiful, neatly arranged and genetically tanned,
but hardened in a way that would take more than a few hours on
the couch to analyze, or so I’ve been told. “It’s been weeks since
that kid took off in his father’s Porsche. I spend my days sitting
outside your office staring into space. What am I supposed to
do? I’ve done my office socializing . . . I don’t think anyone likes
me . . . but I don’t care . . . there’s no one here worth talking
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to . . .” As we walked into Starbucks I continued, “I swear
Jimmy . . . one more game of computer solitaire and I’ll go
postal.”
"
“A bit dramatic. Postal after only four months?” He took off
his wet fedora and brushed the rain off his shoulders as we took
our place in line. “Practice patience . . . it’s not very long till I
retire.” "
“But it’s not right, Jimmy. I don’t think I can handle another
eight weeks of this. Make that two venti vanilla lattes,” I said to
the girl behind the counter. ‘Your treat today, Jimmy.”
"
He nodded, handing the gal a ten dollar bill. “You’re young,
Taylor. What’s two months? Relax.” He smiled at the counter girl.
“Keep the change.”
"
“I can’t relax. I’ve forever wanted to be a detective and
solve murders. How can you tell me to relax when the streets are
filled with low-life drug dealers, rapists and scum-bag
murderers?”
"
“We choose our reality, Banks. The myriad of things in life
are only as real as you want each one to be. I’ve come to realize
that homicide is all about people being who they aren’t--playing
out their nightmares--choosing a self-destructive reality. Do you
understand . . . it’s their nightmare, their bad choice, not mine. I
no longer wish to participate in this way of being. I’m not
interested in being attached to that frequency . . .”
"
“What frequency?” I was confused by his vocabulary.
"
“The frequency of polarity. Perpetrator and victim. Good
and bad, right and wrong. I’ve moved on. Homicide is like a bad
dream, and I’m done with it. I’m ready to rake the Zen garden
and go fishing. Make sushi.” Jimmy paused to make up a haiku.
“‘He rakes his garden. A sparrow glides by. The forgotten past.’
Do you hear what I’m saying?”
"
“Taylor. Two venti vanilla lattes,” the barista called out.
"
“No, I don’t,” I pleaded as I put the lid on my latte. “I’m not
you. You’re like an old walrus lying on the beach, and I’m the
beach bunny ready to go surfing. How about this haiku? Old
walrus lying. Beach bunny running. Get me some damn work.”
"
“That’s not a haiku.”
"
“Doesn’t matter. Do you hear what I’m saying? There’s a
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big difference between your four hundred years on the force and
my four months. I’ve had what . . . three or four missing-person
cases since I’ve been here? If you remember, I figured them out
right away. I’m good. You’ve seen me in the field. Come on,
Jimmy. I know the Chief gave you orders to hold me back, but
you have to give me something worth coming to work for. I need
to be out there earning my stripes.”
"
“Have you considered going into law, or using your
master’s degree to actually help normal people?”
"
“No. I’m here because I want to be here. My passion is to
solve murder mysteries. I want excitement. Sitting around all day
with a wannabe Zen master is not my idea of passion.”
"
“That’s too bad.”
Once back in Jimmy’s office I sat at one end of his futon and
continued, “I don’t care if I sound like a broken record, Jimmy . . .
there’s gotta be something . . . maybe you can find me another
partner. I don’t care who it is. Except Carlson . . . he’s an idiot.
You need to get me out of your hair so you can meditate in
peace, dream about sushi to your heart’s content, write poetry,
run off with your geisha or whatever else floats your sampan, or
whatever they call it. I’m here to work. It’s not right sitting around
wasting my talents, and you know it.”
"
“You are a piece of work, Banks.” Jimmy smiled. “OK. I got
something for you to do. Got an email from the Chief this
morning.” He pulled his Apple laptop from the side table and
turned it on. “It’s kinda . . . well . . . hang in there with me . . . It’s
another missing persons case. I know it’s not what you want,
but . . .” He paused while jotting something down on his notepad.
“. . . somebody has to go check it out.”
"
“It better be good . . . I’m going to scream if it’s another
daddy’s Porsche case. Wouldn’t it be great if I found the
body . . . and nailed the creep who did it?” Jimmy closed his
eyes and almost imperceptibly shook his head; I calmed down,
continuing, “At least it’ll be something to do and not another
round of computer solitaire. What is it?”
"
“Four dementia patients are missing from a gated facility.” "
“What?”
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"
“You heard me, Banks.”
"
“You’ve got to be kidding! You can’t be serious. Hunt down
four half-wits? Is this some sort of sick joke?”
"
“That’s OK. You don’t have to do it. Go back to your
computer games. I won’t bother you again. I’ll send Carlson.”
"
“No, no, no,” I objected, seeing the set up. “I’ll go, but you
gotta come with me. I’m still a rookie you know . . . can’t possibly
do any real detective police work all on my own, you know what I
mean?”
"
“All right,” Jimmy grinned, and then made up another
haiku. “‘He removed all pretense. Inside his mind. Emptiness’ . . .
Let’s see what you can do.”
"
“You got it, boss. Just watch how fast I figure this one
out . . . and after this you gotta get the Chief to let me in on a real
homicide. That has to be the next thing that happens.”
"
Jimmy rolled his eyes as we left his office.
8
2
At night
in love they sighed-remembering pleasures.
An hour later:
I brought the police sedan around and waited patiently in the noparking zone while Jimmy sipped his second latte. My boss had
certain eccentricities which he refused to alter--one being the
slow art of coffee drinking.
"
Every morning, Monday through Friday, Jimmy arrived at
work a little before nine, said a few hello’s, rescued me from
another game of computer solitaire and we left for our morning
coffee. We returned to the bureau around ten and he retreated to
his office for the rest of the day. If not for my frequent uninvited
visits, he would happily spend each and every day alone in quiet
solitude. During one of my interrupting’s he would pause, look off
into some sort of hole in space for several uncomfortable-to-me
minutes, and then recite a made-up haiku.
"
During the twenty minute drive to Troutdale Jimmy didn’t
say a word. I waited for the haiku that never arrived. Although I
wanted to finally say, “OK, let’s hear it,” I remained silent
knowing he resented being rushed or provoked by anyone,
especially me. When annoyed he’d employ one of his cryptic or
cleverly sarcastic responses--more often poignantly silent--or
sometimes decidedly harsh; a well-chosen response for best
dramatic effect. Almost always misunderstood, the joke around
the office was that if anyone were to go postal, it would be Jimmy
Meriweather. He resented the implications, but was fully aware of
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the confusion true Zen evokes.
Turning into the Happy Acre’s, I pushed the button at the gate
and waited patiently as it slowly cranked right to left, and drove
in, parking in handicapped. I glanced over hoping for a briefing,
only to watch as Jimmy exited the car, mentally surveying the
general area. “You go ahead,” he said looking back through his
still opened window. “I’ll walk around the building . . . see if the
missing are playing badminton in the back yard.”
"
“Yeah, right.” I wondered if I was losing my audience. “You
want me to do this without you? Who am I looking for?”
"
“A Mildred Rice, the director.”
"
“Got it. You’re coming in, aren’t you?”
"
“We’ll see. I’m just here to supervise, remember? Go for
it.”
I took a moment to look at myself in the rearview mirror. I
freshened my lipstick and ran a brush through my thick hair, and
then stepped out scanning, as Jimmy had, the park-like setting.
As always, I was impeccably dressed, this day in a tailored gray
suit over a salmon colored silk blouse. Although my daily clothing
statement had failed to impress anyone at the bureau, I really
didn’t care. My parents, especially my father, had taught me the
value of a good impression; to set a high professional standard.
"
The Happy Acres mansion was a huge red brick building
built in the late 19th century, ivy scaling the walls--set back at
least fifty feet from the road we drove in on. Neatly trimmed
hedges and flowering shrubs, shaded by maples, gave the
grounds a well-groomed look. The entire front area was eerily
quiet; not a soul around.
"
I walked up the ten, twenty foot wide front steps to the
veranda. Two eight foot high doors were curiously propped open
allowing free entrance into the twenty by twenty foot empty foyer.
The hundred-something-year-old interior was antiseptically clean
and, except for a large vase of flowers--mostly yellow lilies
centered on a large antique cabinet--it was devoid of life. There
was no one to greet me, or a sign indicating the whereabouts of
the office of the director. Strange.
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"
I contemplated a small brass bell, The Virgin Mary? and
finally decided to ring it. Within seconds the first door down the
hall opened and a late-sixty-year-old wiry matron, dressed primly
in forgettable dull cotton, stepped out and waved me forward.
“Come here, dear. You must be from the police department.”
"
The moment I entered Mildred Rice’s stuffy 19th century
office I felt apprehension, like a chicken wandering into the fox’s
den. This is creepy, my spleen whispered. Smells. What’s that
odor? Old lady stink? How do I start this? Guess I wing it. Maybe
they’re safely back in their rooms and I can get the hell out of
here. “Good morning, ma’am. I was told some of your old folk are
missing. They sent me to investigate.”"
"
“Tell me your name, dear. You don’t have to be nervous.”
She reached out to shake my hand.
"
“Taylor Banks, detective, Portland Police Bureau. I’m not
nervous.” I didn’t feel like shaking hands, but did so anyway.
"
“I’m Mildred Rice. Thank you for coming. Would you like
something? Coffee? Tea? The kitchen may still have some leftover morning biscuits.”
"
“Nice of you, but that’s not why I’m here. What can you tell
me about these missing people?”
"
”We’ve never had patients go missing before, you know.”
"
“I don’t know. When did you last see them?”
"
“Oh, they were all here last night, playing bridge,” Mildred
responded as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
“Please, have a seat.”
"
“No thanks.” I wonder if this goofy Mildred woman really is
the Director or if she’s one of the nut house ‘guests?’ I probably
should ask for a photo ID and her diploma. What’s the protocol
here? Jimmy, where are you? Last night? “Last night?” I finally
answered with surprise, raising my finely penciled eyebrows.
Why did she call the police so soon? “So, let me get this
straight . . .” I glanced at my watch, It’s ten in the morning, and
did the math. Isn’t there a twenty-four hour rule? “They’ve been
missing for a little more than twelve hours . . . and you’ve looked
everywhere and can’t find them?”
"
Mildred nodded. “They didn’t show up for breakfast this
morning. We checked their rooms, and the beds were still
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made.”
"
“And you thought that was enough to call the police?”
"
Without making a sound Jimmy slipped into the office.
Both Mildred and I watched as he sniffed the air, looking for the
source of the odor. He then moved around the room, checking
out the knickknacks, badly framed photos, and rosewood
shelves filled with romance and mystery novels. Opening a worn
Agatha Christie, he spoke to the book, “Are you sure they aren’t
hiding somewhere?”
"
“I’m sorry, Mister . . ? What was your question?” Mildred
asked, instantly annoyed by the tall black yesterday-handsome
intruder.
"
“I said . . . are you sure they aren’t hiding somewhere?”
Jimmy asked again in an affected detective monotone. I caught
the mischievous look in his eyes. He picked up an incense
holder, “Patchouli?” Then a framed photo of a younger smiling
Mildred, hugging a smiling woman. He continued, now speaking
to me, “I apologize, Taylor. This is your case . . . but I couldn’t
help but notice there’s a sizable forest in the back. Most likely a
woodcutter’s cabin hidden in the trees somewhere.” He looked
up at the ornately paneled ceiling. “This is one huge building . . .
a grand old mansion. I’m sure it has an attic with many rooms.”
He paused time, staring into the void before the haiku, “Many
rooms. They disappear. Four into the night.” Mildred gawked at
him, perplexed. “What does it say here, Banks?” He opened his
notepad and handed it to me, setting up the sarcasm. “Forgot my
glasses.”
"
“Two men and two women.”
"
“Yes, two men and two women.” His eyes shifted back to
the ceiling. “At night. In love they sighed. Remembering
pleasures.” I was seeing him in rare form--two haiku’s in less
than a minute. “Maybe they snuck off and hid in that
woodcutter’s cabin or, better yet, the attic. You know what I’m
talking about? A night of good old hanky-panky.”
"
“What?” Mildred responded in shock, as if he could even
imagine such a thing. She apparently decided that this black
man in front of her--with his drawstring cotton pants, red
Hawaiian shirt with palm trees and dancing hula girls, six-day
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beard, and stupid poetry--was beneath contempt, and needed to
go away. "
I was humored by his unconventional approach and open
display of Zen-ness, actually surprised he had said anything at
all. It was beginning to be the most fun I’d had in months.
"
“What does it say there?” He winked at me. “These
numbers?” He pointed to the numbers on his notepad which I
was still holding. Jimmy had perfect vision. I wondered what he
was up to.
"
“Seventy-six, seventy-eight, seventy-eight, eighty,” I read.
"
“Yes. All around eighty years old.” Jimmy glancing at
Mildred for the first time. “They’re probably all tuckered out
somewhere . . . if it didn’t kill ‘em. What a way to go, if it did.”
Jimmy chuckled to himself, then walked to her desk and, looking
Mildred square in the eyes, inquired in feigned seriousness,
“Where did you bury the bodies?”
"
“Bury the bodies?” Mildred huffed with indignation. “Sir,
you are out of line.”
"
“No, I’m not. This is a gated community. There are only
three possible explanations. At this very moment they are
somewhere within this compound, dead or alive. Or they are not
here, and you may or may not know where they went . . . and the
third . . . you’re just making this whole thing up and wasting our
time. One way or the other you have some explaining to do. I
suggest you tell my partner the truth. Have a good day.” Jimmy
left the office.
“I have never!” Mildred sputtered as Jimmy slipped out of sight.
“That man was intentionally provoking me. I deserve respect.”
Another fox had entered her den and she didn’t like it one bit.
"
“He was just being a detective. A good one, I might add.” I
chuckled inside, having just witnessed an artist at work. “So, are
you hiding them somewhere?”
"
“No . . . ah . . . that man was all wrong.” She visibly
swallowed.
"
“I’m not convinced he is.” I maintained a professional
composure and, with focused intent, leaned down with my hands
on the desk, suddenly aware that I was revealing a hint of my
13
cleavage and the leather of my police shoulder harness, both of
which caught Mildred’s eye. “Where are they?”
"
Distracted, Mildred stuttered, “I don’t know. They’re not
here.” She then composed herself, stood erect and gave me her
best angle. Blinking her nearly invisible eyelashes, vainly
attempting to attracted me, woman to woman, she continued,
“You know, Taylor. I can call you Taylor, can’t I?” She waited for
my response which didn’t come, and then offered, “We were
doing perfectly well without that man.”
"
“Were we?” I challenged.
"
“We were.” She sighed and took a deep breath. “What
about you, dear? Look at you, so well dressed. Salmon blouse.
Is it silk? And that leather holster. Nice touch. A nine-millimeter or
a thirty-eight? You’re probably their top detective.” I was
beginning to get the creeps as she continued, “You’re a very
competent woman, I can tell. It’s too bad you brought that
insulting man along. Why? Men only get in our way. You know
what I’m saying?”
"
“What? No! What are you saying?”
"
“You know.” She looked hard at me. “You’re thinking the
same thing I’m thinking . . .” "
I stared at her and backed away from the desk. “Not in
your wildest dreams,” I finally answered. I respect other people’s
choices, and I wouldn’t be interested in her even if that was my
choice. “Find someone your own age. I asked you where they
were and you haven’t answered yet. The Captain didn’t insult
you, but you certainly insulted me. He expressed a legitimate
observation. They are here or they aren’t or you’re making this
all up. One way or the other you’re avoiding the questions. I’ll
ask you once again, do you have any idea where the four people
might be? Just the facts, ma’am.”
"
“That’s what he said.”
"
“Who said?”
"
“Sergeant Joe Friday. You know, Dragnet? I love murder
mysteries.”
"
“Is that so?”
"
“He said that, too! Do you watch Dragnet?”
"
“I don’t. Listen . . .”
14
"
“Mildred.”
"
“Stop trying to make this personal, Mrs. Rice. Who you
hang out with, what you watch on TV or anything else, is none of
my business. People are allegedly missing and it’s my job to find
them. That’s all.”
"
I had enough of this obnoxious woman--glad to have a
case that took me out of the office, but not this one. The old
drama queen wouldn’t give me a straight answer, so I turned and
walked to the door, ready to join my partner in the car, where no
doubt he was back to dreaming about coffee, sushi and geisha
girls.
"
“All these mystery books and TV shows help us to be
better detectives Taylor, don’t you think?” Mildred was like a dog
who won’t let go of the bone. “It’s good to know how Raymond
Chandler would have solved the murder.”
"
Almost out the door I turned, humoring her with a
response, “If this were a murder case, and I’m sure it isn’t, it
would still be none of your business. Philip Marlowe would have
slapped the broad, I thought. “You’re not the detective, Mrs.
Rice, I am,” I asserted. “So I’ll ask you one more time. Where do
you think they are?”
"
“I have no idea.”
"
I took a second to unconsciously rub the mascara off my
eyelashes, then reached into my pants pocket. “Here’s my card.
Leave a message if they show up. I’ll be back in the office
Monday morning, and if they’re still missing we’ll expand the
search. We’ll find them one way or the other.” Without saying
goodbye, I turned and left the office.
Pausing on the veranda, I studied Jimmy, who was sitting,
waiting peacefully in the car below. This was the first time he had
done anything more than observe. He had said what he needed
to say to Mrs. Rice and left the room. Did he expect me to get
more out of her, or did he see her as a lost cause? Even though
I had begged for a new partner and real-life murders I could sink
my teeth into, I admired how he handled the old hen, and was
curious of his thoughts so far.
15
3
In a heart beat
love whispers:
trust me
On our way back to the police station I filled Jimmy in on what
had transpired after he had left the office, including Mildred’s
indiscrete suggestions. He frowned and said two things: “She’s
withholding information” and “Patchouli incense?” I wondered if
he was seriously considering whether or not the dementia
patients had actually disappeared. He ignored the question when
I asked.
"
Back at the office he locked his door, pulled the dark blue
kanji-inscribed curtains tight, put a Bach tape in his CD player
and went back to his meditation. As far as I knew, he was back to
his normal behavior, as if nothing had happened.
To me our visit to Happy Acres was an intriguing field trip;
Mildred Rice a spinster worthy of a Dickens novel. Finally
disregarding her dramatics, I considered the possibilities and by
noon had convinced myself of what Jimmy most likely figured
from the start--that the missing old folks would end up as nothing
but a misunderstanding, a bogus case of no consequence. Upon
their return, Mrs. Rice would remember that she had long ago
authorized an overnight field trip, and that would be the end of it.
"
I spent the rest of the afternoon reading a Rex Stout
mystery, wishing I had an office like Jimmy’s where I too could
take a nap, which I was sure he was doing by now. By four
o’clock I couldn’t stand it any longer. I tapped on his door and
looked in as I usually do, seeking some sort of closure to the day
16
and week. He was lost in his meditation, so I retreated to the
police gym, the one place where I could relax my active mind to
counting reps, feeling pain and wiping sweat. After years of
fitness training, I had advanced to the “insanity” level: a selfguided nonstop regimen of aerobics, weightlifting, bag boxing,
Kundalini yoga, treadmill and so on; a routine that would
debilitate most people, but invigorated me. Even though I knew
my exercising was an adrenaline rush addiction, I was happy to
be in top physical shape.
"
After my strenuous workout I lingered under a long hot
shower, thinking about my last boyfriend, a fellow rookie police
officer. It had been months since we stopped seeing each other,
and I missed the pleasure of a man’s intimate touch.
"
On my walk home I picked up a package of spicy tuna
sushi and a couple beers from the neighborhood market. Once in
my bare-bones apartment in the downtown Portland Pearl
District, I gobbled the sushi, wished I had bought a second
package, washed it down with half a bottle of Deschutes Porter,
and stared into space. I glanced at the kitchen clock and
wondered what I was going to do for the next two hours--until
NCSI came on at eight.
"
After ten minutes of channel surfing, I turned the TV off
and sunk into the black leather couch. Even though I didn’t want
to, I began thinking about Mildred Rice--the weird amateur
detective wannabe. It occurred to me that I had a similar
reputation at the Portland Police Bureau--Am I a weird wannabe
detective? I got up and grabbed my beer, took a big gulp and
flopped back down on the couch to continue lamenting my
predicament, my lack of real police work. Even though I was
tough and could handle difficulties and disappointment better
than most people, even I knew that I was at my breaking point.
"
Dusk soon settled over the city, shadowing my apartment.
I was tired, more in spirit than body, and wished I could just
disappear for awhile and wake up--totally involved in the perfect
murder case--respected, honored and acknowledged for being a
master sleuth--with a handsome man, the man of my dreams, in
my arms every night.
!
Sitting there in my empty house, I realized how I would
17
never admit to my own emptiness, my loneliness and sadness,
even though I was now overwhelmed with these feelings. I
starred into the shadows and was caught off guard when tears
formed in the corners of my eyes. I never allow myself to cry.
"
But the tears came none-the-less. I had no power to stop
them. As I sunk into the leather couch unhappy images of my
childhood flashed by. I saw myself as an unkempt little girl, a
virtual orphan. My mother was emotionally distant, like an
uninterested aunt who occasionally visited. She dressed me in
simple dull clothing, as if dressing her own child was a
bothersome chore. In my unhappy memory, my mother didn’t
hug or fuss over me as a mother should, didn’t tell me how much
she loved me or how pretty I was. My tears were soon replaced
with confusion. I wasn’t sure whether I was sad or angry.
!
I surrendered to a half-sleep and forgot all about time and
space and the couch. My story began to loop, until I half realized
that I was pathetically repeating exaggerations, possible untruths
about my mother and my childhood. I forced myself to open the
one eye that wasn’t pressed against leather. The living room was
dark and I thought it was the next morning. I bolted up.
It was seven o’clock and still an hour away from NCSI.
Not knowing what else to do I turned on the lamp and phoned
my father. “Hi Daddy. Do you have a few minutes?” He did and,
after exchanging our customary line of polite lies, I asked,
“You’ve always loved me, haven’t you?”
"
“Of course I have, pumpkin,” the highest ranked Army
officer in the state of Oregon answered. “Why do you ask?”
"
“I don’t know. Maybe you didn’t want your first born to be a
girl. You always wanted me to be a boy, didn’t you?”
"
“What? That’s ridiculous, Taylor. What’s wrong? More
problems at work?”
"
“What about mother?” I ignored his question. “I know she
never wanted a daughter.”
"
“That’s a wild and unfair assumption, Taylor.” He
remembered that I was immune to his political dodge ball.
“OK . . . the truth is, she’s much better around men than she is
18
around women.”
"
“What are you trying to say?”
"
“I’m saying, you need to give her a break. It’s not a crime
for a woman to like men more than women, even if the woman is
her own daughter.”
"
“That’s now. What about when I was growing up?”
"
“Just because she could dress herself and paint her face,
it didn’t mean she could do it for you. Parents aren’t perfect.”
"
“So you rescued me.”
"
“I don’t think rescue is the right word. What year are you
referring to? When you were twelve?”
"
“OK . . . twelve.”
"
“All I knew back then was how to train soldiers. There are
women soldiers, you know. You asked me to train you,
remember? And you took right to it.”
"
“You didn’t think that was a problem? Making a man out of
me?”
"
“I didn’t think that was possible,” he chuckled. “Even at
twelve you were a beautiful young woman. You needed to
toughen up and stop crying. That’s what happened . . . and look
at you now . . . a police detective. It’s what you always wanted,
isn’t it?”
"
“But not through favors?”
"
“What?”
"
“The Chief is holding me back . . . I can’t figure out
why . . . he won’t give me any real work to do. It’s bullsh . . .”
"
“Buckle up, soldier.”
"
“What does that mean?”
"
“When you join a service, no matter what service, you
have no rights as a recruit. None. Zero. You grunt out your basic
training and then if your commanding officer tells you to pick your
ass for a year you pick your ass for a year--damn square--yes sir
thank you very much sir for letting me pick my ass sir. Do you
hear what I’m saying, Taylor?”
"
“It’s not fair.”
"
“Life isn’t fair . . . being a low ranked anything isn’t fair . . .
especially with you being the daughter of an old bastard like me
when everyone thinks I got you the damn job . . . it isn’t fair . . .”
19
"
“Did you?”
"
“Not directly . . . You’re a Banks for Christ’s sake.
Governor, mayor, commanding general, police chief . . . we kiss
each other’s asses, share favors. That’s how things get done.
What do you expect? Put in your time, Taylor, don’t buck the
system and you’ll see . . . you’ll land on your feet. Is there
something in particular I can help you with?”
"
“I thought . . . never mind . . . it’s just . . . do you think
Mother ever loved me?”
"
“My God, Taylor. What’s going on?”
"
“That’s a fair question.”
"
“Hardly . . . you’ll have to ask her yourself. Shall I put her
on?”
"
“No, that’s OK. It’s not a question a grown woman should
have to ask her mother. I love you, Daddy. We’ll talk again soon.”
I hung up and lost myself in a thousand miserable thoughts until
NCSI brought me back to the business of murder.
20
4
The potato woman lies-acorns underground-the fruit farm.
Monday morning:
I sat at Jimmy’s empty desk staring at the reclining Buddha. The
curtains were drawn and the lamps were off. Early daylight
peeked through curtain slits, interrupting solemn shadows.
Jimmy sat lotus-style in the middle of his white futon; eyes
closed in meditation. He wore a different Hawaiian shirt--with
palm trees and rolling surf--and his beard was beginning to fill
out. I wondered if I’d have to wait until his beard reached his
chest before he stirred.
"
“Jimmy,” I said loud enough to wake the dead.
"
“It’s OK baby, I’m coming,” he mumbled, clear enough for
me to comprehend.
"
“Jimmy! Wake up!” I yelled, shattering the ambiance of the
room.
"
“What? Where am I?” He opened his eyes and let them
roll around in his head.
"
“You’re at work.” I waited until he found focus and looked
at me. “You know . . ,” I spoke in my normal voice, “Zen masters
shouldn’t be dreaming about sex.”
"
He grinned, pointed at me and laughed, “Gotcha goin’,
didn’t I?”
"
“Jesus, Jimmy. I don’t know about you. Let’s go. It’s nine in
the morning. Starbucks time.” At that moment my cell phone
21
rang. “Wait a second,” I said to my slow-moving partner, his feet
now on the floor. “Let me get this. Probably a wrong number . . .
Banks here.”
"
“Is this Detective I Banks?”
"
“Yes. Who’s this?”
"
“Oh, good morning dear. This is Mildred Rice from Happy
Acres. We met last Friday.”
"
“Oh yes, I’m sorry. I was going to call you first thing. Did
you find your people?”
"
“That’s just it . . . they’re still gone. I waited all weekend.
Can you come over?” "
“We’ll be there within the hour.” I closed my phone.
“Jimmy, you ready?” He nodded, stood and stretched. “Those old
folks are still missing. We need to go check it out . . .”
"
“After I have my coffee.” As always, Jimmy savored his morning coffee, and when tired of
my impatience he took his place in the front seat of the black
sedan.
"
Approaching the entrance to Happy Acres, I reached out
the window and pushed a button which was set in the brick wall,
ten feet from the iron gate, which then opened without intercom
communication. We both wondered if we were being watched, or
if the gate opened no matter who pushed the button. I parked
close to the entrance, as before. “You go on in,” Jimmy said. “I’ll
let you handle it . . .”
"
“You’re going to come in, aren’t you?”
"
“I will. It’s your case . . . I interfered a bit too much on
Friday. This time I’ll do my best to keep my mouth shut.”
"
“It was perfect, Jimmy. Come on. I may need your
interference.”
"
“We’ll see . . . I’ll be there in a little while.”
I walked up the steps and through the doors into the Happy
Acres mansion. Nobody was around. The rosewood floors had
recently been waxed, and the whole place smelled antiseptically
clean. A new larger display of fresh cut flowers accented the
back wall of the expansive foyer. I lingered a while, taking in the
22
surroundings and again thought it odd they didn’t have a
receptionist or someone to greet visitors and guests. I wandered
into the dining room, roughly counting the chairs for around sixty;
I wondered how many people lived at the facility. Through a
window I could see the activity room, where twenty-some
patients were busy, doing I couldn’t tell what. I returned to the
foyer just as Jimmy walked in.
"
I was glad he decided to join me, and started toward the
office. “Are you coming in?”
"
“Eventually. You go ahead.”
The environment was too quiet, or so Jimmy thought. They can’t
all be in their rooms. Maybe all of them escaped. Wouldn’t that
be something? He wasn’t in a rush to see Mildred Rice again, so
he began snooping around. He also walked into the dining room
and spent some time observing the patients in the activity room.
He counted them. Twenty-three. Makes sense. This place
couldn’t hold many more. Bingo. They’re playing bingo. I wonder
how they remember the numbers . . . or what they get when they
win. As it was his nature, he made up a haiku. Bingo. A winning
number. Nobody knew.
I entered the office without knocking. Mildred, in a neat black suit
and white silk scarf, immediately stood up. “It’s so good to see
you again, Taylor,” she said with an affected smile. “Would you
like some coffee?” I shook my head no.
"
“Please sit.”
"
“Mrs. Rice . . .” I started in before being interrupted.
"
“I was never married, dear. You can call me Mildred. You
look lovely today. Quite lovely.”
"
It was apparent that Mildred was romancing me, which
was so unexpected and out of place that I could hardly believe it
was actually happening. The creepy feeling returned. “Mrs. Rice,
I’m sorry to hear your people are still missing. I’ll have to ask you
some questions. Get some background information about them.
I’ll need to know who they are and how far gone they are . . .
please don’t look at me that way.”
"
“I’m sorry . . . I . . .” She looked down like a blushing
23
fourteen-year-old. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
"
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. So let’s cut the
crap. This is not some kind of check-out-the-hot-detective
opportunity. Calling us after twelve hours the other day seemed
like a joke . . . but now four days missing is no joke. This is
turning into a serious police investigation. Got it?”
"
“What would you like me to do?” she asked in a way that
made me want to smack her.
"
“Pay attention and answer my questions. The first is the
same question I asked you on Friday. Where do you think they
are or went or could be?”
"
“I told you I don’t know.”
"
“I don’t believe you. Let me rephrase that question. Do you
have any idea who would take all four of them away from here at
once?”
"
“Oh . . . one of the men, Archibald Goodwin . . . maybe he
would.”
"
“Archibald Goodwin? What kind of name is that. You’re not
serious?” I said as I opened my note pad. “OK . . . he’s one of
the names you gave us. You’re suggesting he had something to
do with the disappearance? Why?”
"
“Because he’s different than the others.” Mildred looked up
to see Jimmy standing at the door.
"
“How so?” I massaged me temple, attempting to ease a
new pain in my head, brought on by either the rancid patchouli
odor or the conversation I was having.
"
“He moved in a few weeks ago. Let’s see . . . it’s been
three weeks.”
"
“Moved in? You mean he was committed.”
"
“No, he walked in by himself and paid me one hundred
thousand dollars for a year . . . a briefcase filled with hundred
dollar bills, mind you. I gave him Betty’s room.”
"
“Let me get this straight . . . some guy checks himself in
the nut house with a hundred thousand cash? Isn’t that a bit
unusual?”
"
“That’s what I mean. I told you he was different. The
hundred grand isn’t unusual . . . that’s the going rate, but . . .”
"
Jimmy was ready to interrupt before I took the words out
24
of his mouth. “Doesn’t matter. You’re now telling us you think one
of the patients, this Mr. Goodwin, may have taken the other three
out of here? How is that possible . . . and why didn’t you tell me
that on Friday?”
"
“I didn’t think it was important.”
"
“Not important?” I raised my voice and then took a breath.
“What does he have to do with the three he allegedly took?”
"
“They were playing bridge . . .”
"
“So this Archibald was playing bridge with the others?” I
repeated in exasperation, looking back and noticing Jimmy for
the first time. “The night they disappeared, correct?”
"
“That’s right. Thursday night. The four were in the dining
room playing bridge.”
"
“So they were playing bridge. What does that have to
do . . .” I stopped and took a breath, stifling the impulse to
strangle. “Who else should we know about? Is there anyone else
who might have helped them escape?” I continued my probe,
looking for Jimmy’s approval. It was now apparent to me that
Mildred was withholding information, and I wondered just what
the spinster was up to.
"
“Mr. Goodwin has a private caregiver. He’s young,
nineteen or twenty. I think the boy’s name is Tinzle or something
like that. He was there that night. The boy looks like he’s from
India. Anyway, he usually takes Mr. Goodwin to his room
between eight and nine.”
"
“OK, this is good. The guy has a boy who takes him to his
room at night.” Jimmy couldn’t help himself. “We’re finally getting
somewhere.“ He walked into the office.
"
“You’re an assuming man with a very nasty mind . . .”
"
“OK. I take that as a projection. Do you mind if I take a
seat?” After Mildred reluctantly pointed to the chair in front of her
desk he sat down, looked at his notepad and continued, “So I’m
going to repeat a question Lieutenant Banks just asked. Why do
you think this Mr. Goodwin has anything to do with the
disappearance of the other three?”
"
“I don’t know.”
"
“Just answer the question.”
"
“Maybe because the four were together playing bridge and
25
then they were gone. I think all at once . . .”
"
“Like they dematerialized?” Jimmy quipped. After thirty
seconds in the uncomfortable chair he stood up and moved to
the bookcase, picking up the little brass incense holder. “Do you
actually like the smell of patchouli?”
"
“Are you mocking me, sir?”
"
“Just picking up the scent. Continue.”
"
“What was the question?”
"
“They dematerialized?” Jimmy was beginning to feel as
though he was again butting in on my investigation. He wanted
to leave all this nonsense to me, but for some reason the puzzle
that was being presented was more compelling than the futon in
his office.
"
“More like there were four at the table playing bridge . . .
then someone noticed the women were gone, and then the men.
It’s not so strange--they often help each other to the toilet. Sopi
was in a wheelchair, you know . . .”
"
“How would we know that?” I broke in. “They went to the
toilet. So?”
"
“Well, they never came back.”
"
“Wait a second.” I lacked the patience of my partner, and
decided to continue the questioning with more aggression.
“Unless there’s a worm hole in the toilets, or an underground
tunnel in the bathrooms, they would have had to exit the
restrooms and somehow escape over or through the perimeter
walls. I haven’t walked the grounds, but it looks like there’s a
twelve foot wall surrounding the property--too high for old women
to scale--and a ten-foot steel entrance gate with spears on top. I
looked but didn’t notice an inside button to open the gate. Just
using logic . . . and discounting the worm hole and bathroom
tunnel idea . . . they would have left the toilets, walked out the
entrance door and escaped through the front gate. You have
security cameras don’t you? Tapes? You monitor everyone who
comes and goes, is that right?”
"
“I don’t think so . . . no. Yes, we do have cameras, come to
think of it, but I don’t know how they work,” Mildred answered,
apparently losing me advantage.
"
“Excuse me!" I bluntly stopped her, suddenly feeling like a
26
hard-core detective on one of my beloved CSI shows. "Seriously,
lady. Get with the program. Four crazy old people, one in a
wheelchair, disappear. I don’t think they were beamed up. Did
anyone see Archibald’s boy Tinkle, or whatever you call him, out
in front with the getaway car? See them all get in a car and drive
away? Seems like a simple way to get out of here to me. . . just
get in the car with a perfectly sane driver and head out the gate.
Where’d they go? And why? That’s all we want to know. You’re
presenting us with some nutty weird shit, but I’ll play along with
you. So tell me, do you think this twinky boy showed up with a
gun in the toilet and kidnapped them?” "
Jimmy rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh.
"
“Twinky boy? And don’t say crazy . . . it’s not that simple,”
Mildred replied, obviously excited by my forceful behavior, and
now wanting to show signs of the competence that got her hired
in the first place. “The four are benign elderly people in varying
stages of dementia . . . I’m not sure about Arch . . . doesn’t
matter . . . I’ve created a family atmosphere, so they are all
happy and content here. You must understand . . . these people
have no desire or reason to escape. The walls are only for their
self-protection, since some of my patients wander. Archibald had
been here three weeks. That’s enough time to see that, like the
other three, he loved being here. Not one of them would ever
want to leave, as far as I know. Why would he give me that much
money and leave three weeks later? The Indian boy kidnapping
them is . . . well . . . ridiculous.”
"
“You don’t even know his name. How do you know what
he’s capable of?” I asked, still considering strangling the woman
in front of me.
"
“OK . . . So you don’t think they were kidnapped. What
else?” Jimmy asked in a very calm voice, apparently hoping to
settle me down.
"
“What else? Well, I did call Jane Vahn Friday morning after
you left.”
"
“Who’s Jane Vahn?”
"
“She’s the daughter of one of the missing women. Jane
told me that the Indian boy didn’t return home that night.”
"
“Do you know this to be unusual?” Jimmy asked, looking
27
at his notes. “You said the boy was twenty, which makes him an
adult and not a boy at all. What does this Jane have to do with
the Indian . . . man?”
"
“Jane lives in Archibald Goodwin’s former home. I guess
Mr. Goodwin knew Sopi from before and hired her daughter . . .
maybe she’s his maid . . . I don’t know,” Mildred nervously
answered, resenting Jimmy’s manner of questioning, even
though he spoke in a pleasant way. “I told you that he recently
moved here . . . and has a caretaker . . . who lives in Archibald’s
house, too. I’m sure all that is in your notes.”
"
“How could it be, when you’re just telling it to us now?
Seems to me we have to squeeze everything out of you?” I said,
now convinced the spinster was toying with us. “So you’re telling
us that Archibald’s caretaker is also missing. Five people
missing, not four.”
"
“Seems like it. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
"
“Tell me Mildred, how many more surprises are in your
closet?” I asked, staring her down, hoping that would end any
hope of her considering a romance in this or future lifetimes.
"
“I beg your pardon.”
"
“Yes, you would have to beg. So, how much do they pay
you to bullshit people?”
"
“That’s confidential,” Mildred boldly answered, staring me
down.
"
“Nothing is confidential.” Jimmy said matter-of-fact. “We
live in a transparent world. You need to be forthcoming, Mrs.
Rice. Tell us everything you know about these four . . . ”
"
“Nut cases,” I said the words Jimmy had no intention of
saying.
"
“They aren’t crazy or nut cases,” Mildred insisted
defensively, forcing herself to look at Jimmy as if he had spoken
the words, not I. “Or whatever insulting name you want to use.
They are good people suffering from dementia. And, by the way,
Archibald Goodwin may have the right to come and go as he
pleases.”
"
“The right to come and go? How so?” Jimmy met her
daggers with stillness.
"
“He told me that he owns the place.”
28
"
“Is that so?” Jimmy offered as he closed his eyes and
rested his forehead in the palm of his hand.
"
“He owns Happy Acres?” I repeated with surprise. “This is
priceless. Some guy with a hundred grand cash in his pocket, a
big wad of hundreds, walks off the street and checks himself into
the loony bin. What, three weeks ago? And tells you he owns the
place. And you’re thinking, OK, he’s got a bunch of money, he
must own it. Makes sense . . . considering the prevailing
environment. But tell me, Mildred, did you like . . . take the time
to follow up on this? Find out if it’s true. You know . . . a
background check. What if I told you I owned the place. Would
you believe me?”
"
“Well . . . it could be true that he’s the owner. I mean it is
possible. He walked around acting like he owns it . . . and I
guess I didn’t think it mattered one way or the other.”
"
“Well let’s pretend it does,” Jimmy offered.
"
“He was a really nice man . . .”
"
“My God, woman . . . I can’t believe this.” I threw up me
arms. “Really, Mrs. Rice . . .” I put them down and shook me
head. “You’re giving me a migraine. Tell me, have you ever met
the owner . . . I mean the real bona fide owner? The one who
employs you and pays your salary?”
"
“I haven’t . . . that is why . . .”
"
“What’s wrong with you?” I looked over at Jimmy who was
back to staring at the ceiling. “OK . . . I’ll play along . . . What if I
believe you? What if Archibald Goodwin really is the owner of
this fine establishment?”
"
“I didn’t say he . . .”
"
“Remember, this is a police investigation. Friday you told
me that you liked solving murder mysteries. So let’s just say,
from a naive detective’s point of view, that this Archibald guy is
the owner. But, since we’re talking about patients with different
sorts of brain damage . . . who knows what his motives were?”
"
“What are you suggesting?”
"
“Kidnapping. Do you think this Archibald Goodwin had a
good reason to kidnap them? After all, kidnapping is really quite
reasonable when we’re talking about the not quite all there
owner of the facility, who has the gate codes and the getaway
29
car.”
"
“Heavens no! Kidnapping?”
"
“How about hack them up and bury them somewhere?” I
added.
"
“Please! I can’t imagine that he’s like that at all. He would
never.”
"
“You don’t even know him!” I nearly yelled, then took a
breath. “OK . . . Let’s step back. We have to establish a motive.
They all go to the toilet. Nobody sees them leave the restrooms,
even though they’re closely monitored. Correct?”
"
“We usually keep a pretty good eye on them . . .”
"
“It’s about their bedtime,” I continued, “so Archibald’s boy,
excuse me, man . . . drives in, pushes the gate button like we
did, parks his car near the front entrance and comes in to put the
old man to bed . . . but this night none of them go to bed . . . they
up and disappear. Sounds premeditated. So, why do you think
this Archibald dude kidnapped the other three?” I quizzed her.
"
“Didn’t I just say . . . I don’t think he kidnapped them. Do
you two always put words in other people’s mouths? Create
drama out of nothing? Make up detective stories, even if they
aren’t true. So this is how Agatha…”
"
“Stop projecting,” Jimmy patiently interrupted. “What did
this alleged owner have to do with the disappearance?”
"
“They are best friends. I can’t imagine Archibald taking
them.”
"
“Best friends? In three weeks they’re best friends? I see.
Any more surprising twisted developments you haven’t
mentioned?” I asked, to which Mildred didn’t reply. “So, he got
his hundred grand worth of Happy Acres and checked himself
out, stealing the bath towels and toilet paper . . . and oh . . . three
of his after-three-weeks best friends. What form of dementia
does this ah . . . Mr. Goodwin have?”
"
“Maybe he’s delusional?” the woman stuttered. “Maybe.
I’m not sure.”
"
“Not sure?” I again couldn’t help but raise my voice.
“You’re the expert here. I don’t think there’s a maybe delusional.
Certainly not in your case. Whether he owns the damn place or
not, he’s living in a friggin’ home for dementia patients. Is the guy
30
certifiably delusional or not?”
"
“Excuse us,” Jimmy said as he took my arm and led me
out to the foyer. Once there he whispered to me, “Don’t you think
you’re coming on a little too harsh? As far as we know, she isn’t
the bad guy.”
"
“It’s OK, Jimmy. I got her number. This is exciting for
me . . . can’t you see? She thinks she’s playing us for a couple
dumb dicks. You gotta admit, I’m getting some great information.”
"
“It’s not the way I’d do it . . . but have at it. What do I
know?”

"
Back in Mildred’s office, I started right in where I had left off. “So,
let me get this straight. An old man checks himself into the nut
house and tells you he owns the place. You believe him . . .
which sounds pretty crazy, but none the less, you play along with
his fantasy . . . and you concede that maybe he has a problem
upstairs . . . though you’re not sure if he’s delusional or not, but
regardless . . . most likely the brains behind the other three old
folks disappearing. Right so far?”
"
“Ah . . .”
"
“There was no kidnapping, you say. You think it’s a simple
disappearance story. Tonto opens the corral gate and the eighty
year old Lone Ranger and his friends ride into the sunset, except
what’s her name, Sopi . . . who is pushed out in her wheelchair
by Tonto. At least none of them have to go to the bathroom
before they hop on their horses. Seems perfectly logical to me.” I
took a deep breath and then calmly stated, “We usually solve
these cases by questioning sane people who give us sane
answers. But I question your sanity. Really, Mildred. If you’re
pretending to be Mrs. Rice, then stop . . . go to where you tied
her up and bring her back. I want to talk to someone who knows
what she’s talking about. And oh, by the way, bring me the other
five while you’re at it. Dead or alive.”
"
Mildred sighed, appearing exasperated. “Mr. Goodwin
seemed like an honorable man,” she offered, knowing it was of
31
no use defending her sanity. “His saying that he owned the place
was one of the only indications that he actually belonged here.
We had a room opening. Betty was mur . . . died a while
back . . . so he took her room. We didn’t really converse
much . . . but my boys told me he talked about going to
paradise . . . some place called Shambala . . . that he was some
sort of guru there.”
"
“Now you decide to tell us where they might have
gone . . .”
"
“A guru?” Jimmy interrupted. “What did your psychiatrist
say about that?”
"
“She said that it was perfectly normal for dementia
patients to make things up . . . to dream about going to a
mythical place or for him to pretend that he owned Happy Acres.”
"
“Now he has dementia?” I pressed.
"
“Maybe. He was a sweet little old man. It was obvious that
he cared a lot about Howard, Sopi and Maggie. They were his
favorites. They bonded from the first day.”
"
“Bondage would have solved the problem,” Jimmy uttered
while glancing at her, raising his hand slightly, indicating it was
time for him to ask a few questions. “Let me see . . . from what
I’ve heard so far this Archibald Goodwin was either delusional,
had dementia or was perfectly sane. Thanks for the clarity. Now,
what can you tell us about the other three . . . his favorites?”
"
“Well, Mr. . . .”
"
“Meriweather. Detective Captain, Homicide and Missing
Persons.”
"
“I’m not sure what you want me to say, Mr. Meriweather.”
"
Jimmy opened his note pad. “Let’s start with this Maggie
woman. What’s her problem?”
"
“Maggie doesn’t have a problem. She has an ailment that
has to do with the way the synapses in her brain function. Except
for that, she is a perfectly wonderful human being.”
"
“Synapse. Well, finally an intelligent word.” Jimmy held the
long pause captive. “In confusion. Neurotransmitters.
Intermingle.”
"
“What?” Mildred’s brow furrowed. “Let me say it in a way
you can understand, Mr. Meriweather. Maggie has a slight brain
32
malfunction. I’m sure you can relate to that?” Mildred paused to
let her insult sink in, but the condescendence didn’t seem to
bother Jimmy at all. “You do understand long and short term
memory? She tells stories about when she grew up--as far back
as age three. She’s outstanding at crossword puzzles, Scrabble
and bridge. Maggie is a healer. She goes around trying to heal
everyone. It’s so dear. She loves touching people. She would
take care of everyone here - staff included - if she could. Must I
remind you that we have health professionals on staff, that, to be
perfectly candid, mental diagnosis is not my job,” Mildred was
explaining, wanting to continue before I interrupted, wanting to
cut to the chase.
"
“Maggie sounds like a regular Mother Teresa. So . . . she
has no short-term memory. How bad is it?”
"
“Well, if I were Maggie I would have forgotten why you’re
here. Why are you here?” Mildred glared at Jimmy before
continuing, “She would have forgotten that she already had
breakfast. And she may have already asked you the same
question five times.”
"
“I think I’ve asked you the same question five times, and
you still haven’t answered it. What do they call that?” I couldn’t
help myself.
"
The director stared at me for a long while. I looked away
as Mildred blabbered on, “Maggie is a dear woman. She always
talks about her parents, her marriages and people she’s healed.
She remembers everyone’s name . . . never forgot bridge night.
When the four of them play bridge . . . it’s as though they have
no mental problems at all.” "
"
Jimmy tuned her out. He slipped Maggie’s open folder off
Mildred’s desk and took out an 8 1/2 x 11 headshot of the
woman in question. He was instantly intrigued by her soft blue
eyes. The pleasant old woman he was looking at had been
missing for almost four days. Where is she? She escaped,
somehow. With this Archibald? But why? This was turning into an
intriguing mystery, much different than any other missing person
case.
"
“Bridge savants . . . right here in Happy Acres. How about
that?” I abruptly stopped the chatter. “So what can you tell us
33
that’s worth listening to, Mrs. Potato?”
"
“I beg your pardon,” Mildred Rice stood up, insulted. She
looked over at Jimmy. Since he hadn’t made the remark, he
wasn’t about to defend me. “I . . . I told you my name is Mrs. . . . I
mean Ms. Rice. Mildred. What is your problem, Detective
Banks?”
"
“I’m not the one with the problem. Rice and potatoes are
starches. Mrs. Potato . . . I like that better than Mrs. Rice.”
Mildred stood there entirely confused. “I asked you a simple
question and you get all starchy and huffy and all that. What’s
your problem?”
"
Jimmy grinned. I wasn’t through with Mrs. Rice. “I need
the apartment numbers and keys to get in,” I commanded as I
looked over at my senior partner, he giving me a confident grin.
“I’m going to call in for a couple officers . . . they’ll need to do a
thorough search of the property and each room. And you.”
Looking square in Mildred’s eyes, I stated emphatically, “There is
absolutely no reason for you to interfere. You’ll need to stay out
of the way. OK?”
"
“Not really. I run this facility. I can go wherever I please.
You can’t confine me to my room.”
"
“No one is confining you to your room,” I conceded,
changing my tone. “This is a police investigation, and from now
on the rooms of the missing are off limits to everyone. That
includes you and your cleaning staff. If we have questions, we
know where to find you.”
"
“Well . . . I guess so. But I really want to know what you
find out.”
"
“You’ll know as soon as we feel it’s appropriate to release
information. At this point you know as much as we do . . .
probably more. I’m done humoring you, Mildred. We have five
missing people and nobody has a clue where they are. It’s our
job to find out, not yours. Is that clear?”
"
“Yes. Here,” she said with a sigh, handing me the other
two envelopes and a key. “I don’t have a folder for Mr. Goodwin.
This is his room key. The others’ names, room numbers and
keys are in their folders. How long is the investigation going to
last?”
34
"
Jimmy slightly shook his head, then stood up and walked
out the door. I also ignored the last question and after giving Mrs.
Rice little more than a nod for thanks, followed Jimmy to the
foyer. “What are you going to do next?” he asked
"
“I’m gonna get the CSI guys out here. They’ll need to put
their yellow tape around the four doors. I’ll call forensics. Davis
will do DNA tests. I’ll have them here right after lunch. In the
meantime I’m going to snoop around, maybe walk the
perimeter . . . see if there really is a woodcutter’s cabin.” I took
the numbered keys and handed him Howard, Maggie and Sopi’s
folders.
"
“Good work, Banks. A bit overzealous, but you got a lot out
of her, though probably not all of it. I’m heading back to the office
to see what I can find out about these people. We’ll talk later.”
Jimmy sat in the black Ford sedan and opened the first of the
three folders. “Who are these people? Where’d they go?” he said
out loud to himself.
"
Howard Johnson? Who would name their baby after a
motel chain? He held up the photo of a kind-looking elderly black
man with short white hair and a stubble of a beard. That’s
probably what I’ll look like in a few years. Seventy-eight. That’s
only fourteen years from now. But he looks good. Healthy.
Maybe missing a few brain cells . . . but he looks fine. He closed
the folder and opened Sopi’s.
!
Sopi Nguyen. Vietnamese . . . hmmm. Sopi? Funny name.
Jimmy looked at her photo. Nice-looking woman. Doesn’t look
like she belongs in an old folks home . . . maybe sixty. Seventysix! What a surprise. Wonder how she got in here? I suppose I’ll
soon find out. She must have a big family, they always do.
!
Oh, yes. He opened Maggie’s folder. The one I was
looking at before. Maggie Sinclare. She’s also seventy-eight.
Must have been hot when she was young. He scanned her bio.
Married three times. No children of her own. Three stepchildren
from her last marriage. Synapses don’t function properly? That’s
too bad, although my synapses don’t always function too well
either. Wonder when they’re going to lock me up? He put the
three folders in his brief case, then thought about the forth
35
person.
!
Archibald Goodwin. Hmmm. No folder. Why wouldn’t he
have one? He thinks he owns the damn place . . . a fruit owns
the fruit farm. Jimmy stopped and thought about it. That would
make a good haiku. A fruit . . . no . . . A ripe peach. On the
ground. Flies rejoice. Or maybe . . . A ripe peach. Flies on the
ground. Rejoice. Ahh . . . not bad . . . or maybe . . . He stopped
himself and considered Archibald some more. He’s the key to
their disappearance. But how and why? I’m going to find out all
about you, Mr. Archibald Goodwin."
"
Hmmm . . . The potato woman lies. Acorns underground.
The fruit farm.
36
5
As it flows
water over rock-Where does it go?
Back at his desk, which he seldom used, Jimmy studied the
Portland online white pages, looking for an Archibald Goodwin.
No listing, hmmm. He entered the name in the police data bank.
Not here either . . . no criminal record. Not registered with the
DMV. No driver’s license? That’s odd. There has to be some
public information on the man. But where? He wondered if there
was any truth in what Mrs. Rice had suggested, that he owned
Happy Acres. He contacted the Housing Authority and had them
do a tax assessment search for Happy Acres. Archibald Goodwin
is not listed as the owner. I’m not surprised. So that’s a dead
end. It’s owned by Shambala Natural Foods. Why would a
natural foods company own a dementia facility? A health spa,
yes . . . but Happy Acres? He googled Shambala Foods and
found no mention of a Mr. Goodwin on the home page. He
clicked on some other tabs, scanned basic information about the
company and realized it was most likely a dead end. Before
pushing delete he clicked on the tab for Board of Directors. At
the very top was a name without a picture: Robert St. Clair,
President. He suddenly had an intuitive flash, though it made no
sense whatsoever. He wondered if Archibald Goodwin and
Robert St. Clair could possibly be the same person.
"
Under St. Clair’s name was a simple statement: Robert St.
Clair is the founder, owner and guiding light of Shambala Natural
Foods. After forty-two years as CEO, he retired from active duty.
He is currently the President of the Board of Directors.” Jimmy
37
pushed speed dial one, “Banks.”
"
“That’s me, boss. What’s up?”
"
“We may have a lead. Did forensics show up yet?”
"
“They’ll be here at one.” I looked at my watch “Less than
an hour.”
"
“Great. Got your laptop?”
"
“Yeah, why?”
"
“Google Shambala Natural Foods. Copy and paste
anything and everything you can about the company. Use Mrs.
Rice’s printer.”
"
“Shambala Foods? What does a food company have to do
with our missing people?”
"
“I’m not sure. Shambala Foods owns Happy Acres. We
need to connect dots.”
"
“OK. Not sure how those dots could possibly connect . . .”
I thought about it for a few seconds--leads don’t have to make
sense. “I’ll compile info on Shambala Foods until Davis arrives.
Half an hour and I should be good to go. He doesn’t need me
here. I’ll have him wrap everything up. Then we’re done with
Happy Acres, right?”
"
“We’ll see. I’ll be there at one to pick you up. Oh . . . have
Mrs. Rice give you a detailed description of this Archibald
Goodwin.” While driving to Troutdale, just east of Portland and not far from
Happy Acres, Jimmy was lost in thought. He knew very little
about the company, but the implications were enormous. If the
President of the Board of Directors was actually Archibald
Goodwin, the man was far from delusional. It was a wild
assumption, but at the moment the only thing we had to go on.
"
“The old maid knew that Shambala Foods owned Happy
Acres,” I finally broke the silence. “She was lying the whole
time--she knew Archibald Goodwin was a fake name.”
"
“Specifically?”
"
‘Have you ever read Rex Stout?” Jimmy shook his head
no. “Archibald Goodwin?” I chuckled. “That was my first clue.
He’s a fiction character. Archie Goodwin was Nero Wolfe’s
detective assistant.”
38
"
“Why didn’t you say something when we were there?”
"
“I wasn’t positive. It could have been a real name, but
that’s what got me started . . . I was suspicious of everything she
said after she first mentioned the phony name. Then, after you
left, I noticed a collection of about fifty Nero Wolfe books on the
shelves. That’s when I knew for sure. She knew it was a fake
name. If he knew her, he would know that she knew. So who’s
fooling who?
"
“Apparently both of them are trying to fool us. I’m inclined
to believe he’s the owner of Happy Acres after all. A man by the
name of Robert St. Clair owns Shambala Foods. He retired two
years ago after forty-five years. So he is an old man.”
"
“Robert St. Clair? Why would the owner of a grocery
empire check himself into a dementia ward? And If he owns the
place, why would he hand Mildred a hundred grand? She’s been
there for a few years, and doesn’t know her boss. She has to
know. Why hadn’t he shown his face before? Things are adding
up and they’re not. He had to know that she read Rex Stout
novels. This is starting to get pretty nutty. Is there some way I
can arrest her? People like Mildred Rice should be locked up.”
"
“She’s devious all right. Obviously withholding information.
But for now we can probably continue on without her,” Jimmy
answered.
"
“We? Are we partners in this?” It was the first time I had
heard the word ‘we’ since I joined the force.
"
“Yes, Taylor. We . . . are.”
"
“Thank you, Jimmy. You know I don’t trust her. She was
supposed to be helping us, not causing trouble.”
"
“We’re all different, Taylor. We don’t have a clue why
people do the things they do. She’s obviously bored and lonely.
Maybe she’s been waiting years for something like this to come
along, and she’ll ride it for all it’s worth.”
"
“No doubt you’re right. To tell you the truth . . . I just
couldn’t stand the smell. I wanted to get whatever I could out of
her and move on. Here’s something interesting,” I offered,
changing the subject while sifting through the papers on my lap.
“Says here that Shambala is the largest distributor of organic and
natural products in the world.”
39
"
“Hmmm,” Jimmy barely mumbled as he drove down
Sundial Road, past a sprawling processing plant, over a bridge
and into the parking lot of the corporate headquarters of
Shambala Natural Foods. He parked in front of the cream stucco
and celadon glass nine-story building, which was surrounded by
a landscaped forest of pine and maple. “Let’s go sit at that table
over there,” he said as we got out of the car.
"
We walked to the left of the entrance, to a shady area
bordered by a twenty-foot-high rock-wall waterfall, abundant with
cascading ferns and lavender orchids. “So this is their corporate
headquarters. That building we passed on the right must have
been the processing plant. It’s huge,” I marveled as we sat down
across from each other.
"
“Is that so?” Jimmy grunted and then turned around to
study the rock-wall fountain.
"
“Yeah, I got that here somewhere,” I answered, fumbling
through the papers. “I remember reading . . . it’s a fifty-acre
campus and their original packing facility is located on it. Oh,
here it is . . . ‘the Portland facility is smaller than any one of the
other twenty-three food processing and packaging centers,
located in eleven countries around the world.’”
"
An early summer breeze floated through the trees; the
warm sun, cooling shade and unexpected peace and quiet made
it a comfortable place to be. While I rattled off a whole bunch of
information about Shambala Foods, Jimmy remained transfixed
by the water dripping down the fountain.
"
I finally looked at the back of my partner’s head and
asked, “Are you even listening to me?”
"
Jimmy didn’t answer, forcing me to join him in the silence,
to look at the waterfall, ferns and orchids, or whatever I thought
he was studying. After another minute he finally spoke, "As it
flows. Water over rock. Where has it gone?"
"
I thought about the haiku for a moment. I love puzzles and
usually enjoy figuring the haikus out. But I was more excited
about all the new things I was learning about Shambala Foods,
and didn’t have the patience for Jimmy’s lapse into Zen. “Where
has it gone? Probably down the drain and recycled up again.
Come on, Jimmy. What does that have to do with all this great
40
stuff I’ve been giving you . . . which you probably didn't hear
while making up that silly haiku . . . oh . . . where has he gone?"
"
“That’s why we’re here.”
"
“Why did you have me get all this information on
Shambala Foods . . . if we’re only looking for the owner.”
"
“Now you know.”
"
“Yeah? But if you weren’t listening to me . . . then what do
you know?”
"
“That it was a huge factory we drove by. That this building
is the corporate headquarters of one of the largest grocery
chains in the world. We’re going on a hunch . . . we still need to
find out if these two men are one and the same. What does he
look like?”
"
“She said Achibald was short, maybe five foot, five inches,
had a white ponytail braided down to his waist, and always wore
sunglasses.”
"
“Seriously?” Jimmy couldn’t help but laugh. “An eightyyear-old guy with a ponytail to his waist?”
"
“See . . . I told you we should’ve locked her up . . . or at
least make sure she never leaves the nut house.”
"
“Shouldn’t be hard to match that description with the
owner of Shambala Foods, if it’s true. Ready?”
Jimmy and I scanned the oversized lobby. It was bright and airy,
about six stories high, maybe a hundred feet wide and fifty feet
deep. Water, feeding down a three-story lava rock-wall, trickled
into a tropical plant-bordered koi pond about fifteen feet behind
the reception desk. The lobby floor was a shining sea of ivory
marble with green veins, accented with two large rock boulders
rising up from the tiles, giving the whole architectural
composition a serene Zen garden feel. Over on the right side of
the foyer was a live bamboo cluster that blended right into a
thirty-foot-long wall papered with a continual photograph,
creating the illusion of a bamboo forest and obscuring the
elevator doors. There were no photographs on the walls.
"
After distracting Jimmy from the two boulders and his next
haiku, I flashed my badge at the young receptionist and stated
with authority, “We’re investigating the disappearance of Mr.
41
Robert St. Clair. Who here can help us locate him?”
"
“All I know is that he owns the company. He doesn’t work
here anymore,” she politely replied.
"
“Do you have any idea where he might be?” I figured the
receptionist must be up to date on rumors.
"
“I read a memo a few months ago . . . said he was in a
coma. Did you check the hospital? He’s not dead, is he?”
"
“Disappear and dead aren’t synonyms,” Jimmy said with
patience.
"
“Synonyms? I don’t know what that means.”
"
Jimmy knew they would never get anywhere going toe to
toe with a nincompoop, so he changed his tone, “Listen, young
lady . . . put us in front of someone who’ll give us current
information regarding the whereabouts of the guy who ran this
company for forty years. Make it happen! Now!”
"
“I’m not sure who would know . . .”
"
“NOW!”
Jimmy once told me that to get someone’s attention, a real Zen
master could be very harsh. The master would yell loudly, as he
had just done, clap his hands sharply, or even slap the student’s
face. In this case the yelling worked; the receptionist got busy,
searching through her list of personnel for someone who would
know the whereabouts of Robert St. Clair. She finally located a
woman named Jennifer who, she informed us, was the leader of
the Image Tribe and formally the company spokeswoman.
“Good morning,” the attractive mid-forties woman greeted us
minutes later, extending her hand first to Jimmy, then to me. “My
name is Jennifer White. You’re looking for Mr. St. Clair?”
"
“We’re investigating the possibility of his disappearance,” I
began.
"
“Disappearance?” Jennifer chuckled as she led us outside
to the same patio table we had come from. “That’s not unusual.
I’d say he just didn’t tell Jane where he went. That’s how he is.”
"
“How he is?” I questioned.
"
“I’ve been here twelve years, the first eight of them as his
personal assistant. I spoke on his behalf. When he went on a
42
business trip he would call me every day, but whenever he took
a vacation, I had no idea where he went. He would disappear.”
"
“So you think he’s on a vacation?”
"
“He’s retired . . . isn’t that what retirement is all about? I
can’t imagine why his whereabouts would be of interest to the
police. I’d say there’s no reason to be concerned. Beautiful day.
Nice out here, isn’t it?”
"
Jimmy nodded in agreement. “Listen . . . Ms. White . . .
let’s just cut to the chase. Was Robert St. Clair living at Happy
Acres?”
"
“Yes.” She thought about it for several seconds. “Oh my
gosh . . . you didn’t know that. Was he using one of his aliases?”
"
“Archie Goodwin,” I offered.
"
“The detective Archie Goodwin?” Jennifer laughed. “At
least he didn’t call himself Alfred Hitchcock . . . or Perry Mason.”
"
“OK,” Jimmy said, relieved. “That answers one question,
but it also poses a whole bunch more. You’re talking about the
owner of this company going on vacation and we’re talking about
a guy who lives in a dementia ward, pretending to be a fictional
detective and telling everyone he’s some sort of guru from
Shambala. And it looks like he may have taken three elderly
dementia patients with him on this so-called vacation. We want
to know where he went. Are you seriously telling us that we
shouldn’t be concerned?”
"
“Well, I am concerned that he's traveling so soon after his
near-death experience.” Jennifer reflected for a moment, not at
all alarmed by this latest information. “Robert has always been
one of a kind. If he told a few people that he’s a guru from
Shambala, it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s crazy. If I told you I
was a goddess from Venus, would you think I’m crazy?”
"
I smiled, having often thought that I’m from there myself.
“Mildred Rice--the old lady who runs Happy Acres--referred to
him only as Archibald Goodwin and hinted that he’s delusional.
You think he’s not?”
"
“I know Mildred.” Jennifer half-rolled her eyes. “To tell you
the truth, I don’t think she’s all there. She bought the fictional
character name? That’s classic.”
"
“She didn’t know who he was.” I interjected.
43
"
“Most people don’t. Have you been out to his Sandy River
home yet?”
"
“No.”
"
“Well, it’s way out in the woods. He’s lived there forever
and . . . a bit of a hermit. He moved to Happy Acres not long after
he recovered from his coma. We thought it was a wise
decision . . . to live somewhere with an around-the-clock nursing
staff. You need to keep in mind that he’s eighty years old and still
recovering from a near-death experience. After all he’s been
through Happy Acres makes sense. He just wanted to live with
his friends . . . as incognito as he’s always been. Calling himself
Archibald Goodwin was clever. He was apparently poking fun at
that old hen.”
"
“How would he know she had fifty Rex Stout books? . . .
never mind,” I paused, wanted to stay on purpose, suspending
my surprise that the women knew so much about mystery
novels. “Visiting friends, or hiring a full-time nurse, is a lot
different than checking yourself into the funny farm,” I offered.
"
“His best friends were there . . . and they weren’t leaving.
Why do you think he bought Happy Acres in the first place? I’m
convinced Robert doesn’t have dementia, delusion or any other
mental problem. He presided by phone over a board of director
meeting two weeks ago and reviewed his long-term global
agenda. There certainly weren’t any signs of delusion in his
speech.”
"
“So why would he rent a room and then up and disappear
a few weeks later?” I prodded.
"
“Again, you’re assuming.” She paused and studied both of
us before continuing, “He’s an old man who was given a second
chance in life. He decided to live, not die. We all make choices
on how to live our lives. If you had all the money in the world and
were given a second chance on life, what would you choose to
do? If he wants to go to Shambala or Timbuktu . . . then good for
him? Give the old guy a break. After forty-five years the man has
certainly earned the right to an endless vacation in paradise.
What’s the harm in that?”
"
“He took three dementia patients with him,” I interjected. I
liked Jennifer, but wasn’t convinced the woman understood our
44
urgency.
"
“Three dementia patients? They’d have to be Howard and
Sopi . . . and Maggie. Sopi’s not in good shape. That would
concern me. Maybe he knows of a clinic somewhere that can
treat her. It’s really none of my business.”
"
“Taking people out of a dementia ward without
consideration is our business,” I snapped. “Keep in mind that
we’re police detectives investigating the disappearance of four
people, maybe five . . . who have not been heard from for four
days now. And you’re telling us that you don’t care . . . that it’s
none of your business . . . that Robert St. Clair is a perfectly
normal sane man, and there is no problem with him running
away from the dementia ward with three perfectly nutty
friends . . . sailing off to Acapulco for a week of surf and turf, or
whatever?”
"
“That’s funny. Acapulco?” Jennifer giggled, then got
serious. “I didn’t say he was normal. I just think that he decided
to take a trip, and he has every right to . . . and didn’t feel that he
had to ask for Mildred’s or anyone else’s permission to take his
friends out of a facility he owns. Is it normal for normal people to
do such a thing? No. Is it within the parameters of his normal
behavior? Absolutely.”
"
“Well . . .” I wasn’t sure what to say, so I backtracked. “You
said he is recovering from a coma. Do you think he was healthy
enough for a trip . . . and did he give you any indication that he
was planning one?”
"
“I’m not a doctor and I wasn’t privy to his plans . . . but to
tell you the truth . . . Robert did seem a bit more dreamy this past
month.”
"
Knowing that with patience more would be revealed,
Jimmy got Jennifer’s attention by waving his hand to the trees,
wiggling his fingers like the fountain water and then sweeping his
arm up to the sky while saying, “Shady afternoon. Water trickle
moon glow. The dream revealed.”
"
“You recite haikus?” Jennifer beamed at Jimmy with a
surprised respect. “Excellent. How is the dream revealed? I don’t
know what happens when a person’s in a coma for a month,
then pretty much dies . . . and comes back.” She caught Jimmy’s
45
eyes and lingered there. “You know . . . I can call you Jimmy . . .
you’re very perceptive. It was a full moon the night he almost
died . . . partly cloudy and it was raining. Did he have a dream
that is about to be revealed?” He smiled, impressed, as she
continued with no indication of defensiveness,
“He’s been
unusually quiet . . . doesn’t say much. Yeah, dreamy . . . that’s a
good word to describe him . . . like he was thinking about heaven
or some such place. Maybe Shambala is his word for heaven.”
"
“Maybe he’s seen the light?” I half joked, finding myself
starting to be caught up in Jennifer’s easy charm. “So you’ve
seen him a few times since he recovered?”
"
“More than a few times . . . maybe once or twice a week. I
still have an office at his house, and visited him at Happy Acres.
I’ve kept him up to date with Shambala business.” Jennifer
paused to collect her thoughts. “Robert is sort of a second father
to me. I love the old coot. It broke my heart the night he almost
died. But he popped out of it. It was like a miracle. All of a
sudden he was cured . . . but it did age him. Over his objections I
hired a young caregiver to keep an eye on him, pick up things,
drive him around. His name is Tenzin. Did you talk to him?”
"
“Tenzin . . . What did she call him, Jimmy . . . Twinky?”
"
“I think you’re the one who called him Twinky.”
"
“Apparently he’s missing, too,” I answered Jennifer, now
thinking that Mildred knew exactly what the young man’s name
was. “Do you have a picture of either one of them? Especially
Robert? It would be good to have a clear visual.”
"
“No to Tenzin, and Robert doesn’t do pictures. He’s funny
that way. He told me it has something to do with the robbing of
the soul.”
"
“That sounds a bit shamanic to me,” Jimmy offered out
loud, not knowing how to profile the guy.
"
“He’s more Zen than shamanic,” Jennifer continued in her
pleasant manner. “I know you’re wanting to profile a normal
person. Like I said, he’s not normal . . . ”
"
“What do you mean . . . not normal?” Jimmy asked, his
interest piqued by the Zen reference.
"
“You see this big successful company . . . and you think
it’s like every other company . . . a commanding leader
46
surrounded by a bunch of suits directing cubicle’d worker bees.
You probably googled Shambala Foods, a Fortune 500 company,
and found out that Robert is one of the richest men alive. So you
figured he had to be normal, that he worked and lived inside his
box, inside a corporate box. But that’s not the case. Robert lived
and worked outside the box.”
"
“I don’t understand.” I was intrigued. As a behavioral
scientist I loved studying abnormal people. But I had never
applied abnormality to a billionaire owner of a multi-national
corporation. “Every company, especially one this large . . .
twenty-three thousand employees . . . needs leaders and
structure . . . an owner, managers and employees, defined work
hours and so on . . .”
"
“That’s what I mean,” Jennifer interrupted with a smile.
“You’re looking for normal.” She glanced at Jimmy. “A haikureciting detective isn’t normal.” She continued, accepting his
smile, “Robert set up a company where people are honored, not
directed . . . they aren’t employees, they are members of a small
family clan or tribe, with its own functions, production
responsibility and reward.”
"
“Like a small family business within a big company,” I
remarked.
"
“That’s right. The concept is to choose a tribal leader,
someone who has mastered a skill, and surround that person
with no more than twenty tribe members who also want to
master that skill. The tribal leader is more important to his tribe
than some Great Chief, or the people in the middle or upper
management tribes. It’s true. Everyone takes care of their own
business. Literally. There is work to do--goals to meet--some of
the tribes compete with other tribes, though it’s not required. The
workers create a convivial atmosphere. Nobody tells them to
work nine-to-five, as long as production keeps pace. And it
always does. This company works fine without the high profile
figurehead giving motivational speeches and serving potato
salad at picnics. Honestly, there are only a select few Shambala
employees who have ever met Robert St. Clair.”
"
“Nobody knows what the owner of their company looks
like?” I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
47
"
“That’s correct. Nor do they care. It doesn’t matter. Robert
is simply the silent invisible icon who created, and from the
shadows oversaw, a unique corporate tradition in which . . .
remarkably . . . all Shambala workers thrive.”
"
“So, you’re telling us that this company is abnormal . . .
and the owner is uniquely abnormal within the abnormal . . . but
to us box people . . .” I paused, fascinated by the novel business
concept, wishing I were part of a tribe.
"
“He would appear to be some sort of Howard Hughes nut
case.” She finished my sentence and caught Jimmy’s eyes
again. “It’s OK to be different . . . to talk about going off to some
mythical place . . . to be private without a whole lot of ego or
need for recognition or drama. . . . to retire and spend time
around the people you love . . . even if they are so-called crazy.”
"
“Well, thank you, Jennifer. Now we know how this
business works.” Jimmy finally concluded, “We also now know
who we’re looking for - though it may not be so easy to find an
invisible man. Do you have any idea at all where he might have
gone?”
"
“The Himalayas?” Jennifer offered, shrugging her
shoulders.
"
The two had a long stare down while the haiku formed, “In
his dream. The Himalayas. She wandered.” Jimmy couldn’t help
himself.
"
“You said wandered, instead of wondered,” Jennifer
offered. “Perceptive again, no doubt.”
"
“I’ve wandered into a strange dream . . . Himalayan ice
cream and the Venus goddess team,” I joked, eliciting a smile
from Jennifer. “See I can be a poet, too. But seriously--you don’t
have a clue?”
"
“Talk to Jane Vahn. If anyone, she’ll be able to tell you
where they went.”
"
“The daughter of Sopi Nguyen?” Jimmy asked, and
Jennifer nodded. " “She’s on my list. Here’s my card.” I handed it
to her, and stood up. “Please call us if Robert gets ahold of you
for some reason. Thanks for taking the time to talk with us.”
"
“No problem. Good luck in finding them.” She reflected for
a moment, remaining seated, as did Jimmy. “You know . . . you
48
don’t always have to go to the worst-case scenario . . . I guess
that’s what detectives do, but . . . he’s a really good man . . . and
he certainly loves his friends. If I were you I’d think outside the
box. Like maybe they’re out somewhere having the time of their
lives, kicking that bucket list, and will be back in a week or two.
Acapulco? Why not? Just a suggestion.”
"
“I’ll keep it in mind,” he answered.
"
“Thanks for sharing,” I said as Jimmy stood up and we
turned to leave. I then turned back to Jennifer. “I’m curious. Can
you give us an overall description of Mr. St. Clair?”
"
“People imagine him in countless ways,” Jennifer said with
a smile. “The owner and CEO of a health food empire, what do
you think he looks like?”
"
“Six foot one, hundred and seventy-five pounds,
handsome, trimmed white hair . . . something like that . . . but
Mildred described him as short with a pony tail to his waist.”
"
“ZZ Top without the beard. That’s him. Have a good day.”
49
6
A ripe peach-flies on the ground-rejoice.
Three weeks previously:
The moment he walked into her office Mildred knew there was
something very strange and peculiar about the little old man. He
was dressed entirely in white and his full head of white hair was
braided down below his waist. He was about her height, around
five foot five, and she couldn’t see his eyes; he refused to
remove his sunglasses and. “Archibald Goodwin’s my name,” he
spoke with authority. “I would like to secure a room for one year.”
Mildred immediately knew the name was bogus, since Archie
Goodwin is a fictional character in the Rex Stout mystery novels,
but when he opened his briefcase and took out one hundred
thousand dollars in hundreds, Mildred shut up. “I happen to have
an opening,” she said and that was that.
"
After a brief tour and a look at Betty Wilson’s old
apartment, furnished and ready to be occupied, he had his
young Tibetan assistant, Tenzin, bring in his one suitcase. The
man asked no questions and refused to listen to house rules and
instructions. He dismissed both Mildred and Tenzin, shut his door
and didn’t reappear until supper, where he sat without hesitation
at the table of Howard, Maggie and Sopi, as if they were dear old
friends.
"
Upon noting this, Mildred gathered her male staff, her
spies, for a conference. Mildred had lied to the detectives about
50
having cameras. The entire facility and every room was wired
with hidden micro-cameras and recording devices. Her
instructions were to record any conversations this new man had
with anyone, until further notice.
Monday afternoon—Happy Acres:
After the police had gathered their evidence and all the yellow
tape had been removed from Sopi, Howard, Archibald and
Maggie’s rooms, life went on as usual at Happy Acres. But not
for Mildred Rice. She unlocked the door and entered Howard’s
room, rummaged through his personal belongings and sat down
on his couch. What was it that Archibald had said to Howard that
first night? We’ll be safe here. From that moment it had
appeared to her and her spies that Howard and Archibald were
the best of friends. In the days and weeks that followed she
found out all about Archibald Goodwin, who he really was, and
the man’s long standing relationships with Maggie, Sopi and
Howard.
"
She closed her eyes, contemplating the many preludes to
murder by her favorite writer Agatha Christie, searching for one
that might relate. Mildred loved murder mysteries, the more
bizarre the better; her bookshelves were filled with them and the
thought of being involved in a real murder excited her, probably
as much as it did Taylor Banks. Of course Mildred would never
be a real detective, but she knew the routine--drag the case out
and never give investigating detectives your best clues. This
morning she thought she had played it just right with the two
cops--even got the young hazel-eyed beauty all riled up--which
she believed would surely keep her engaged. She felt entirely in
control, except for the older man. He made her nervous, she
didn’t trust him; he was too quiet, too composed and observant—
and unlike his young assistant, he didn’t react--not a good sign.
!
Unfortunately, Mildred’s worst fears began to materialize
once Taylor received Jimmy’s call and began copying everything
she could find on Shambala Foods. The director knew that her
secret would soon be revealed. He wasn’t supposed to find out
about Shambala Foods so soon. If it were just Taylor, she would
51
keep coming back, snooping around and digging deeper. She
knew I was holding back and we would have played it back and
forth for at least another week. But damn it, that man is too
smart. Once they go to Shambala Foods, meet Jennifer and
Jane, they‘ll find out that Achibald Goodwin is really Robert St.
Clair. I should have distracted them more, sent them off on some
wild goose chase. Damn it. The detectives had come and gone
too quickly. It’s not fair. Now they don’t need me. She was pretty
sure they were gone for good. Just like Betty.
"
Mildred couldn’t get Taylor out of her mind, intrigued with
the young woman’s fire and handsome beauty. She was a
handful, and even Jimmy apparently thought she had crossed
the line of propriety. Nevertheless, Mildred was aroused and
challenged by the young detective’s feisty spirit. " M i l d r e d
wanted more of Taylor Banks.
"
She could handle a wild pony like Taylor, but not a wise old
owl the likes of Jimmy Meriweather. He was too intelligent, too
cunning, too much like her, or so she thought--refusing to admit
she wasn’t near his sleuthing equal, not by a long shot. Because
of that unconscious jealousy, or besides that, the fact remained
that Mildred had an aversion to straight men in general, to
straight black men in particular. A lifetime ago, while in college, a
black man tried to force himself on her sexually. That one
encounter changed her sexual orientation forever, though in truth
she had always been more attracted to women.
"
And, Mildred was even more cunning than Jimmy
suspected. If he had focused his investigation on her, he would
have eventually discovered a micro-world of deception, right
there under his nose. She had given the detectives nearly empty
files on the missing guests and none on Archibald Goodwin,
when in fact she had a neatly labeled flash drive filled with
information on each patient and a large closet, adjacent to her
office, which she had turned into an audio video surveillance
center years before. From there she had recorded just about
everything that went on at Happy Acres. In time Jimmy would
have discovered that she emotionally manipulated the four male
caregivers and wielded her power as their boss to involve them
in digging up dirt on all the patients. For Mildred this was
52
preparing for the murder or kidnapping or whatever mystery
would reveal itself right there at Happy Acres.
"
Jimmy would also have found out the extent of Mildred’s
dislike of Howard. He was a straight black man; privileged. She
had glanced in his room once before, but now as she sat on his
crushed velvet couch and took in the furnishings, she disliked
him even more. His was an apartment right out of Metropolitan
Home, hidden within the confines of the old gated mansion. Her
apartment in comparison was filled with furniture she’d been
lugging around for years, most of it ready for Goodwill. She was
aware, of course, that an anonymous investor had originally
purchased the mansion exclusively for Howard, and had spent a
fortune furnishing all the apartments, except those of the staff.
Mildred’s original contract offered her an unfurnished second
story apartment, rent free.
"
Mildred resented the fact that Howard, regardless of his
dementia, was the king of the palace; the owner’s man, and she
was a replaceable employee. Beginning the day Archibald
arrived, she studied both men intently, just like a detective would.
It all made sense once she found out who the mystery man really
was. Robert St. Clair had purchased and rebuilt Happy Acres for
Howard Johnson.
"
Now in present time, about to lose her grip on the
investigation, it was time to put the pieces of the Howard/Robert
disappearance puzzle together. The references of them going to
Shambala meant nothing to her and there were no clues as to
why they had snuck out of Happy Acres. She needed an
advantage, a reason for Taylor to return. Finding out where they
went and more importantly why they had disappeared, could
very well be the advantage she sought. She was currently on
equal footing with the detectives, and that wouldn’t do,
"
Mildred sat in the video closet and started scanning the
recordings. She was searching for a particularly damning
sequence she vaguely recalled. She finally found it, a talk
Howard had had with one of her staff, which seemed to be the
nonsense ramblings of an old man with dementia. “When I get
out of here, I’m going back to Monroe to find the bastard who
killed my mother.”
53
"
The young man had humored Howard with the question,
“How old were you when this murder took place?”
"
“Well, I couldn’t have been more than twenty. He
murdered her. I knew he would,” Howard answered.
"
“Who was this man?”
"
“The bastard she married . . . he was slapping her around
and said he was going to kill her and then pin the murder on me,
so I had to leave town fast. I heard it from a relative. He
murdered her! I’m going to find him and, when I do, he’s a dead
man.”
"
Mildred smiled. This was what she’d been looking for. Now
she was starting to tie murders together. Three months before,
the loudest and most obnoxious woman in the facility, one Betty
Wilson, was found dead in her room. Mildred first reported the
cause of death as “died in sleep,” which was to be expected--all
the patients were over seventy. Between the time of her initial
report and the arrival of the police, Mildred conducted a more
thorough investigation of Betty’s body. There were marks on the
old woman’s neck and she was sure the real cause of death was
strangulation. She hoped it was strangulation, because if it were
she would finally have the Happy Acres murder mystery she
dreamed of. Her main video guy spent hours looking through the
Betty Wilson tapes, searching for the one that had recorded the
murder, without success.
"
She remembered how much Howard disliked Betty. He
often complained that she was disrupting the harmony of Happy
Acres and should be kicked out. That day, on further examination
of the neck bruises, Mildred decided that Howard had murdered
Betty, and voiced her opinion when the two officers arrived. They
had absolutely no interest in looking at another old body; they
thought the allegations were preposterous and the director as
nuts as the others there and ignored her ramblings. Once the
body left the property Mildred would never be able to prove it
was murder, though she was convinced that Howard had indeed
killed the old woman.
"
Mildred’s mind was suddenly swirling with suspicions. If
Howard was thinking about murder . . . killing the man who killed
his mother . . . and he wanted to shut Betty up . . . would he have
54
murdered her instead?
"
Mildred decided to be Agatha. What would Agatha do?
She began with the math. Howard was now seventy-eight. He
said he was twenty at the time his mother was murdered. Fiftyeight years ago in Monroe, it had to be Louisiana. She began
googling and finally found what she was looking for. A newspaper
article. On May 25th an unsolved murder took place. Two
Negroes had been found dead and the police were looking for
the missing suspect, Reggie St. Clair. Reggie St. Clair? Mildred
thought. St. Clair . . . the same last name as Robert. This is not a
coincidence. They couldn’t be brothers . . . unless they are half
brothers with a white father and a black father. Could be. If
they’re brothers, it would all make sense . . . why Robert bought
this place for Howard and why he protected him. Maybe Howard
just recently told Robert about killing Betty, so he took him out of
here before someone found out. That someone could be me. It
should be me. I can’t keep this secret any longer. But who do I
tell? Not Jimmy Meriweather, that’s for sure.
It took more boldness and aggression than she thought she had,
but just shy of five o’clock that afternoon, Mildred stood in the
office of the Chief of Police.
"
“Thank you for taking the time to see me,” Mildred started
in. “Two of your detectives . . . Meriweather and Banks . . . came
to the gated community I run, Happy Acres, investigating the
disappearance of four patients. Are you familiar with the case?”
"
“I am,” the Chief answered, wondering why this relic was
interfering. “Why are you coming to me? I have our top detective
on the case. You need to talk to Meriweather.”
"
“Your Detective Meriweather is a pig,” Mildred huffed,
though in reality she knew he had conducted himself properly.
“He won’t listen to me, and what I have to say is too important to
be ignored. Please let me explain.”
"
“OK. I’ll give you a couple minutes. What do you have?”
"
Mildred told the Chief the whole story of how Betty was
murdered and how she suspected Howard. She then handed the
Chief copies of the Monroe newspaper article that implicated one
Reggie St. Clair in the murder of his stepfather. “I think if you did
55
a little investigation you will find out that Howard Johnson, one of
the missing people, is really Reggie St. Clair, who is still wanted
for murder . . . and is the same man who murdered one of my
patients, Betty Wilson.”
"
“What proof do you have that she was murdered?” he
asked.
"
“Dig her up.” Mildred was in her glory, feeling as if she
were channeling Agatha. “You’ll find strangulation marks on her
neck. I would bet it was broken.”
"
“What does that have to do with Howard Johnson?”
"
“I have video recordings of Howard’s dislike for her, his
motive for murder. I run a gated facility, and I guarantee that
there is no way for my patients to escape. The owner of Happy
Acres, your detectives may or may not yet have informed you, is
one Robert St. Clair, also the owner of Shambala Foods. He
came to live at my facility three weeks ago under the pseudonym
of Archibald Goodwin.”
"
“You didn’t recognize your own boss?” The Chief looked at
her with incredulous suspicion.
"
“I had never met him in the six years I’ve been director. I
had met only his assistants, Jennifer White and then Jane Vahn,
who had been granted his power of attorney. But let me get back
to the point. This Mr. Robert St. Clair is somehow related to
Howard--Reggie St. Clair--and he apparently knew of the
murder. My contention is that he moved into the facility for the
express purpose of spiriting Howard away before I was able to
produce evidence of the murder. So, it is obvious, since he
knows the gate codes, that he took Howard Johnson away
before I called the police.”
"
“Why didn’t you notify us before--at the time of this alleged
murder?”
"
“But I did! Your dumb cops didn’t believe me. But I knew
there was more to it. I’ve been doing my homework. When I
found out who this Archibald really was and then they
disappeared last week, it was all the proof I needed. My staff will
substantiate my claims . . . as will the tapes. Howard hated Betty
Wilson and wanted her gone. He murdered her. I have no doubt.”
"
“All right, Mrs. Rice . . .”
56
“Ms. Rice.”
"
“Ms. Rice, I’ll take your word for it . . . What are you
suggesting I do?”
"
“I suggest you find this cold-blooded murderer. Bring him
to justice. I will testify . . . so will my boys. I don’t care how old or
crazy he is . . . the man killed one of my patients . . . a harmless
old woman. This requires your immediate attention.”
"
The Chief assured Mildred he would take personal interest
in the case and make sure that his best detectives worked day
and night until justice is served. He chuckled as she left his
office. It was an amusing turn of events—and no matter what
deal he had made with his most senior officer, it was too late, the
deal was off. Jimmy would have to see it through, whether he
liked it or not.
The Chief looked up, smelling the faint odor of stale patchouli.
Mildred stood at his door, just after he hoped she had left for
good. “By the way . . .”
"
“I told you I would take care of it, Mrs. Rice. I’m busy.”
"
“Ms. Rice and I’m not through. I forgot to mention
something . . . “
"
“I’m listening.”
"
“Robert St. Clair drugged one of my patients, Maggie
Sinclair, and kidnapped her.” She waited long enough to take in
the Chief’s surprised stare and simply said, “Have a nice day,” as
she strolled out with a big smile on her wrinkled face.
57
7
A heart in danger-fluttering-butterfly wings
Monday night:
It was after nine when Jimmy’s phone rang--a rare call from the
Chief. The Bureau’s head first mentioned Jimmy’s retirement and
hinted that official recognition was forthcoming. He then threw in
some off-handed remarks about Jimmy’s good-for-nothing
assistant Taylor Banks, which he chose to ignore. When asked
about the point of the late night call, the Chief cleared his throat
and sputtered something about the Happy Acres case. Jimmy
thought it odd the Chief cared or that this case had even entered
his radar, considering all the pending homicide investigations, an
alleged terrorist to track down, the looming street riots and other
threats to public safety. He told the Chief that it was Banks’
investigation, and that her number was listed in their directory--to
ask her. After a sour grumble the Chief ordered Jimmy to be at
his office at eight-thirty the next morning, and to bring Taylor
Banks along.

Jimmy arrived at the bureau Tuesday morning wearing a white
Nehru shirt, which appeared to have been ironed, a dark gray
sports jacket, and a fairly new pair of blue jeans. He thought
about his penny loafers, but he couldn’t resist--blaming it all on
58
Jimmy Buffett--and chose his old red Converse tennis shoes
instead, which he left outside his office door. Since he had given
up his official daily responsibilities long ago, he chose comfort
over conformity; usually coming to work in drawstring linen pants
and either a relaxed cotton turtleneck or a flowery Hawaiian shirt.
"
Curious and not knowing what to expect, he sat wide
awake at his clean-surfaced desk, waiting for his assistant to
arrive.
“What’s up with you?” I remarked as I strolled into his office. I
was wearing a pinstripe black suit over a white blouse open at
the collar. “Stand up, Jimmy . . . let me look at you.” He obeyed
for no reason other than he was ready to go. “Pressed shirt.
Sports jacket. You’re wide awake. Not so sure about the red
shoes outside. Did somebody die?” After four months of working
with him, this was the first time I had seen Jimmy somewhat
dressed up, and wearing pressed clothes. “Did your geisha
finally decide to dress you?”
"
“My geisha? I think I’m quite capable, and no one died,”
Jimmy grinned, still surprised by my ballsy attitude and
refreshing attempt to level the playing field. “The Chief wants to
meet with us, Banks.”
"
“Us? Me, too? When?”
"
“Right now. Let’s go.”
"
Jimmy and I stood in the office of the Chief of Police. It was the
first time I had been specifically invited in; I wanted to be excited
but, like Jimmy, had mixed feelings. I wondered if this
unexpected visit had anything to do with Mildred Rice; if the old
hag had complained about police harassment.
"
“Did someone in your family die?” the Chief asked Jimmy,
erasing all thoughts of the meeting having anything to do with
some sort of retirement ceremony.
"
“No . . . I . . . ah . . . change is good. What do you have for
us, Chief?”
"
“I was visited by Mrs. Rice late yesterday afternoon,” the
Chief began, getting right to the point, looking directly at Jimmy
and disregarding the presence of his female companion, me. Uh59
oh, I thought.
"
“Mildred Rice?” Jimmy questioned, now forced to pay
attention, though disappointed that she would be the topic of
discussion. “What did she want? We got what we needed. We
were hoping yesterday would be the end of her.”
"
“Well, it doesn’t look that way. She opened a can of
worms . . . wanting me to file murder charges against one of the
missing people . . . Howard Johnson.”
"
“Murder charges?” I couldn’t help but blurt out, relieved
and instantly excited. “Who did he murder?” I could feel my heart
beating. A homicide!
"
The Chief paused to consider my existence and then,
looking back at Jimmy, answered, “Possibly two people. Rice is
implicating him for the murder of one of her patients, a Betty
Wilson. She also brought up a cold case. This Howard is
suspected of murdering his stepfather in Louisiana nearly sixty
years ago. Bottom line . . . you need to find this guy and bring
him in.”
"
“That’s easy to say, Chief.” Jimmy was intrigued, and not
ready to be dismissed since he had an important point to make.
“First of all, this is Bank’s case and she has no idea where they
went. She’s right here--ask her.” The Chief didn’t divert his eyes
from the Captain. “And, I told you last night that one of them is a
billionaire. With his money they could be anywhere.”
"
“I trust you’ll find them . . . and regarding this being Bank’s
case . . . I know you’re close to retirement, Jimmy, and we
agreed on no new cases. I’m giving this one to you, as a favor.”
"
“A favor? You can’t break our agreement again. Forget it.”
This was the second time the Chief had broken trust.
"
“OK then, I’m giving you an order. You’re heading this
investigation. Period. Mrs. Rice has witnesses, video
recordings . . . so the accusations are beyond speculation . . .”
"
“How’s that?” Jimmy was doing his best to Zen down his
upset, with not much success.
"
“Mildred Rice . . . one of her attendants, that is . . . saw
Robert St. Clair kidnap Maggie Sinclair. Possibly Sopi Nguyen.
Two limp bodies were carried out of Happy Acres last Thursday
night. The two old men secreted them to the car . . . and the
60
Tibetan boy drove them all away in a Ford Flex. It apparently
was also recorded with their surveillance cameras.”
"
“You’re shitting me,” I burst out, forgetting--or not caring—
that I was in the presence of the Chief. “That hag! What the hell?
Why didn’t she tell us? She played Jimmy and me like . . .”
"
“Calm down, Banks,” the Chief stopped me, raising his
voice, now looking at me “and sit down. You wanted a case . . .
two murders and a kidnapping should shut you up.”
"
“Shut me up?” I didn’t sit down.
"
“That’s right . . . you know, Banks . . . I haven't liked your
cocky attitude since the day you arrived. Who said you have the
right to come in here and spew foul language at your
commanding officer? . . . You’ve been a waste of my time . . ."
"
"That's because you haven't given my anything to do." I
wasn’t backing down.
"
"There you go--interrupting the Chief of Police. If it weren't
for Jimmy here I would have fired your good-for-nothing ass
months ago.”
"
"What? Fire me? I'm the most qualified rookie detective on
the force."
"
"You're the most certified egomaniac on the force. The
only thing you have going for yourself is this man here . . . and a
few days’ head start on this case. Jimmy, it's up to you whether
you use her or not, but it's fairly obvious she's not ready."
"
"Listen, Chief . . . I’m all set to retire. This is an interesting
case, no doubt, but I don’t want it," Jimmy spoke up. "Order or
not."
"
“I already told you, you have no choice. Besides, I can
spare you right now and you’re the best man for the job. Say
what you will, there's no getting out of this one.”
"
The Chief looked back at me. “So you want to be a
detective, Banks?” I nodded, accepting the condescending insult,
now convinced the Chief, and not Jimmy, was the source of all
my problems. “Jimmy is your one prayer. Don’t screw it up.”
"
Seeing the scowl on Jimmy’s face the Chief continued,
“Look here, Jimmy. We’re old-school professionals. Shit happens
and we deal with it. If it makes you feel better let her do the
grunt work if you think she can handle it. How can she screw it
61
up? After all . . . you’re looking for an old man with dementia, not
some psycho punk with a gun. Take whatever time you need.
Find them..”
"
“Don’t come back until we do? What are you talking
about? What if they’ve left the country?”
"
“Well, OK. So what if they have?” the Chief answered,
giving Jimmy a cold stare.
"
“How long a leash are you giving me?” The Zen serenity
was looking like an urge to kill.
"
“You’re off the leash, Meriweather. There’s no budget for
out-of-country travel, but you’ll figure something out. Don’t worry,
you’ll get your salary no matter where you go. Take her with you.
I think just about everyone will be relieved she’s gone.”
"
My anger was seething.
"
“Don’t worry. You’ll get paid too, Banks. Now get out of
here.”
In the hall, Jimmy put his hand on my shoulder, looked me in the
eyes and practically purred, “‘A heart in danger. Fluttering.
Butterfly wings.’ Seems like we’ve been thrown a curve ball.”
"
“No shit.”
62
8
Surrounded-the master moves-space.
We walked back to Jimmy’s office in silence. I was anxious to
talk about the Chief’s orders, but only watched as Jimmy
resumed his normal position--arranging himself in the middle of
the futon with crossed legs, beginning his meditation. Oh God,
he’s acting like nothing happened. I wonder what he meant by a
heart in danger. Whose heart?
Even though Jimmy wanted to erase the memories, he kept
thinking about Carla Espinoza. It was more than twenty years
ago. She had been much like Taylor Banks--smart, beautiful,
cocky, an overly-confident rookie. Carla had been his partner for
less than six months. There were so many things he wished he
would have, or could have, taught her: lessons on using one’s
intuition; respect for unseen danger; the patience to stand back,
shut up and wait for the right moment to move forward. Carla did
it all wrong, her way. A simple robbery investigation, punctuated
by Carla’s unnecessary smart-ass probing, led to an unexpected
fast and fatal bullet to her heart.
"
He now realized that by keeping Taylor off the hard streets
for the last four months, he was protecting himself from a
possible second Carla nightmare before he retired. There’s
something the Chief isn’t telling me . . . What is it? He gave me
no choice. I could go to the Commissioner or the Mayor . . . get
them to override the Chief. I won’t. But why would he do this to
me? He knows why I don’t want to take on any new cases. What
63
is this old folks case really about? Why is the Chief giving it to
me? Why does he want Banks on it? None of it makes sense. He
snuck a discreet look at Banks, her fidgeting at his desk. She’s
not ready . . . just proved it in front of the Chief. I can’t let her
slide into an equal partnership with me, not yet. Anything could
happen on this case. The kidnapping could turn into serial
murder, for all I know. I’ve seen it before. I’ve really have no
choice. I know that, she doesn’t. She needs to be tested.
Something needs to be done about her cockiness before she
makes the same mistake Carla made. Tough Zen-master
love . . . that’s what she needs. I need to break her down. Build
her into the partner I can safely work with. I can’t hesitate.
I settled at Jimmy’s desk and was soon lost in my own thoughts-my mind going in a million directions. One of the old dudes kills
his stepfather and a Happy Acres patient. Wild. A billionaire
drugs and kidnaps an old woman. Hmmm. Where do we start? I
turned the reclining Buddha to face me, as if its sweet smile
would share its enlightenment, or at least some logical insight.
Damn. It’s Jimmy’s case now. Will he even use me? He’s got to.
I’m the best. He saw how I stayed on Mildred’s ass. I’m good. I
rested my head on the desk, turned sideways to meet the
Buddha’s gaze. Jimmy needs to come up with a game plan and
move the investigation into high gear. I’m so ready.
"
I diverted my eyes to him. He appeared to be deep in
meditation, serene like the silver idol. Wonder what he’s
thinking? Jesus . . . a homicide. I got my first homicide! Finally.
Maybe. And a kidnapping. Where’s all this coming from? I sat up
and now held the Buddha in my hands, studying the remarkable
detail of the face, silently praying, or in my case, asking for
clarity. Mildred. She’s the key to all the allegations. Four people
are missing and suddenly Mildred comes up with two murders
and a kidnapping. Seriously? She could be making it all up . . .
she’s gotta be making it up. The Chief’s buying her story . . . but
why wouldn’t he? I put the Buddha down and considered: I can
do this. This is why they have detectives--we investigate . . .
examine the facts . . . prove . . . I’m gonna prove that this Mildred
is full of shit. Jimmy’s gotta know she’s full of it, too. Where are
64
we going to find them? I want to hear their side of the story. They
could still be here in Portland . . . we haven’t gone to the old
man’s house yet. I wonder if Jimmy is thinking the same
thing . . . I’m ready to get going on this. I couldn’t help myself-impatience got the best of me, and I blurted, “You can’t just sit
there and keep me in suspense. What’s going on, Jimmy?”
"
Jimmy kept his eyes closed. I’m surprised she lasted this
long. He contemplated the Zen slap. He could throw one Taylor
Banks out the window like Zen masters have been known to do,
but it would certainly prove fatal. “I won’t throw you out the
window . . ,” he mumbled.
"
“What?”
"
“Or slap you.” He slowly opened his eyes.
"
“Maybe I should slap you, wake you up . . . can you
believe what just happened?”
"
He took a deep breath, apparently deciding to let me be
my cocky self, and spoke. “I don’t want to believe what just
happened to me . . .”
"
“What are you saying?” I moved the desk chair around
and sat facing him on the futon.
"
“You really want to know?” He waited a long moment,
while I gestured with my fingers and head to go on. “OK, I’ll tell
you. I had an agreement with the Chief.” He paused. “We
agreed . . . no more murders or kidnappings or even simple
cases for Captain Jimmy Meriweather . . . period. I was done. Do
you understand done, Banks? D-O-N-E. I had six months until
full retirement. Now I have six weeks. I have plans for my
future . . . plans which have nothing to do with taking on another
case, especially nothing to do with chasing a bunch of murdering
loonies to . . . they could be in Mongolia for as much as we know.
We shook hands. The Chief and I agreed. I was done. None of
this was supposed to happen. You shouldn’t have been assigned
to me in the first place . . .”
"
“What?” I interrupted, registering only the last sentence.
“You’re not serious?”
"
“Of course I am. But you were assigned to me
nevertheless and this was your case. Like your other cases I was
there to observe . . . to let you solve it. All I there to do was ask a
65
question now and keep myself from falling asleep. When we
went to Happy Acres I expected to find them in the rec room
playing checkers, or at worst find out that a relative had taken
them on an overnight field trip. That’s what you thought too when
we first drove out to see your Mrs. Potato, right?”
"
“Yeah, so . . . what does that have to do with us working
together?”
"
“Maybe if I say it enough times you’ll finally get it . . .”
"
“But the Chief gave us . . . well you, this case . . .”
"
“Let me give it to you straight, Banks. And I repeat. The
Chief and I agreed that I’d ride out my last six months. A new
homicide investigation, arrest and court appearances can take a
year and I didn’t want to start what I wouldn’t complete. For this
reason, after forty-five years of exemplary service to the city of
Portland, I would get no more cases. We agreed. End of
discussion. Then, for whatever crazy reason, he assigned you to
me. Maybe he did it to stage the illusion that I was doing
something to earn my high salary, I don’t know. Because my
orders were to supervise you on a few missing person cases, no
mentoring and absolutely no homicides, I went along with it. So,
there you go . . . sorry I can’t paint a pretty picture for you.”
"
“You both were using me.” I objected, wanting to say
more.
"
“Every rookie gets used one way or the other,” he
interrupted. “Some get disgruntled bitter senior partners and their
first year or two is a living hell. Some get boring desk jobs, never
seeing any field work, which can also be hell. Some are fired for
nonsense reasons . . . like a male senior officer falling in love
with his female rookie. Fired without her ever knowing why. All
the bad options you can imagine never happened with you. We
had the same non-productive time . . . your boredom was your
choice, not mine. I may not have mentored you, but I certainly
never abused you. . . . As a police bureau employee you have no
choice what you’ll end up with.”
"
“You’re wanting me to thank you?”
"
“No . . . I want you to see that after forty-five years it’s no
different for me. It appears as though I’m being used and I
maybe abused, in a dishonoring way. Do I disobey the Chief’s
66
orders? Refuse and face suspension in my last months on the
force. Blow my career because I’m being asked to do something
I don’t want to do?”
"
My brow was all knotted up in confusion. My months of
complaining suddenly seemed insignificant to what he was
facing. And still, I didn’t want to lose this homicide missing
person opportunity. I was ready and I wasn’t going to watch him
blow his career, when I knew that I could solve this case,
whether or not he or the Chief believed in me. “You have to take
this case, Jimmy.”
"
“You have no say in this, Banks. This is my decision. The
Chief wants me to do him a favor. I don’t want to do it. With you
or without you, I don’t want to do it. Am I making myself clear?”
"
“I’m ready, Jimmy. We can do it. We can. You know I’m
ready. ”
"
“No, I don’t, to be perfectly honest. I don’t think you’re
ready at all . . . it may be my fault for not training you, but you’re
a long ways from homicide.” He looked up at the ceiling and half
mumbled, “Here I was being a good civil servant, minding my
own business . . .”
"
“You know its the right thing to do, Jimmy. You’re not
alone. We can solve this,” I pleaded. “I thought we made a lot of
progress yesterday, wading through all of Mildred’s b.s. and then
finding out about Shambala Foods and Robert St. Clair. We’re a
team. You were having fun. I was having fun. Come on, admit it.”
"
“Fun? You were investigating the disappearance of four
elderly people . . . I was along for the ride. It was supposed to be
routine . . .”
"
“But it didn’t turn out routine. Is that so unusual? So what if
we’re being pitched curve balls, chasing screw balls . . . it’s an
exciting case. We finally got something to wake you up from your
meditation, stop me from bitching and playing computer solitaire.
Now we both have a reason to come to work. I saw you in rare
form this past week. Reciting haikus. Confusing old Mrs. Rice.
You’re the master at this . . . it’s what you love doing. Come on
Jimmy, you were having fun. Admit it.”
"
“Believe it or not, I do have a life . . . an active life.
Figuring out who murdered who is no longer part of it. Do you
67
understand the difference between missing and murder?”
"
“Yeah.”
"
“I’m not sure you do. Make no mistake . . . I’m not at all
interested in exciting cases. I’m not falling asleep, I’m waking up
to the reality that I really don’t like solving murders and chasing
people. So don’t project your rookie enthusiasm on me. I don’t
want this . . . seriously . . . I don’t want it . . . it could turn ugly
and here you are . . . your tongue hanging out . . . a wet behind
the ears puppy . . .”
"
“I really don’t think so . . .”
"
“What do you know, Taylor? You don’t have the experience
to even think you know anything. Leave. Right now. Go. Get out
of here.”
"
“What?”
"
“Go on. Lock the door on your way out. I need some time
to think. I’m serious. Go.”
After brooding at my desk for an hour I turned the knob on
Jimmy’s door. It was unlocked--since he never locked it. I
entered. Jimmy was still sitting in the same position on the futon.
His eyes were open and they followed me as I took the seat next
to him. An hour of reflection had calmed me.
"
“Jimmy, please . . . listen to me. I heard what you said. You
only have a few weeks till retirement. I’m sorry the Chief put you
in this predicament, and you know you really don’t have a choice
but to continue on. Maybe it would better if you had the next best
detective in the bureau helping you . . . but even that can’t
guarantee you’ll solve the case any faster. No matter what you
do, we’re talking about a murder and kidnapping, missing
people. If you caught them tomorrow, the billionaire would hire
lawyers, it would go to trial and you’d have to stick around to
testify.”
"
Jimmy didn’t say anything. For the past hour he had been
thinking long and hard. He contemplated a wearisome, possibly
fruitless search. Taylor’s right--this could go on for months and
end up in a complicated trial. She’s not ready. Needs mentoring.
She’s stubborn. Needs some of my Zen tough love. How am I
going to do this?
68
"
I waited for him to respond and, when he didn’t, I
proceeded with my last-hour thoughts, “OK, I’m going to say
what I think is really going on and I hope you’re listening.” I
paused for him to object and when he didn’t I continued, “Both of
us know that Mrs. Rice only called the police because she thinks
she’s Agatha Christie and has this fantasy about one of her
people being murdered. We don’t know if anyone really was
murdered or kidnapped. We don’t even know if they’re spending
a week at some local spa, but nonetheless . . .”
"
“Get to the point, Banks.”
"
“Look Jimmy, you could get Carlson or Williams to take my
place and they would believe old Mrs. Rice, but you were with
me, listening to her charade. Point being, if we needed to
squeeze truth out of her I could do it--they couldn’t. She doesn’t
like straight men.”
"
I paused, realizing that I was beginning to desperately
ramble, but couldn’t stop, “We’ve tried to contact relatives, yet
haven’t seen one family member show up wondering where they
are. Mrs. Mashed Potatoes-for-brains said she called the
daughter Jane on Friday. It’s now Tuesday. Where is this Jane
and why isn’t she all upset that her mother is missing? Honestly,
so far, nobody seems to give a shit about these missing
people . . . well, nobody except me . . . your wet-behind-the-ears
puppy partner. I care. You just said you don’t want this case . . .
Do you think those two useless dicks out there will? Do you think
they’ll care like I do? And what about Jennifer over at Shambala?
She thinks they’re on a well-deserved holiday. Are you buying
that?”
"
I took a breath and waited for Jimmy to respond, but when
he didn’t I continued, “I thought about it last night . . . they’ve
been gone for what, five days now? Five days! I agree with what
you told the Chief . . . they could be anywhere. For all we know
they could all be lying in a ditch somewhere. I can see the
headlines: “Tibetan exchange student murders billionaire and
three crazy people.” Honestly, Jimmy, we don’t know shit. I’m
ready to find them. You might not have the passion for this case,
but I do. Come on . . . you think I don’t know much . . . but I know
what it means to have passion for something, and what happens
69
when you do. Jennifer joked about them going to the Himalayas.
Those two idiots out there with their wives and kids wouldn’t
pack up and head across the Columbia with you. I will. I’d go
anywhere in the world . . . this afternoon. Screw it . . . I’m ready
to go find them and prove that old hen is full of shit . . . and solve
the cold case. What do you think about that?”
"
“Hmmm.” Jimmy was apparently impressed with my
fortitude. He stared deeply into my eyes and I knew that he knew
that he had to make an immediate decision. There would be no
turning back once he did. “OK, Banks . . . I’ll play along . . .
where do you think they are?”
"
“Didn’t we agree they could be anywhere?” I suddenly
wondered if any of my words had done anything to change his
mind. “Did you hear what I just said?”
"
“Be careful, Banks.” Jimmy was well practiced at turning
on a dime; he could switch from soft to hard ball without blinking
an eye. He gave me his don’t-mess-with-me look, then an eye
towards Carlson, and back to me. I followed the look and got the
message. “I’m talking about your gut feeling,” he said with
conviction. “Do you think they’re dead lying in some ditch?
Actually kidnapped? Aimlessly roaming the streets of Portland?
Sitting on the French Riviera sipping cognac? Do you really think
that kid had anything to do with their disappearance? Seriously,
what’s your gut feeling?”
"
“My gut feeling? Let’s see . . . my gut feeling says we ask
the ouija board,” I answered, half-joking, but really a bit flustered
and afraid of a misstep. My remark only primed some sort of
tough love pump.
"
“Look here Taylor, using you on this case is still my
option . . . I’m seriously thinking about replacing you with
Carlson, so don’t blow it. I don’t need your sarcasm. You
understand? Pay attention. Shut your mind up and tell me what
your gut says.” He stared me down, noticing as I did the new
little twitches in my hands as I squirmed uncomfortably in my
seat.
"
“I think . . .”
"
“I don’t care what you think,” he shouted, to my shocked
surprise. “What do you feel in your gut?”
70
"
“They’re not dead . . . or kidnapped,” I offered, confused,
not knowing where Jimmy’s aggressive change in attitude was
coming from, and not really sure how to think with my gut instead
of my mind.
"
My father, Army General Anthony Banks, had taught me to
think logically, to employ superior mind strategy. He had drilled
into me that everyday life is like a chess game where one has to
be smarter than his or her opponent. “Think,” he’d yell at me.
“Use your brains. Be sharp, soldier. Outmaneuver. If you have to
fight, fight as if your life depends on it. But first, avoid the attack
with strategy. Use your mind. Think.” And now Jimmy was telling
me not to think. I wasn’t sure I could not think.
"
“Not dead or kidnapped? Where did that come from? Your
mind? Your gut? Where did it come from?”
"
“Listen, Jimmy . . .” I instinctually stood up and faced him,
remembering to fight as if my life depended on it. “I don’t like this
game you’re playing with me. You need to stop it.”
"
“Sit down!” I did. “You listen to me--I don’t give a rat’s ass
if you like this game or not,” Jimmy half yelled as he flashed on
how well-chosen words have the same effect as throwing the
student out the window. “I’m in charge here, so what do you
want, Banks? To continue being the Mayor’s little bitch--out of a
job--sleeping on your daddy’s couch--or do you want to work with
me?” he said, knowing that I knew it was a big stretch for him to
play the rumor card, since we had long ago discussed at length
that none of it was true. I had read that great detectives and Zen
masters always accentuate and exaggerate assumptions in their
favor, and he was going for it, no matter how unpleasant it was
for both of us.
"
NevertheIess, I could hardly contain my emotions as I
clenched my fists. My blood was beginning to boil, like a lioness
ready to strike. “I’m nobody’s bitch,” I yelled. “And I’m not going
to lose my job because you’re pissed off that you still have
yours.”
"
“You think that’s it?” Jimmy forced himself to revisit
remnants of the nightmare--the harsh interrogation of a suspect.
“Tell me, how did you get this job? Why do you think nobody
here likes you. Why do you think they call you the General’s girl?
71
Rumor says the only reason you’re here is because your daddy
blew the mayor, or the other way around.”
"
“You don’t believe those rumors . . . How dare . . . ”
"
“OK, settle down.” Jimmy extended his arm. I didn’t know
it, but he was sending ki energy through the palms of his hand
to calm me, forcing me to involuntarily sit down. He had taken
me into the storm, and now it was time to hit me with bolts of
“either/or” lightning. “You have a choice, plain and simple…
you’re either going to keep being this gung-ho Army daddy’s ballbusting bitch, pissing men off…like the Chief who, by the way,
used the words ‘fire your ass’ today…or… do it my way and
learn how to be a real detective…and use your energy
correctly . . . starting all over.”
"
“A real detective? Use my energy? Start over? What are
you talking about?”
"
“Look at me, Taylor. I’m not all that interested in going
around in circles with you, so let’s change the energy.” Jimmy
took a deep breath and sat back in his futon.
"
“I’m not going to change the damn energy until you
apologize for calling me a ball-busting bitch.” I couldn’t help
myself.
"
He continued with his calming voice, “It’s up to you, Banks.
You decide right now if you’re going to play it my way, if you’re
going to pay attention to what I have to teach, or not. It’s your
choice.”
"
“What are you going to do, fire me if I don’t?”
"
“You think I can’t fire you?” Jimmy answered, raising his
right arm, forcing himself to restrain from the Zen slap. “I’ll tell
you what . . . you either drop your tough-girl act and follow my
instructions or I’ll put your ass on the road to Bumfuck, China
quicker than you can scratch your pretty little balls.” That was
cute, he thought. The Zen slap.
"
I stared into space, not sure what just hit me. I wanted to
continue fighting, but suddenly found myself cornered, a young
hen in the old fox’s den. Holy shit . . . I’ve just been checkmated.
The crafty bastard trapped me. I can’t go toe to toe with him, or
complain to my father or the mayor. Forget the Chief of Police.
I’m screwed. I started rubbing my eyes. I had come to work
72
thinking I had finally become a real detective with this missing
old folks case, and now it could all be over. I locked eyes with my
senior officer for the longest time before speaking, “OK. This is
all new territory for me. What do you want me to do?”
"
“It’s up to you, Banks.” Jimmy looked at the time on his cell
phone--a little after nine. “All this drama’s got me off schedule.”
He stood up. “Time for my coffee. You coming?”
"
“Are you kidding? I think I’ll pass.”
73
9
Anger leaves a trail-without permission
fire burns the valley.
I hurried out of the building and half-ran through the pouring rain,
not concerned that I had forgotten my umbrella. I slipped into
Starbucks, glad I wasn’t with Jimmy. I was angry. My mood
turned as uncontrollably gloomy as the clouds over Portland, and
even though my emotions probably made no sense, I didn’t care.
Jimmy had never treated me this way before. I should have been
happy that he finally wanted me to be his partner, wanted to
teach me how to be a detective, but I wasn’t. I was hurt and
insulted. It didn’t matter to me if everyone else in the world was
being used, it’s not allowed to happen to me. They made me a
victim of their premeditated plot to hold me down, to waste my
time and talents, and refuse to tell me why. I had been abused
and had every right to be angry.
"
I impatiently waited in line, lost in my emotions, aware they
were about to blow out of control but regardless, I could hardly
believe what Jimmy had said to me. The mayor’s ball-busting
bitch . . . he actually said that! The normally calm and peaceful
Jimmy Meriweather turned Jekyll, turned Hyde, the Zen Master
had lost it, insulting me in an unacceptable way. This confused
me; he confused me--Jimmy my pillar had become Jimmy the
whip. It didn’t make sense and I felt abandoned, even though he
offered to teach me. I was so confused.
"
I suddenly remembered that he was on his way and I
wasn’t near ready to see him. I needed to be alone. Without
74
thinking, I grabbed a newspaper from the rack, put it over her
head and headed out the door.
"
I quickly covered several blocks and when I saw the word
“espresso,” I ducked into a red brick turn-of-the-century former
bank building. First National was engraved above the high front
doors. It had been renovated into an upscale morning coffee,
afternoon tea, evening wine and ale house--thick and rich and
cozy and most likely what Starbucks dreamed of being, and will
probably copy. Starbucks sucks, I thought as I ordered three
shots of espresso in a twenty-ounce vanilla latte, with a shot of
Baileys mixed in. I considered adding shots of Kahlua and the
prominently displayed top-shelf Cuban rum, but then looked at
my watch. 9:15 a.m. Rum this early in the morning seemed over
the top. “Can you throw in a shot of Kahlua?”
"
I leaned against a stool and waited for my drink. Why do
men always end up turning on me? It starting with the Chief. He
threatened my career--the career of the best female detective in
all of Oregon! All that I have been studying for, nurturing,
protecting and holding as sacred had just been put in jeopardy,
or so it seemed. A bit dramatic, but nevertheless. Jack hammers
were suddenly pounding away at my church of righteousness-my mind was ready to blow the morning way out of proportion,
and at the moment I didn’t have the strength or desire to stop it.
"
A sharp pain zigzagged through my head. Why is
everyone against me? Do I threaten their incompetence? Jimmy
isn’t incompetent. There must be some hidden reason they don’t
like me. They wouldn’t seriously fire me? Maybe they would. This
sucks. God, why is this happening? With that thought something
clicked, as if a desperate, frantic internal rebuilding switch turned
on. Get a grip, Taylor. Self-correct. People do that--re-adjust.
Change their minds. Self-heal. I studied about it in college. Am I
too proud to self-correct, to change? I sat back and closed my
eyes and the image of a concrete mixer filled my mind, a huge
mixer churning out cement. An army of worker bees, bees with
hardhats, were laying the new foundation for a skyscraper. There
was no promise whether the base they were pouring would hold
the huge building. Were they pouring cement or quicksand?
"
Another flash of pain startled me. The vision continued.
75
Scaffolding was rising, an erector-set of vertical legs of metal
appeared and welding sparks were flying. Cranes carefully
dropped horizontal “I” beams in place. Each beam had a brand
name sprayed in white paint on it--Taylor Banks. " A part of me
realized that my face was all scrunched up as I tried to make
sense of the vision. “I” beams with my name on them? What is
this all about? The building was rising at hyper-speed, but it was
tilting. With my eyes still close, I was trying to straighten it.
"
“Taylor. Triple latte plus.”
"
Hearing my name called shocked me out of my daydream.
I unconsciously paid nearly twelve dollars for my latte, and chose
a comfy leather lounge chair in front of the wood fire. Looking
around, I studied The Bank’s rich ambiance. Why was I going to
Starbucks with that old fart when I could have been coming
here? Alone. This place is great. I took a sip. My God, it’s
delicious.
!
I scanned the other people in the room, all lost in thought,
texting or laptop projects. I was safe here, so I sank back and
closed my eyes, savoring the sound of crackling logs and soft
jazz in the background. Diana Krall? I went back to thinking
about the construction, or reconstruction and then about my
dismal life at the bureau. "
"
The General’s daughter. Why do they call me that? OK,
yes, I am the General’s daughter, but why don’t they just call me
Taylor? Why doesn’t anyone like me? I’m a good person. What
difference does it make how I got this job? I took another sip and
thought about my father. He calls me pumpkin. I’m sure Daddy
pulled some stings, but it’s not like it doesn’t happen every day.
The mayor’s bitch? My dad blowing the mayor? Now that was
funny . . . something I would say . . . even though it pissed me
off.
!
I opened my eyes and grabbed the poker, moved some
firewood around, then threw in another small log, took another
sip and sat back. Jimmy’s right. I only think about myself. What
about the other officers who’ve been waiting to make detective?
My mind flashed on how I avoided contact with my fellow
officers. I don’t even know who they are. Shit . . . no wonder
nobody likes me.
76
"
I thought about my relations with men, how they profess to
love me, then end up hating me, and how none of them ever
really truly loved me. Obviously. I hadn’t been with one man for
more than six months; never made a real soul connection. That
only happens in fairy tales. I like men . . . I especially like having
sex with men. I’m good in bed. Its their problem for not treating
my like a goddess, not mine. Maybe I’m not supposed to have a
soul connection. I’m nearly thirty. Should have happened by now.
Maybe I’m too strong for men . . . too much like my father.
!
I took a big gulp from my latte and reconsidered the shot
of rum. Do I need to change my attitude? Where’s the waitress? I
need a refill. Three more . . . that’d be six shots of espresso, then
another shot of Baileys, a shot of Kahlua and maybe two shots of
top-shelf rum, the Cuban. That would get me going. Cheaper
than paying for a psychiatrist. . . . I just haven’t found the right
man, someone I can stand toe to toe with. Mother can’t stand toe
to toe with Daddy. How can a man be happy with a trophy wife?
I’ll never be that. A trophy husband? Some stupid jock? No way.
!
The ominous morning gray, insistent Oregon rain, the
comfortable easy chair, loaded latte, a now blazing fire, the turn
of the last century bricks and an ancient bank house ambiance,
only added melancholy to my self-evaluation. I need a man who
wants me but doesn’t need me. Does that make me needy? This
is confusing . . . if he didn’t need me, why would he want me?
Maybe I should join a nunnery. Jesus! Why am I having these
thoughts? All I can think about is myself. He’s right. Is my ego
that big?
!
At that moment I was distracted by a body hovering over
me. I opened my eyes and sat up.
"
“There you are,” Jimmy softly said as he sat on the
ottoman in front of me. He delved as deeply into my eyes as I
would allow and answered the question I didn’t ask. “Anger
leaves a trail.”
"
“Huh?”
"
“Anger leaves a trail. Without permission. Fire burns the
valley.”
"
I ignored the haiku and stared beyond Jimmy, into the
crackling fire. A long minute of silence passed before he spoke.
77
“Nobody said life’s fair. This department certainly isn’t.
Unfortunately for you this is an old school bureaucracy.” He
paused, searching to see if I was listening. “You came in with
high expectations, Taylor. This isn’t entirely personal. I can’t
remember the last time we hired a homicide detective right out of
the academy, male or female.”
"
“What does that have to do with anything?” I diverted my
eyes from the fire and gave him a cold look. His face held
compassion and tenderness. I could feel the fight draining out of
me. “This is personal,” I added in a lower tone.
"
“You’re right. You should know what’s going on.”
"
“Does it really matter, Jimmy?” I felt a new emotion
surface. Surrender?
"
“Everything matters. I know you’re upset . . . if we’re going
to work together you have a right to know about the pay-yourdues history at the Portland bureau.”
"
“I already know. It sucks.”
"
“Just listen. I spent fifteen hard years on the street before I
made detective. That’s how it is around here. Then you show up.
A graduate from a prominent family, with a commanding general
father who is a friend of the mayor. No street time for you . . . you
make full detective lieutenant right out of the gate. The Chief was
circumvented. You’re hired over his head. You don’t think that
pissed him off?”
"
Jimmy waved his hand and one of the gals behind the
counter came over. “I’ll have a double cappuccino, half-inch
foam, nutmeg on top.”
"
“I had nothing to do with my placement, and your men’s
club history is a dumb excuse.” I could feel my defensiveness
returning, while wondering how he ordered his coffee without
having to stand in line. “Portland . . . right here, this bureau . . .
hired its first female detective in 1908. 1908, Jimmy. No street
dues to pay. 1908 was more than a hundred years ago.
Somewhere along the line it got all stupid macho . . . so you’re
defending a ridiculous good-ole-boy history. Imagine if I were a
civil rights attorney, what I could do with your dues-paying
racism.”
"
“It’s not racism.”
78
"
“Gender discrimination . . . whatever. My own merits
should be enough for me to be here. Everything else is besides
the point.”
"
“Whether you like it or not, how you were hired and placed
has become the point, not your merits. You earn merits . . . they
don’t come with a diploma, or a pedigree. If you’re going to work
with me, I’m going to have to get up to speed pretty damn fast.”
"
“What do you mean?”
"
“I mean . . .” Jimmy paused as he accepted his coffee and
gave the girl five dollars. “Thank you. Do you need a refill,
Taylor? I’m paying.” I shook my head no, although I wondered
how he’d react to a twelve dollar coffee. I could feel the liquor’s
calm in the coffee rush. “Keep the change.” Looking back at me
he gently continued, “No matter how smart or tough you think
you are, you don’t know how to play the game yet. You thought
you were in control with your no-bullshit attitude toward Mildred
Rice, but she played you for the fool. You were conned by a twobit amateur.”
"
“Every situation will be different. I know that.”
"
“Intellectually yes. Intuitively no. Intuitive reaction comes
from practice. Years of practice. A big-city detective risks his or
her life on a daily basis. A rookie fresh out of the academy,
investigating a homicide, facing the possible murderer, coming
on with a cocky immortal attitude, is a recipe for disaster. Mildred
Rice could have murdered those five people and there you are
alone in her office, about to arrest her . . . well . . . what’s a sixth
dead body she’s thinking? You’ve got it all figured out, are
coming on strong, pumped up, a great detective, going to get
high praise at the Bureau and bang, you’re dead. How would you
know?”
"
“How would anyone know?” I asked, wondering where he
was going with this fear lecture.
"
“That’s what I’m saying. You don’t have a clue. I would
know. Even Carlson would know.”
"
“How?”
"
“By spending years out on the street, getting your cage
rattled over and over again, facing death every day, paying your
dues . . . by interviewing a hundred Mildred Rices . . . seeing the
79
intent in their eyes. You know when they’re lying and telling the
truth and withholding information, whether they are dangerous or
not. I know everyone needs to start somewhere, and you’ll be
good, I have no doubt. You just have to put in more time, Taylor.
Do you hear what I’m saying?”
"
“I do. But I’m not like everyone else. I can handle it.”
"
“Can you? Did you hear a word of what I just said? Be
real, Banks. Left to your own inexperience, what are you going to
do? Talk sense into every nonsense criminal you encounter?”
"
“Maybe. Maybe I have a whole different way to succeed as
a detective. I’m new school. Generation XYZ. How many of your
patrol officers have a Master’s in Behavioral Science? Do you
think I haven’t done my homework? I’ve learned a thing or two in
my twenty years of school, world travel, and being the daughter
and student of an Army general. Give me a break. I knew Mildred
was withholding information. I knew she wasn’t dangerous. Do
you think I couldn’t see it in her eyes?”
"
“I’m not so sure.”
"
“Well be sure, Jimmy. I’m your partner. You should be
covering my back. You shouldn’t let people treat me like crap just
because I’m somebody’s daughter. I’m a smart woman with
plenty of potential, you’ve said so yourself. It would be a waste of
my talents and the taxpayers’ dollars to put me on the street
handing out parking tickets. If the mayor went over the Chief’s
head, it’s because he knows that.”
"
“That still doesn’t give you police experience.”
"
“It’s all relative. You’re the master, no doubt, but think
about it . . . Mildred took us both by surprise, so don’t hold that
against me. You might think about letting go of your bullshito
Samurai code . . . enough to give a girl some breathing room,
Jimmy.”
"
“You’re a tough one, Banks . . . I have to hand it to you . . .
you stand up for yourself, and I like that, but still . . . you’ve got a
lot to learn.”
"
“Don’t we all?”
"
“Sure. But relative to police work, there’s things they don’t
teach you in college or at the police academy.”
"
“Give me an example.”
80
"
“The first thing every detective, every human for that
matter, should learn--is how to find your center--your place of
authority. Only from your center of being will you be able to
anticipate the attack from all angles. You, like most people, use
only your mind, which is a big mistake. You’re way off center.”
"
“Being in my center will help me how?”
"
“It will speak to you. Tell you the correct thing to do.”
"
“So you don’t think I’m listening. How do you suggest I
listen?”
"
“First you need to stop relying on your mind. This is what I
mean by paying your dues, being out in the street. After being
spooked for years, you anticipate the spook. Your spleen starts
talking. You hear the fear.”
"
“Talking spleen? Hear the fear? What the hell? I listen in
my way . . . a mix of logic and gut feelings. You asked me if the
old folk were dead or kidnapped. I did answer from my gut . . .
said I didn’t think so. Do you think my mind said that?”
"
“Don’t know. But OK, I’ll accept it came from your gut.
What does your gut say about the next thing to do?”
"
“We should find where this Robert dude lives and check it
out, but I don’t think they’re there. What do I really feel in my
gut? I think Robert took his friends on one last joyride before
they die. Even if he’s nuts, he’s got all the money in the world. I
mean, why wouldn’t he grab his friends and take off? My guess
is they left the country.”
"
“That’s good, Banks. So why did you leave the country?
Why are you here? We usually go to Starbucks.”
"
“Maybe I didn’t want to be with you. Didn’t you see that in
my eyes? Didn’t your gut tell you that I was a dangerous woman
to be around? If so, then why would your center of being tell you
to hunt me down?”
"
“Well, whatever I said didn’t stop you from being a smartass. We go get coffee together. That’s what we do. Guess I’ve
got this nine o’clock habit with you, Banks. What can I say?”
"
“That you’re addicted? What about organic fair trade
coffee? What were we doing at Starbucks in the first place?
Does your gut tell you that Starbuck’s the best thing for your
gut?”
81
"
Jimmy had a blank look on his face as he acknowledged a
point well made.
"
“Here’s what my mind thinks . . . I wasn’t at Starbucks so
you figured I’d probably be off at some other coffee shop
needing some man’s shoulder to drop my tears on. Right? So tell
me, Jimmy, why would I want to cry on the shoulder of the jerk
who had jumped all over my ass?”
"
He thought about my words, or something, and then
spoke, “I’m apologizing, Taylor . . . that’s why I’m here. We need
to start over. I don’t want you to get hurt . . . there’s things you
need to learn and I’m now willing to teach you. That’s all. That’s
what you wanted, right?”
"
“It is, Jimmy . . . I just . . .”
"
“It’s OK, Taylor,” he interrupted. “I thought I would ease out
of my career with no more homicides and you thought you would
begin yours with a lot of them. We were both wrong. So here we
are. Let’s make peace with what is and move on.” Jimmy looked
at his watch. “It’s almost ten. We need to get back to the office. I
got a call from forensics before I left. Davis did the DNA hair
analysis on Howard Johnson, from a hairbrush our guys got from
his room. He thinks we’ll be interested in what they found out.”
"
“That you two came from the same African tribe?” I
couldn’t help myself.
"
He stared at me, then chuckled. “You just don’t know when
to stop, do you? I think what Davis has may be important to this
case, Banks. Time to get to work.”
"
“You go, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
I had no desire to return to work, at least not right away. I waved
my hand, the gal came over and I ordered hot chocolate and a
croissant. That’s how Jimmy did it. Expecting without doubt.
Settling back into my cozy leather seat in front of the fire, I
watched the flames lap over one another. I closed my eyes and
felt like a child, safe alone, warm secure in a mountain cabin.
The skyscraper was up; it wasn’t leaning. I was no longer a
spoiled, self-centered privileged brat. I was a real detective,
working with the master. I brought my knees up to my chest and
took a sip of the hot chocolate. He apologized. Now I was
82
curious. What was it that forensics found?
The rain had finally stopped when I left the coffeehouse and
headed back.
"
“What took you so long?” were the first words out of
Jimmy’s mouth as I entered his office.
"
“You gave me a lot to think about,” I answered calmly.
"
“There’s more . . . let’s continue this discussion in the
conference room.”
83
10
Warned by a dog-the fool laughs:
steps to a void.
Jimmy closed the conference room door and sat across from me.
After regarding me for a long while he finally spoke, “Eventually I
would have had to do what I did this morning.”
"
“Why?”
"
“I’m an excellent judge of talent Taylor, whether you want
to believe me or not, and a bright man. I saw your potential and
I’m very aware of mine. A slight different play of my cards and I
would have been the police commissioner, maybe even the
mayor of Portland by now. That’s not me being presumptuous-its the truth. I realized the consequences and had my own good
reasons for turning down the offers. You jumped on the detective
job without realizing the consequences and now, in all your
cocky glory after four miserable months on the force, you think
you have everything it takes to be a detective at my level. I’m
telling you . . . to think that way at this point in your career is
dangerous. Damn foolish and life threatening.” He still didn’t
want to tell her about Carla Espinoza or mention that the last
thing anyone wanted was to see her coming home in a bag.
"
“You don’t have to protect me.”
"
“Partners protect each other . . . that’s just the way it is.
You need to wake up. I could have slapped you across the face
this morning, like Zen masters do . . . but I decided to do it with
words. Words are easy. They prove how off-center you are.”
"
84
"
“You use words as your weapon Taylor, and I was simply
reflecting them back to you. It doesn’t matter what words I
chose . . . harsh words, lies, threats . . . the worse the better . . .
you react accordingly. Look what happened. I attack with words
and you run away and hide. My words upset you, weakened
you.”
"
“Did you mean what you said, or was it just for the effect?”
"
“Doesn’t matter. They would have come a time, and it was
this morning, for someone to rattle your cage, use your strategy
against you. I had to do it. So . . . what did you learn, Banks?”
"
“That you’re an asshole?”
"
“That’s true,” Jimmy laughed. “Here’s a bottom line . . . I’m
going to be gone in six weeks. After that you’ll be on your own
around here. This may be your last chance to sit at the feet of a
master.”
"
“You?”
"
“You have no idea who I am, Taylor. Now, I’m asking you
to make a decision. You’re either going to pay attention to what I
have to teach, shut up and learn to become a respected
detective, or if you chose not, you’re just going to keep getting
the shit jobs until you’re bored out of your mind.”
"
“You really think that could happen?”
"
“It already’s happening. You think anything will change
when I’m gone . . . the Chief and everyone will wake up and see
what a hot shot detective you are? I don’t think so. I’m telling
you . . . if you’re going to hold on to your smarter-than-everyoneI-don’t-have-to-surrender-to-any-man attitude, then you might as
well quit right now. So what’s it gonna be, Banks?”
"
“Stop being who I am, or quit? You’re joking, right?” Jimmy
gave me an intense eye to eye, which made me nervous. “I have
to make that decision right now?”
"
“Right now! Surrender or quit . . .”
"
“Hell, no! I’m not quitting.”
"
“All right. Now, since you’re not quitting here’s the other
half . . . the condition to your staying.”
"
“The surrender part?”
"
“That’s right. You’re going to have to shut up, pay
attention, follow my teachings and accept me as your mentor.”
85
Jimmy paused and waited for me to respond, and when I didn’t
he concluded, “Are you willing to do that?”
"
“I don’t know.” I hesitated, not forgetting how harsh he
could be. “Do I have any rights in surrender? I mean . . . I was
excited to come to work this morning, then you threw me under
the bus . . . is that going to happen every day?”
"
“Maybe.”
"
“Seriously, are you going to be some Nazi teacher who’s
going to make my life a living hell? Is there a real purpose to
your madness?
"
“There is.”
"
“Are you going to tell me?”
"
“I am.” Jimmy stopped talking and starred at me “Taylor,
this isn’t twenty questions. You’re not here to interrogate me.
That has to stop. Now, are you ready to surrender to me, to the
unknown, to the void?”
"
“I guess I am . . . but . . . I really don’t know what you’re
talking about . . . the void? First it was the center and now its the
void. Do I get a glossary? What does surrendering to the void
have to do with being a detective?”
"
“Fair questions. You get a pass this time. The answer is-everything. The first thing you’re going to have to do is to lower
your sword. I’m serious. You’re going to have to put it down and
be quiet, if you’re going to learn what I have to teach, and it
doesn’t matter whether you have any idea what this is all about
or not. The less idea the better.”
"
“I have an idea . . .”
"
“Stop it! Get out of your head. This is your dojo. Minds
don’t belong in the dojo. You’re a white belt . . . brand new.
Actually no belt. You have to hold your pants up with one hand
while you fend off my attacks with the other. In other words, you
don’t know a damn thing and it’s not going to be easy. You’re
going to drop the tough act and know nothing. Is this beginning
to sink in? I’m talking about before beginner’s mind, Taylor. I’m
talking about total surrender.”
"
“But wait a second . . . we have this case.” I was still
hesitating, not really grasping the concept of total surrender,
especially to a man who had taught me nothing in four months.
86
The Chief had given him an order. I understood that. But
suddenly this morning Jimmy was a different man--his pleasant
Zen had turned harsh, then soft again. And was now giving me
an ultimatum, and wasn’t backing down. “What does stopping to
teach me how to surrender to the void have to do with finding
some old folks?”
"
“Everything. What’s it going to be, Banks? Stop avoiding.
Are you going to let go or not?”
"
I realized he still held me in check-mate. With hesitation I
finally spoke, “You’ve got me cornered, Jimmy. I’m confused. I
just want to be a detective, do my job. There’s missing people
that need to be found right away . . . and I have no idea what you
expect from me. Honestly . . . surrender is not one of the cards in
my deck.”
"
“I know that,” he said with compassion, then continued, “I
expect you to be a complete detective, not one who’s only tool is
a cocky mouth. I’m not going to go around and around in circles
with you. It’s time for you to commit. Are going to jump off the
cliff? Don’t think about it. Jump or get the hell out of here.”
"
That stirred something in me Jump off the cliff? I was
curious, and with this curiosity a new thought entered my
consciousness, even though I wasn’t suppose to think about it. Is
agreeing to let go and jump off the cliff actually about
surrendering to Jimmy, or is it really about me willing to learn
more about being a detective? I have a lot to learn, no question
about it, and this man, with forty-four years of police experience,
is offering to teach me. I saw it in Jimmy’s eyes--a haiku forming.
!
“Warned by a dog. The fool laughs. Steps off . . . no
maybe . . . he steps into the . . . no that’s it . . . steps to a void.”
"
Hearing the haiku, my mind switched. Steps to avoid . . .
brilliant. Maybe I should let Jimmy teach me. I’ll be a better
detective, and most likely gain the respect of my fellow officers. I
loved challenges, and at that moment I realized that I also loved
surrendering, always to perilous adventures . . . never to
people . . . always to risks that put my life into some kind of
unknown danger. Suddenly the thought of being a laughing fool,
jumping off a cliff and free-falling into some unknown void,
excited me. I was in danger, fighting for my professional survival,
87
challenged by an old fart to get up, wake up and jump into the
void, or die. To Jimmy’s surprise, although he learned to never
be surprised by the fickleness of women, I spoke with
enthusiasm, “OK, boss, let’s do it. I surrender. I’m ready. What
do you want to teach me?”
"
Jimmy gazed at me for a moment, not sure what had just
happened inside my woman’s mind, then handed me one of the
two books from his office bookshelf he had brought with him to
the conference room, “I’m going to loan this to you. I want you to
read it from cover to cover, study it. Today. Have you heard of
Miyamoto Musashi?”
"
“No. Who is he?” I glanced at the cover, A Book of Five
Elements. Miyamoto Musashi.
"
“He was one of the greatest strategists who ever lived,
also probably the best martial arts swordsman of all time. He
was challenged to life or death duels something like sixty-nine
times in his life--and lived to write his memoirs. He didn’t survive
all those attacks because he had control of his sword; given time
just about anyone can learn to control a sword. He possessed
something much greater than control.”
"
“I thought being in control is the most important thing,” I
interrupted.
"
“You’re interrupting is an example of you always wanting
to be in control. Pay attention. Being in control can be an asset,
but it can also be your greatest liability. And that’s your problem
Taylor, you’re a control freak. You have your strategy and you
stick with it . . . your tough girl act . . . always wanting to be on
top . . . your bull-heading through everything because you think
you’re right. With this sort of control attitude you’d easily be one
of the sixty-nine dead.” Jimmy looked for some opposing
reaction from me, and when she had none he opened the book
and turned to a marked page. “Do you have any idea what the
five elements are?”
"
“Well, I’d say earth, wind, and fire . . . and water. That’s
four. Gas? Ether?”
"
“Not bad, Banks. You got four out of five. The fifth is void.”
"
“Void? How can void be something, when it’s nothing?”
88
"
“Now you’re beginning to pay attention. You’re a smart
one. Got a good memory . . . I can see how you got your
master’s degree. Let me read this to you.” Jimmy paused and
then thought of another teacher, the other of his two books.
“Before I read this, have you heard of this book--The Art of War
by the 6th century writer Sun Tzu?”
"
“That I’ve heard of, but never got around to reading it.
Why?”
"
“You were raised by an Army general. He’s the one who
taught you strategy, and from what I know about you, you had to
apply your own sort of strategy to survive in the family you grew
up in, and to get through college and police academy. As a
soldier it’s possible your father read Sun Tzu. If he did, I doubt
he imparted to you the true lesson in this great teaching . . .”
"
“Kill first and ask questions later?”
"
“Don’t interrupt me. Sun Tzu said that the strategy in war,
and I say in life, is not a set strategy at all . . . it’s a strategy of
flexibility. That means he would look at the environment and the
prevailing conditions and respond to them as they change. And
they always do change.”
"
I nodded, suddenly ashamed of my insolent interruptions,
surprised with Jimmy’s intelligence. “I guess that’s what they
mean by Napoleon meeting his Waterloo. He didn’t change his
strategy and lost the war. So what does this have to do with me
and the first guy, the swordsman?”
"
“Miyamoto Musashi. He knew how to wait. You only have
your strategy. It’s pretty much fast forward, and it’s all about
Banks and how Banks thinks. You have to learn to be still, to
stop and listen . . . to think how everyone else thinks, or how
everyone else doesn’t think. Let me read this to you, it’s from
The Book of the Void.” Jimmy put on his glasses, which I actually
thought he didn’t need, and began, “’To attain the Way of
Strategy as a warrior you must study fully other martial arts and
not deviate even a little from the Way of the warrior. With your
spirit settled on your duty, you must practice day by day, and
hour by hour. Polish the twofold spirit of Shin (heart) and I (will),
and sharpen the twofold gaze of ken (perception) and kan
(intuition). When your spirit is not in the least confused, when the
89
clouds of bewilderment are cleared away, there is the true void.’”
Jimmy paused to see if I was listening.
"
“Go ahead, you can read more,” I said without hesitation.
“Please.”
"
“‘Until you realize the true Way, whether in Buddhism or in
worldly laws, you may think that your own way is the one correct
and in order. However, if we look at things objectively, in the light
of the Straight Way of the Heart or in accordance with the Great
Square of the World, we see various doctrines departing from
the true Way. What you believe in often proves to be contrary to
the true Way, distorted as it is by tendencies to favor your own
thoughts and views. Know this well, and try to act with
forthrightness as the foundation and keep the true Heart as the
Way. Enact strategy broadly, correctly and openly. Then you will
come to see things in an all-encompassing sense and, taking the
void as the Way, you will see the Way as void.’”
"
“And ways to avoid . . . I still don’t know what you or he
means by void,” I said, suddenly realizing the brilliance of his
haikus.
"
“Then it concludes, ‘In the void is virtue, and no evil.
Wisdom exists, principle exists, the way exists. Spirit is Void.’”
"
“OK,” I thought about this for several seconds. “So earlier
you called me a control freak, and that I have a strategy and I
stick with it no matter what. And you said I would die because I
don’t know the other strategies. Especially I don’t know about the
void . . . and the void is spirit. Is that right?”
"
“So far.”
"
“This morning what you were hammering into me had to
do with how I feel . . . my intuition. I guess that is spiritual . . . you
were wanting me to go into the void . . . into a place where there
is no perceived answer, no fixed strategy?”
"
“That’s right.”
"
“So, is this what you do? Do you practice this so-called
Way?”
"
“I do.”
"
“In some form, or training?”
"
“I’ve been a student of Aikido for over thirty years. I’m a
sixth degree black belt.”
90
"
“What? Sixth degree black belt? I thought you were some
lazy worn-out bum.” I instantly regretted what I had just said,
then realized the irony in my response--always wanting to be in
control, but almost always out of control with my tongue.
"
He stared at me for a long moment. “Do you not see how
disrespectful that response was?”
"
“I . . . ah . . .”
"
“I don’t want to hear it, Taylor. It’s yet another example of
how it’s all about you. They call people like you egocentric and
narcissistic, by the way.”
"
“Six black belts? I was just surprised,” I said, searching for
the right words. “I had no idea you . . .”
"
“You know nothing about me.” He let that sink in and then
continued, “You think you’re a tough woman, but your guard is
down. Your two arms hold your sword high over your head,
leaving yourself wide open. I reach forward and plunge my tanto
into your gut. That’s exactly why I so easily defeated you this
morning. You have no defense other than a clever mind . . . and
legs to run away with. As far as you being physically superior . . .
truth is, one on one you wouldn’t have a chance with a worn out
bum like me, no matter how young and strong and macho you
are. I’d have pinned you to the ground and be holding you there
with one finger before you even knew what hit you.”
"
“Oh shit.”
"
“In your arrogance you thought I was vegetating. You have
no idea what it means to contain and strengthen one’s ki, life
force energy.”
"
“My god. Can You teach me this?” I was reeling.
"
“Maybe. You’ll have to take a class. Start at the beginning.
No belt. That’s where you are now with you being a detective.
That’s all I want to say. Read the book. We’ll talk about it when
you’re done. OK?”
"
“More than OK,” I answered with a smile. “I’m not going
anywhere, Captain. I won’t let you down.”
"
“That’s the spirit. Now let’s head over to forensics and see
what they got.”
91
11
Ancient murder
--words on faded paper-lines of raven chatter.
On our way to the lab, I stopped in the hall. “Why are we even
going to forensics, Jimmy? The Chief gave us the green light to
find this Howard Johnson, based on Mildred’s fantasy. What
good is his DNA? We’ve already identified him.”
"
“We gave Davis a job to do . . . before Mrs. Rice
enlightened the Chief. It’s a respect thing, Taylor. It’s about taking
a little extra time to honor one another . . .”
"
“So if we blow Davis off . . . it’s disrespectful.” I wanted to
understand how this related to my last four months of feeling
both disrespected and dishonored. “It’s an honoring thing you
say . . . but . . . So you never technically blew me off . . . you just
never made a promise to me you couldn’t keep . . . hummm.”
"
“Let’s leave it behind us and see what Davis found out.”
According to Brad Davis, the hair analysis proved inconclusive.
There was no Howard Johnson that matched this man’s DNA.
Nevertheless, Brad was excited, “I tapped into the national police
network. They have cutting-edge face recognition, iris scanning
and biometric analysis software. Cool stuff. I scanned in this old
dude Johnson’s photo and came up with a match.” He handed
us a photo of a young black man. “It was taken fifty-eight years
ago.”
"
“What does this have to do with our case?” I asked.
"
“Well, it’s a cold case. This kid, known then as Reginald
St. Clair, was wanted for murder in Monroe, Louisiana,” Brad
92
said with a grin, knowing he had just dropped the bomb.
“Apparently this man Howard and Reginald are one in the same
person, and he killed his step-father in 1952.”
"
“Mildred was right?” I asked that question in disbelief.
“Howard killed his father? That was nearly sixty years ago? Did it
go to trial? Was he convicted? Serve time? What’s the story
here?”
"
“Apparently he’s been hiding out all this time,” Brad
offered.
"
“Isn’t there some sort of statute of limitation?” I asked,
considering this matter minor compared to Mildred’s Betty
murder accusation. “Fifty-eight years is a lifetime to be running
from the law. He should get some sort of medal for stealth and
perseverance.”
"
“You say his name was St. Clair. Same as Robert St. Clair,
the other missing man?” Jimmy asked, ignoring my remark.
"
“They could be brothers or maybe it’s just be a
coincidence,” Brad answered with a shrug.
"
“There’s no such thing as a coincidence, Davis,” Jimmy
said, raising his eyebrows. “This is fascinating. What did you find
out about the murder?”
"
“The police files don’t give much info. A cold case murder.
Happened back in fifty-two. I think my dad was born that year.
Maybe it was fifty-three. Cool dude. He paid for my first tattoo
when I was twelve. Wanna see?”
"
“No!” Jimmy grumbled. “Stay on the topic.”
"
“It’s classic . . . anyway, the files say this Reginald St. Clair
was accused of murdering a Ralph Smith, on the night of May
25th.”
"
“Accused,” Jimmy reiterated, “but not convicted. So . . . a
murder took place . . . and our Howard Johnson was accused.”
He thought about it for almost a minute--while both Brad and I
intuitively knew not to interrupt. “Ancient murder. Words on faded
paper. Raven chatter.”
"
“And that means what?” Brad asked.
"
“A haiku, Davis . . . Japanese poetry, you must know
Japanese.”
93
"
“I got kanji tattoo’d on my arms,” Brad answered
defensively. “So what? I’m supposed to know what your haiku
means.”
"
Jimmy closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened
them and offered, “The murder is ancient. We know about it from
words that were written sixty years ago. Words on faded paper.
Raven’s have incredible memories. Raven chatter. Do you
understand the haiku?”
"
I had never heard Jimmy explain a haiku before. I figured
he was illustrating honoring, for my benefit, or maybe he was
beginning to be exasperated with Davis. “I guess we need to
know if this alleged murder is important to our investigation.” I
said, wanting to bring the case back in focus.
"
“It’s fascinating that the two men are somehow related,”
Jimmy almost mumbled, lost in thought.
"
“Recessive genes? Maybe they are brothers,” I suggested.
"
“Let’s assume Robert St. Clair was born and raised in
here,” Jimmy perked up. “Back in the 1930’s a mixed marriage in
Portland world be highly unlikely. And the murder happened in
Monroe, Louisiana when this Reginald was what? Twenty? I
can’t believe a twenty-year-old would take a bus down to
Louisiana in 1952 and kill his step-father. Then what? Wait for
the next bus back to Oregon? I don’t think they’re birth brothers.”
"
I nodded in agreement. “Do you think there’s any
possibility he actually did commit the murder?”
"
“Maybe this will help.” Davis laid a copy of a faded
newspaper article on the table. “Says it was a double homicide.
The maid entered the motel room the next day and found two
bodies--Reginald’s mother, Juliette St. Clair and her husband,
Ralph Smith, the boy’s stepfather.”
"
“They don’t have the same last name,” I interrupted.
"
“Probably common law,” Brad suggested and continued,
“The police assumed the husband killed his wife, and the kid
took revenge. Witnesses reported Reginald leaving the scene of
the crime the night before the bodies were discovered.“
"
“So he was there. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he
had anything to do with the murders. He could have left before
anyone was killed,” I surmised.
94
"
“Even if you opened the cold case, that would be hard to
prove,” Brad answered. “Anyway, it says a warrant for his arrest
was posted throughout Louisiana and a $25 reward was offered
to anyone with information leading to his capture. I couldn’t find
any more information in later papers. They probably swept the
whole thing under the rug.” "
"
“That’s because they didn’t have anything to go on,” I
answered, continuing my reasoning. “Nero Wolfe wouldn’t even
consider that the son did it. He’d send Archie off to find the
mother’s boyfriend. My guess, this guy Ralph was a jealous
husband. In a drunken rage he kills his wife. The boyfriend finds
out and kills Ralph. Simple. We’re talking about Monroe,
Louisiana in 1952 where the white law could care less about one
black guy killing another. They don’t know about the boyfriend,
could only point to the son Reginald, and probably gave the
whole thing a very low priority. Snooped around for an afternoon
and forgot the whole thing. What do you think, Jimmy?”
"
“You’re probably right, Banks. Back then the Klu Klux Klan
was still lynching us black folks in Louisiana and getting away
with it. I don’t imagine a white sheriff in Monroe would care about
blacks killing each other in a cheap motel.”
"
“A black Psycho,” Davis offered, eliciting a hard look from
Jimmy. “You know . . . the Bates Motel . . .”
"
“Wherever or however it happened,” I continued, ignoring
Brad’s off-color comment, “ my gut says he couldn’t possibly
have been the killer.”
"
“I agree,” Jimmy admitted. “Good work, Davis. How about
the DNA results of the other three?
"
“Maggie Sinclair is . . . well, she is who she is. No secrets
with her, but here’s one . . . Robert St. Clair’s room was
impeccable. He didn’t leave a thing . . . not a trace . . .”
"
“No fingerprints?” I asked.
"
“Nothing. It was like he knew we were coming and wiped
the place cleaner than a new-born baby’s ass.”
"
Jimmy and I looked at each other, perplexed by this
strange young man, then I inquired, “How about the Vietnamese
woman . . . Sopi Nguyen?”
95
"
“We got DNA from a toothbrush, and fingerprints, and a
picture to scan. Guess what?”
"
“She doesn’t exist,” I guessed.
"
"
“What do you mean that’s right? You’re suggesting she’s
the ghost of Happy Acres?” Jimmy asked, not intending to be
humorous.
"
“Dude, that’s funny,” Brad laughed.
"
“I’m not a dude,” Jimmy shot back. “Just answer the
question, Davis. What do you mean she doesn’t exist?”
"
“Well, Mr. Captain, sir . . . since she has no data registered
in the system, she’s an illegal alien.”
"
“Hmmm,” Jimmy grunted, scowling at the twentysomething forensic hotshot, then addressed me, “Back in the
seventies there were reports of thousands of boat people who
escaped Vietnam and headed to places like Hong Kong and
Australia. After years of American occupation in Vietnam, many
had the dream of living in the United States. They are a patient
and clever people and of those who finally made it here, many
were illegal. No doubt there’s a generation of illegal Vietnamese
lost in the woodwork. Apparently she was one of them.”
"
“That’s not considering that Sopi Nguyen could be a fake
name,” I added.
"
“So what do we have, Banks?”
"
“A cold case, an alleged open case murderer, an illegal
alien, and a secretive hermit billionaire who is accused of
kidnapping a sweet little old lady named Maggie.”
"
“She probably grows weed . . . dude,” Davis offered,
looking at and deliberately razzing Jimmy. Apparently it was in
his nature to defy authority.
"
“You know Brad, you need to show some respect for your
elders,” I interrupted, getting his attention while sending a sly
wink towards Jimmy, “You did a good job uncovering the
information we needed . . . so . . . ah, thanks.” I decided to
improve my relationship with fellow workers, figuring a little
praise would help. “You did good. We appreciate it.”
"
“OK . . . so . . . how about you and I going out to dinner?”
He was serious.
96
"
“What? You and I go on a date?” I laughed, instantly
forgetting about improving my relationship. “No offense Brad . . .
but I think I’ll pass. Don’t you think I’m a little to old for you?”
When he shook his head I decided to lay it on, “I make it a point
not to date guys with neck tattoos. Especially with skull and
cross-bones. Kind of a turn-off. Find yourself some Goth girl with
satan tattoo’d on her chest. I’d forget about real women if I were
you.” He stared at me, and I continued, “Let’s get back to
business . . . We need you to check into the death of a Betty
Wilson. According to the Chief she died about two months ago at
Happy Acres. See if someone around here did any sort of
autopsy on the body, even if it was minor. She may have been
strangled. It’s possible we’ll have to exhume the body, right
Jimmy?”
"
He nodded. “As a last resort. Find out what you can,
Davis. When you’re done . . . join the Army . . . learn some
respect.”
Back in his office Jimmy slipped Japanese flute music into the
CD player, then sat in the middle of his futon, assuming his
meditation posture.
"
Five minutes went by before I spoke, not willing to wait for
his Zen moments to slowly pass. “You know Jimmy . . .” He
raised his right arm, palm toward me and even though he didn’t
say a word, I shut up and waited for him to speak.
"
“Robert St. Clair is the mastermind behind it all,” he finally
said.
"
“But not the Howard cold case murder,” I fired back. Or
Mildred’s allegations about the Betty murder. He didn’t have
anything to do with Sopi being illegal. Or three of his friends
having dementia. He had nothing to do with us being involved.
What are you talking about?”
"
“He is behind it all.”
"
“What?” I flashed to my favorite mystery novels, how they
were never straight forward. The final clue was always hidden.
Behind the mirror. In the trash. A simple remark from a minor
witness. “His room,” I finally offered. “By wiping his room clean,
Robert knew we’d be investigating their disappearance. He knew
97
we’d find out about Howard and Betty. But why? Why would he
set this all up? What’s the purpose?”
"
“He apparently wants us to find out. But you know, it could
all be true, Taylor . . . all of it.”
"
“That Howard actually murdered two people? That Robert
and Howard kidnapped two women with dementia? Seriously
boss, my gut tells me that’s not true.”
"
“But what if it is true?”
"
“It’s not . . .”
"
“Taylor . . . You can’t dismiss that possibility. If it is true
then we’re in for a long drawn out investigation . . . and trial.”
"
“So?”
"
“I need to have another serious talk with the Chief.”
"
I moved to the other side of the futon and spoke in a calm,
steady voice, “Come on Jimmy . . . have you ever had a case
that’s this bizarre? It may be your opus. What would your
Musashi hero do? Run away? I don’t think so. Whether any of it
is true or not, think about it a second . . . we could sell this script
to Hollywood.”
"
“What?”
"
“I’m serious. Check it out. Four eighty year old runaway
dementia patients; a double homicide; an illegal alien; a long-hair
hermit billionaire drugs and kidnaps a little old lady . . . a crusty
old cop and his sexy rookie detective partner are on their trail,
chasing them to who knows where . . . Where did Jennifer
suggest? The Himalayas? Nobody can make up a script better
than this. In fact, once we solve this mystery I’ll sell the story to
Hollywood . . . maybe they’ll cast me to play myself. CSI
Portland. Missing Persons. I can see the poster. Taylor
Banks . . . master detective. Tight clothes, hot body . . . I’m
reaching for my gun. What do you think?”
"
“If you say so, Banks.” He conceded, not interested in
humoring me. “You’re right though. Musashi wouldn’t have
backed down--he would have walked right into the fight, sword
held high.” Jimmy studied me for twenty seconds, picking up on
my enthusiasm and determination. “Let’s you and I take the rest
of the day off. Read the book I gave you and let it sink in.”
98
"
“It’s not even noon,” I said after checking my watch.
“You’re sending me home for the rest of the day?”
"
“You’ve had a pretty full one so far. Tomorrow we’ll go to
the St. Clair house, first thing.”
"
“Good idea. Mrs. Rice said Sopi’s daughter Jane lives
there. Maybe she’ll know where they went. Some la-de-da hotel
in Paris? We’ll get rooms next to theirs. Order champaign.”
"
“Go home, Taylor. Lay down, drift off. Drifting is good. If
you find yourself dreaming, a vision or inspiration comes to you, I
don’t care how nutty it sounds or where it comes from, go with it.
Follow the drift. Tell me about it in the morning.”
"
I was happy. Probably for the first time in months, my
smile was genuine. “Got it. Be illogical. Drift off . . . strange
orders, Captain. I’ll do my best. See you first thing tomorrow. By
the way, you want to meet at my new coffee shop?”
"
“See you here tomorrow. Nine a.m.”
99
12
Pausing to scratch-the stray dog
stops the evening rush.
After Taylor left, Jimmy went to the employee kitchen and
brewed his favorite organic free-trade coffee, something he had
never told her about. Back to his office he closed the curtains
and turned on a paper lamp, then sat on his futon. He took a sip
of coffee and scratched his beard, thinking about the missing old
folks. Definitely more to this case than I first imagined. Five days
and they’re still missing. Maybe Taylor will come up with
something. I’m supposed to be the master sleuth, and I don’t
have a clue where they went, or why. I guess both of us need
time to let it all sink in. That’s why I sent her home. I should go
home. That got him thinking about Robert St. Clair’s home.
Seventeen billion dollars. He must have some sort of palatial
mansion. Twenty bedrooms . . . live-in maids and chefs and
gardeners . . . the good life. First thing, after coffee at Banks’s
Bank, no matter what, we’ll go out to wherever he lives. What a
morning. Maybe I should take a nap--after I finish my coffee.
Why didn’t I ever tell Banks about this Thai mountain roast? My
secret. I’ve kept so much from her these months. He took a long
slow sip, savoring the rich taste. I guess I shook her up a bit this
morning. He chuckled. Good thing I didn’t slap her. I probably
would have lost my pension. I did it right . . . put her on edge . . .
like a deer in the headlights . . good for the instincts if you don’t
get run over . . . I don’t think I ran over her. She’s a survivor . . .
100
feisty. Hardly a defenseless doe . . . more like a bearcat. He
chuckled again, realizing that he really did like Taylor Banks.
He got up and put a Japanese temple tape in. Shakuhachi flutes
mixed with guttural chants and kotsuzumi beats soon completely
relaxed Jimmy. He began to slide into horizontal, opening to the
possibility of the void - when he was startled by a rap on his
door. He jumped to his feet, knowing that Taylor was long past
the formality of knocking.
"
“Chief! What are you doing here?” he said, only opening
the door a few inches.
"
“Oh stop the silliness, Jimmy, and let me in,” the Chief said
with his authority. He had never before stepped one foot into the
Captain’s Zen sanctuary. Except for the one paper ‘surrender’
lamp and the daylight finding cracks in the noren curtains, the
room was twilight dark. The peaceful flute music accented an
ambiance in complete opposition to the hubbub and serious
activity that was a police station, right outside his door.
"
The Chief stepped in, closed the door behind him and
looked around in awe. “I’ve heard the rumors. You all right,
Jimmy? I mean upstairs.”
"
“What? There’s a rumor that I’m crazy?”
"
“I didn’t say that . . . what’s all this?”
"
“It’s the agreement we made a long time ago. Remember?
No new cases. No partners. I get to ride out my last six months
in peace. This . . . is me being honorable in my part of the
agreement.”
"
“Meaning I haven’t been honorable?”
"
“Well, you gave me a partner. Broke the agreement. Gave
me a murder, kidnapping case. Broke the agreement. I was a
great captain, and you know it. I deserve this. So why are you
here?”
"
Jimmy was right, but regardless, it was his job to put his
detectives to work. “You know, Jimmy, you and I go way back.
We used to have beers together and talk about cases for hours.
For like twenty-five years. I miss the old Jimmy Meriweather. I
could walk into your office any time and see all the murder
suspects on that big board that was on that wall . . . what is that?
101
A kimono? A dragon kimono on your wall? Whatdidya have some
fang sway woman interior decorate your office?
"
“Feng shui. And no.”
"
“Whatever. What’s that music? I’m surprised you don’t
have a geisha in here serving you tea. What the hell is going
on?”
"
“You know Chief . . . I’m not going to sit here and explain
and justify myself . . .”
"
“You will if you want to keep your . . . I guess a samurai
warlord would call it an office . . . you have a desk . . . that’s
good. A Buddha on your desk?”
"
“I have six weeks to go, Chief. I accepted your favor.” He
took a deep breath. “I’ve had a trying morning . . . I had to do
with Taylor Banks what you’re attempting to do with me. Tough
love. I get it. Thanks for caring. But no thanks for the threat and
the insinuation that my . . . synapses . . . are as disjointed as the
four people I’ve agreed to hunt down. So, if you don’t mind . . . I’ll
go back to my Zen meditation.”
"
“That’s the old Jimmy I miss. Balls up to the table. Can we
have a normal conversation?” Jimmy nodded. “I’m just going to
sit down on your . . . futon?” He didn’t wait for the invitation. “Is
that tea?”
"
“Thai mountain roast coffee.” Jimmy sat on the other side.
“Would you like some?”
"
“No thanks.” He looked around, and took in the energy of
the room. It was soothing and peaceful. The Chief could actually
feel the tension of his position draining away. He closed his eyes
for a moment and allowed the sweet flute in. He opened them
with a new attitude. “I forgot where I was for a second. Jimmy . . .
forget those things I said . . . I want to talk to you about the
Happy Acres case . . .”
"
“Don’t you have better things to think about?”
"
“I do . . . but this one got my attention. You’re aware I’m
sure . . . that in the wrong hands this could be front page news.
Billionaire owner of Shambala Natural Foods kidnaps woman.
His best friend and former business partner Howard Johnson,
now wanted for two murders, escapes with him. Do you see what
I’m saying? I don’t want the added pressure of another front
102
page story. There’s a revolution wanting to explode on the
streets . . . but that news never seems to be more important than
celebrity gossip. Now do you see where I’m coming from?”
"
“There’s no one else on the force who you thought could
handle this investigation and also keep it hush, hush?”
"
“Exactly. You’ve retreated into your own world for the past
four months. You’re not talking with the other detectives. Banks
has zero credibility in the Bureau. People are forgetting about
you two . . . so you can easily go off on your own business, take
on this potentially explosive case, and nobody would know the
difference. So do you see why I made the choice I made.”
"
“I got it.”
"
“So . . . let me hear the gossip.”
"
“It’s pretty simple, Chief. If we find Robert, then we find
Howard and the two women. We’re going to his estate next,
follow the leads we pick up there. I feel no danger regarding
these people. Four eighty year olds? All indications point to them
being docile. Taylor was right . . . she was saying that Howard
should get a medal for staying away from the law for almost sixty
years. Neither of the men even drive a car. You couldn’t find
more benign people. They aren’t criminals. We think that old
Mrs. Rice totally fabricated the Happy Acres murder.”
"
“No doubt,” the Chief agreed.
"
“You know . . . you’ve got to find some way to keep her in
the loop . . . but I don’t want to have anything to do with her.
Taylor either. Mildred wants to be involved in a murder
mystery . . . even if she’s making it all up. If she’s ignored, she’ll
go right to the Oregonian. She’s the one you need to keep quiet.”
"
“You’re right. I’ll come up with something and send
Carlson out there. So fill me in with what you have so far.”
"
“Even if we brought Howard in for the Betty murder he
could plead insanity and get away with it. We could easily close
the Monroe, Louisiana cold case, facts support an acquittal. The
women? They have to be with the men, they were all best
friends. Maybe carrying them out was faster than all four
walking . . . and Rice made it up to be a kidnapping.” Seeing a
yawn, he decided to give the Chief what he wanted, gossip.
“Maybe it was all romantic--he carrying Maggie away in his arms
103
and now they’re in some la-de-da hotel in Paris drinking
champagne and making love. The other two are in the next room
doing the same. That’s what I’d be doing . . . even when I’m
ninety.” He took a sip of his coffee and smiled.
"
“Well, OK.” The Chief was happy. As he stood up he
concluded, “So continue on, follow all leads, even it’s to that
hotel in Paris. I’ll take care of Mrs. Rice and nobody will know a
thing about this.”
"
“I’ll do my best to find them . . . the sooner the better for
me.”
"
The Chief got to the door and then turned around, taking
in the room. “I have one more favor . . . if you’re going to be
away from the Bureau for any amount of time.”
"
“What’s that?”
"
“Leave me the key to your office. I think I actually like this
room.”
"
Jimmy left work an hour later and brought the manila folders
home with him. He studied the 8 ½ x 11 glossy of Sopi Nguyen.
Who are you? You look perfectly normal. Elegant. Madam
Nguyen. You could be Vietnam’s first lady . . . you have that aura
about you. What can you tell me? They say a picture is worth a
thousand words . . . You’re a survivor . . . something happened
that made you tough . . . you made it to America. I’ll bet my story
about you being a boat person is right. What happened? Who
are you, Lady Madam Nguyen? Jimmy kept looking at her
picture, and suddenly realized he was attracted to Asian women.
She looks younger than me. How old is she? Seventy-six. Hard
to believe. He looked at the notes in her folder. Been there two
years. Admitted herself. . . . Admitted herself? Who would admit
themselves to the funny farm? Monthly rent . . . zero!? She lives
at Happy Acres rent free? Why? Let’s see . . . what else?
Nothing. There’s nothing here. Nothing to go on. Who are you
and where did you go? He paused to consider. Oh, of course.
She’s an illegal alien. She’s not going to give the address of her
family, illegal or not. Mildred did mention her daughter. Jane?
Lives in Robert St. Clair’s house. Probably one of the maids.
Why haven’t we gone there sooner?
104
13
Lost in lucidity
--the white hawk lands-between life and death.
It was one o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon and I had been
ordered to do nothing; lay down and drift off, he said. I looked
around my modestly furnished, mostly unadorned one-bedroom
apartment. Daylight pulled the half drawn curtains out of their
normal shadow, exposing tiny specks of dust drifting through the
dead room air. This was a new experience for me. I really didn’t
know how to be there, in my home, in the afternoon of a work
day. I wasn’t like Jimmy, I didn’t know how to be as still as the
room I was in. Serenity, nothingness--the void--were entirely
foreign concepts for me, and for the first time I began equating
those terms to the place where I lived.
"
I realized that there was no life in my apartment, which is
most likely why I was hardly ever there. I was forever on the go,
doing something. In my off-duty hours you’d find me at the police
firing range, working out at the gym, running, swimming, biking,
building my strength and endurance for the day I’d compete in a
triathlon. I figured I would probably win on, sooner or later, as
long as I kept up with my routine. That routine included pumping
my endorphins until around eight or nine o’clock, and then come
home to watch CSI or play my favorite hunt and kill video game. I
eat my evening meals when most people were ready to turn in,
and every once in a while I’d take a Rex Stout, or maybe a
Raymond Chandler mystery novel to bed, though sooner or later
my mind wandered, thinking about my lack of love making. I love
sex, and I’m not at all embarrassed to admit it. I would probably
105
welcome a long line of pleasing lovers if only I allowed myself to
be promiscuous but regardless, I haven’t met any promising
candidates since what’s his name left.
"
Remembering that I was salaried and technically on the
clock, although Jimmy did give me the rest of the day off to just
“be,” I shook off the urge to visit my favorite dildo, sat upright on
the brown leather couch and tried to do nothing.
"
An hour passed by and the ring of my cell phone took me
by surprise. “I may be lost in the void, Jimmy, but I’m not sure,” I
answered without glancing at who called. I listened. “Carlson?
You’re the last person I’d expect a call from. Whatyawant?” Hank
Carlson was the one man in the bureau I was actually sexually
attracted to. Unfortunately the feeling was mutual. Disregarding
the fact he was married and had two children, Carlson was
persistent with his far from subtle advances. I came from an
upstanding family and was now a police officer, so needed I
practiced self-restraint and hold on to my vague code of moral
conduct. That was my excuse with him, and the infidelity part, of
course. But I never quite understood why I kept myself from
doing something that gave me so much pleasure, even with a
hunk like Carlson. At twenty-nine I was approaching my most
sexually potent years, years that shouldn’t be wasted. My welltoned, I have to admit beautiful hard body needed to be made
love to and I enjoyed sex with big, strong, muscular men like
Hank Carlson. I missed having a man in my life, though I knew it
would never be him.
"
“You know what I want,” he answered in a way that always
frustrated me, “but that’s beside the point. The Chief and I had a
talk.”
"
“I’m happy for you, Carlson. Good luck with your new job
as a used car salesman.”
"
‘Very funny. He’s put me on the Mildred Rice case.”
"
“What? That’s our case.”
"
“I’m not to interfere with you and Jimmy. He wants me to
distract her . . . I’m suppose to make her think she’s important to
the investigation. Got any insights on how to handle her?”
"
“Change your sexual orientation.”
"
“What? I’m all man, Banks. You know that. I know you
106
know that.”
"
“Tell it to your wife.”
"
“Give me something I can use.”
"
“Sex therapy,” I answered, realizing that Hank and I were
not all that different. I decided to help him. “Listen Hank . . . Mrs.
Rice doesn’t like straight men. I don’t know why, but it’s a fact.
Have the Chief bring up one of those good looking lesbian gals
from the ranks. Take her along to flirt with the old lady. It’s not
that difficult. Mildred wants to be validated . . . and
acknowledged, just like you. That’s your best bet. Listen, I’m
busy. Buy your wife some flowers. Gotta go.”
"
After hanging up my mind drifted back to Jimmy
Meriweather. It was quite a roller-coaster ride he had put me on
that morning. It looked bad for awhile and now I was seeing
some hope. At least he told the truth--it’s true . . . I’ll never find a
better teacher once he leaves the department. I did surrender.
That was good. Not so hard . . . but I have no idea how to get out
of my mind and lose myself in the void. Jimmy is a great
example of what it means to do nothing, and I just thought he
was wasting time. I thought about the great athletes who have
the ability to focus and not be distracted. There must be a
distinctive difference between a focused mind and a still mind.
Maybe not. Stillness is new territory for me, a new challenge. At
that moment it occurred to me that I wanted to experience the
void. So I sat and stared into space. "
"
That didn’t last very long. I reached down and picked up
the book Jimmy had given to me, A Book of Five Rings by
Miyamoto Musashi, and started reading. It was all about
swordsmanship, about moving and cutting and being still. After
three hours of slicing and dicing I finally stretched out on my
leather couch and closed my eyes, something I would never ever
allow myself to do on a weekday afternoon.
I was soon half asleep. I drifted back to when I was nine years
old, pleading with my mother to let me sign up for a karate class.
Again the answer was ‘no,’ and when I started crying I was sent
to my room. This is how it always was, the thought floated past. I
was always caught in the middle . . . mother wouldn’t let me do
107
anything she thought was manly. Be a good girl. Do your
homework. Stop crying. Go to your room. As I revisited the pain
of my childhood a rush of the old confusion threatened to disrupt
my peacefulness. Tears involuntarily rolled down the corners of
my eyes. I would have been good at karate. I could have gotten
a black belt, maybe many black belts. Why didn't she let me do
the things I wanted to do? Why didn't she let me be me? I went
deeper. Now, in a lucid dream, I was wearing a black belt; in the
ring at a karate tournament kicking butt. Both my mother and
father were there cheering me on. If only that were true, I
imagined myself thinking.
"
The tournament faded and now I was a beautiful sword
master, gracefully moving through the central court of an elegant
silk banner-draped Japanese palace, dicing and slicing just as
Miyamoto Musashi talked about. I could fight blindfolded or in my
sleep which, of course, I was, but nevertheless, no one stood a
chance. Swordsmen came at me from every direction and they
all went down. I was invincible. "
Then the scene switched and I was in one of my video
games, where instead of shooting the bad guys I jumped in from
the void, like I was invisible and then not--with my sword cutting
through the thugs before they could even raise their guns. Red
numbers were flashing by, and I was scoring more points than
anyone on earth, and then my TV monitor exploded, glass jetting
at me and like the Matrix in slow motion I artfully dodged the
shards, which turned my apartment into a crystal wonderland.
"
Then it switched again--I was sitting at the altar in the
meditation hall, up in the mountain village in The Last Samurai. I
was in Tom Cruise’s arms and we were kissing--when a bunch of
rogue Samurai with swords swarmed in. Tom was now a bigger,
more muscular, Brad Pitt action hero, and I was Angelina Jolie in
the Tomb Raider, kicking butt--and then I was gone.
"
I was again wearing regular clothes, standing alone on
the top of Mt. Everest, looking down. It was a sunny day, not a
cloud in the sky and I could see the endless tops of white
mountains. I took a deep breath and jumped off the highest
mountain in the world. With natural ease I was gliding like a great
bird, with warm wind whipping through my hair. I heard Jennifer
108
White whisper the answer to the “where are they” question: “The
Himalayas.” Down and down I sailed into a verdant Swiss Alpslike valley, with thick pine groves and lush foliage, waterfalls,
rivers and ponds, red and purple, orange and white tropical
flowers, deer, sheep, cows and horses in fields of green grasses,
and plots with vegetables and fruit trees bursting with a
cornucopia of abundance. I flew in circles taking it all in, and then
came upon a village with green tiled oriental roofed buildings that
looked ancient with their gold trimmings, red silk banners and
statues of Buddha’s, Krishna’s and dancing maidens. I hovered
in the air in awe, then set my sights on one building in particular.
I flew down and as I got closer and was about to land, I went
right through the green tiled roof into what appeared to be a
meditation hall. There I saw a young man with long blond hair
sitting in the lotus position, in front of an altar of dancing gods-BRRRING! BRRRING!
"
I woke up with a start when my cell phone rang. I picked it
up as if it were part of my dream. “Yes,” I murmured, my eyes
still closed.
"
“Taylor,” Jimmy said in a calm voice, which seemed like
yelling to me. “What are you doing?”
"
“Dreaming . . . ” I was hovering between realities, only half
back in waking consciousness.
"
“That’s good. What are you dreaming about?”
"
“About answering the phone . . ,” I mumbled. My eyes
refused to open.
"
“Taylor! Wake up!” He raised his voice.
"
I slowly opened my eyes and looked around. I was in my
apartment in the late afternoon, not happy that my incredible
dream was so rudely interrupted. Closing them again I forced
words out, “It’s not a good time, boss. I’m still in the void.” I
began to drift away again, wanting to go with it, but heard myself
ask, “What do you want?”
"
“The void, eh? That’s why I called. You listening?”
"
“Hmmm.”
"
“I take that to be a yes. I was just thinking . . . you
know . . . I gave you that book to read . . . I just called wondering
if you’ve had a chance to read it . . . You’re in the void?”
109
"
“Hmmm.”
"
“Snap out of it, Taylor. Tell me about the void.”
"
“Now or in a dream?” I was still half asleep and as close
as to surrendering to ‘whatever’ as I’d ever been.
"
“Doesn’t matter. They’re both the same.”
"
I sat up, opened my eyes and took in a deep breath. “OK,
Jimmy. Give me a second.” I shook my head and took another
breath. “I don’t know what both the same means, but yeah . . .
you just woke me from this pretty wild dream.”
"
“And?”
"
“I think I know where they are,” I said with a long yawn, not
believing that I had actually just said that, committing myself to
an answer.
"
“You do? Where’s that?”
"
“The Himalayas. They’re going to Shambala.”
"
“Are you still in your dream? Shambala is the name of his
business and I doubt they have a factory in the Himalayas.”
"
“I guess I shouldn’t tell you my dreams.”
"
“No, no, no . . . I’m not mocking you . . . I need a second to
let what you just said sink in. I mean . . . on the first go-round it
doesn’t make a bit of sense. What would they be doing in the
Himalayas? Are you talking about Shangri La?”
"
“I guess I am.” I got up and walked into the kitchen, took a
bag of organic coffee from the cabinet and scooped some into
my coffee maker. “By the way . . . I know about your secret
coffee stash . . . you could have told me.”
"
“You knew? . . . you could have told me . . . doesn’t
matter . . . “
"
“It does matter, Jimmy. We need to stop keeping things
from each other. I’m telling you the truth now.”
"
“But Shangri-La is a myth that some writer, I think his
name was James Hilton, made up. Nobody has actually ever
been there, as far as I know.”
"
I was now fully awake and my self-appointed mentor’s
skepticism was annoying me. “Jimmy . . . listen . . . I’m not that
stupid . . . and if you knew anything about me you’d know I’m not
some chick who chases after lollipops and rainbows . . . but if
you remember correctly, you’re the one who told me not to
110
think . . . right? Don’t think, Banks. Tell me how you feel. Whats
your intuition say, Banks? Go into the void. Listen. That was
what you were telling me, right?”
"
“Pretty much.”
"
“Well, I wasn’t thinking. I read almost all of that Musashi
book you gave me and then faded off into what, for all I know,
was the void . . . seemed like some bizarre dream.” I stopped
talking and closed my eyes, wanting to go back there and see it
more clearly.
"
“Go on, Taylor. I’m not judging. Honestly. I’m listening.”
"
“Are you sure? I’m not going to be telling you what I saw if
you’re going to be dis’ing me.”
"
“I’m not going to do that. Seriously. This is what I was
asking for. You’re right . . . we need to trust each other. Just tell
me what you saw in your vision.”
"
“OK. It started in Japan with a bunch of martial arts
fighting and I was kicking butt and making out with Tom Cruise
and maybe Brad Pitt, and that was all good. Then suddenly I was
on top of Mt. Everest and I jumped off.”
“You jumped off Mt. Everest?” Jimmy asked, now caught
up in the vision of it.
“It was pretty spectacular even for a dream. Anyway, I
did. I was flying over all these white peaks and kept gliding down
and down until I flew into this sparkling green valley. Yeah . . . it
was like flying into paradise . . . pretty much the perfect picture
when you think of paradise and . . . ah . . . there was a village
with green tile roofs and gold trim and pagodas . . . and I was
drawn to one building in particular. I started flying down to it . . . I
guess this could only happen in a dream, but I went right through
the roof, like I was a ghost, into this big empty meditation hall. It
was all sunlit and serene in there . . . and sitting alone in the
middle of the hall was this long-blond-haired white dude,
meditating in front of Buddha and Jesus and Krishna and some
other woman god all dancing on a stage . . . it was nuts . . . and
when I flew around and looked right at this blond guy . . . right
before the damn phone rang with you calling . . . this name came
to my mind . . .”
"
“Wow . . .” Jimmy was taken aback by my vision. “Let me
111
guess.”
"
“OK?”
"
“Chogya Da Rinpoche?”
"
There was long pause. Finally, I interrupted the silence.
“You still there, Jimmy?”
"
“I am.”
"
“Well . . . that’s not the name I got. Who’s this Rinpoche?
What made you think of him?”
"
“I saw him in that same scene many years ago, in
Harlem.”
"
“Harlem? That’s a long ways from paradise.”
"
“That’s what makes your dream so bizarre. That night
totally changed my life. The book he wrote is one of the four I
have in my office.”
"
“It was the same scene? Now I’m having a hard time
believing you. Is he still alive?”
"
“He’s probably long gone. I haven’t heard a word about
him in what’s it been? . . . nearly fifty years. What name came to
your mind?”
"
“. . . Robert St. Clair.”
"
The silence went on for a long time before Jimmy spoke,
“Well . . . that makes sense . . . power of suggestion . . . Jennifer
connected Robert with the Himalayas. I’m not sure we have a
lead or not.”
"
“You’re discounting my vision?”
"
“Not at all. Honestly I don’t know what to think. The fact
that you saw what I saw as a kid in Harlem is uncanny. It doesn’t
fit into any sort of logic.”
"
“Wasn’t that the point . . . to get out of the logical mind and
allow the void to speak?”
"
“You’re right, Taylor. No one ever enters the void when
they’re thinking. Good job. I just didn’t imagine you’d get there
this fast. The problem is . . .”
"
“If that’s where they’re going, then how do we find them in
a place that doesn’t exist?” I answered for him.
"
”That’s it. If your vision has any validity . . . and I think it
does, we have to find them before they get there.”
"
“So what’s next?”
112
"
“We need to go where we should have gone in the first
place?”
"
“Now?” I wasn’t sure what he had in mind.
"
“Do you have a dinner date?”
"
“I wish.”
"
“How about we meet at the office at five-thirty?”
113
14
The mind is a thief
--an innocent treasure-- dew drops on banyan leaves.
Jimmy sat at his apartment desk, lost in thought. The
Himalayas? I want to believe her . . . but . . . we need more
information to know for sure. This is important to the Chief.
Keeping it hush-hush. Makes sense. Find them no matter what it
takes . . . hmmm. I have no idea what to expect next. It’s hard to
believe Taylor actually had that vision . . . she’ll make a good
partner on this case . . . she’ll be alright. Keeps surprising
me. !
!
He got up and went to his compact kitchen and began
heating the tea kettle water. Taylor was still on his mind. She’s
uncommonly bright. Knows exactly what she wants . . . doesn’t
back down from anyone. She’d fight before she’d surrender . . .
not unlike my best students. I like that about her and it scares
me. Same with any strong-willed woman I get close to, come to
think of it. Jimmy had been hurt in love, and never took the time
to heal.
!
With the cup of green tea in hand on the way back to his
bedroom/office, he passed by a side table on which sat a cluster
of framed photos. He picked up the one of him hugging Janine,
the only one he still had of them together. This must be thirty-five
years old, he thought, remembering he was only twenty-two and
on the force for a year when he married twenty-year old Janine.
She was the most beautiful woman in the world. We were going
to be married forever. What happened? Jimmy knew the answer.
Detective work. He thought back to the night he was promoted to
114
detective. They warned me. Detective work is a cruel mistress. A
destroyer of love and marriage. I promised Janine, it wasn’t
going to happen to me, no way, no how. "
In the days, weeks and months that year, in addition to
working ten hour days, he was in the dojo five nights a week
training for his first, then second black belt test. They said that
for a detective marriage to work I needed a strong independent
wife, one who accepted her man’s commitment and passion. He
imagined Janine was that strong, so he took on the second and
third mistress without due consideration. I blew it . . . the son of
Harlem had it all . . . a secure job, a beautiful loving wife, two
well-adjusted kids, one rotten one, and a home in the suburbs.
Why couldn’t I have just been normal? Come home at night, kiss
the wife, read the paper, watch TV, help the kids with their
homework. I had to keep pushing myself. I was never home. No
wonder she ran off with that guy.
"
Jimmy checked the time. Four-thirty. He still had an hour before
meeting Banks. He put the photo back and returned to his room.
"
As if a stronger force was directing him, he opened the
closest and took out his blue Aikido sensei robe. Then, like he
did every night before a class, and every weekend morning, he
carefully, in abbreviated ceremony, dressed himself. When his
sash was tied, he stood in front of the mirror, taking in the
transformation. No wonder the students are intimidated. I look
bad. Taylor would be surprised seeing me now . . . she has no
idea. !
Jimmy picked up a maple bokken and began a series of
katas with the wooden sword, strong vertical strikes with a loud
guttural, HA!, and then long sweeping horizontal cuts ending in
HU! After ten minutes of this he put the bokken down and
headed toward a cushion, below the end of his futon bed. "
He adjusted his hakima and sat in the lotus position. His
thoughts went back to Janine and the family that once shared his
other home, so many years ago. I’m not so good with love.
Banks either. We’re both too focused . . . too stubborn. Next to
his zabuton was a small teak table, on which he had placed his
115
cup of tea. He took a sip and then noticed his second copy of
Many Gods, One Heart, lying there. He opened it and read:
I have closed my door, turned off the light.
I am where they want me to be,
where I thought I should be. But is it?
I find myself walking in circles.
Was it You who planned my perfect path?
The one I’m now so reluctant to walk.
I stand barefoot at the crossroads. The choices I’m not supposed to have confuse me.
I find myself desiring my forbidden use of will.
In secret my mind explores hidden alleys.
In search of what? A way out?
A path other than that chosen for me?
I think of love and long for it.
But I have no idea where to look.
All I know is You.
Can You not see how orchestrated, how well planned and perfectly acted my life has been?
Maybe today they will leave me alone . . .
Maybe today I will choose My path
and move closer to My self-realization . . . closer in surrender to My dharma.
116
And still I am not sure . . . What is it?
How and where and when do I find My path?
And will it lead me to the love I seek?
Jimmy reflected on the passage he had just read. I was only
thinking about Taylor’s surrender. What do I know about her
dharma? What about mine? Is being a celibate old man my
dharma? I have given up looking for love. Why? He reread two
lines out loud, “I think of love and long for it. But I have no idea
where to look.” Why did I give up? Why did I stop looking? I wore
the suit of a detective and now the robe of a sensei . . . Is this
what they wanted me to be? They? What about me? Is there a
third Jimmy? Has all this work . . . no, compulsion, or is it
addiction to trying to be perfect . . . a perfect detective, a perfect
sensei . . . has it kept me away from the love I seek? He went
back to the passage,
Alone in my dark room I listen to my breath.
Your answers are in your heart, You say. I know.
Listen to your heart.
Will My heart lighten this darkness? I wonder.
When will I be able to see visions between the beats,
And receive the message of love?
Jimmy set the book down and stared into space for a long while.
Why am I not seeing visions between my heartbeats? I did
everything I was supposed to do and still . . . I’ve never seen
visions like Taylor saw today. He closed his eyes and continued
his contemplation, I asked her to surrender and she did. That’s
innocence. Have I completely lost my innocence? I teach
surrender. But do I? Obviously not . . . or I would have received
the message of love by now. Is that what Taylor received? A
message that will lead her to love? 117
He put his thumb on the page and turned the book over to the
picture of the author on the back cover. What happened to him?
Did he return to that life? I couldn’t find a second book. I wonder
if those lamas who thought he was their next great Rinpoche
ever read this one. Did he find the love he was seeking? . . . If
so, did he leave behind some sort of legacy? !
Jimmy stood up and went over to his window,
overlooking the Willamette River. What about me? Will they
remember me after I retire? I was a good peace officer. I should
have retired after thirty-five years, but I had to pay for all this.
There were some good cases the last ten years . . . but my heart
really wasn’t in it. Aikido is my way. I practice the way of love. But
was I loved as a detective? Am I loved as a sensei? Maybe they
respect me . . . everyone likes me . . . but is it enough? No. I
hear what the Rinpoche is saying . . . it’s only a hint of the real
love I seek.
!
He picked up the bokken again and started a series of
cuts, then stopped. One more case, then I can finally put police
work behind me . . . then I can focus on Aikido. Will this case
give me the positive closure I’d hoped for? Will it lead me back to
my innocence? To surrender? To love? Jimmy went back to his cushion and sat for a while in quiet
meditation. Distracted by thoughts of the book, he picked it up
again and then set it down, wondering about love.
118
15
Gardens connected-one heart
blooming.
With Hank Carlson’s help, we finally found Jimmy’s home
address. For me it was an act of surrender to request a favor and
sit side-by-side with Hank for half-an-hour--the last thing I would
have done before today. Maybe Jimmy’s tough love was
working, I don’t know. Carlson proved to be a gentleman and I
appreciated his help. The computer sent us to the bureau’s
address, a house on the east side that had been replaced with
an apartment complex many years ago and a martial arts supply
store in Beaverton; for some reason Jimmy had made his home
difficult for even a detective to find. We found his address by
contacting Portland General Electric.
"
My police sedan’s GPS lead me just south of downtown
on 43rd, to the older warehouse district along the Willamette
River. The address was on 43rd, but the fast-moving heavy
south-bound oneway traffic made it nearly impossible for me see
the warehouse numbers across the north-bound lane. I turned off
at where I thought the address might be, and drove around a
long block.
"
While slowly cruising down NW Beaver Street, a block
away and running parallel to 43rd, I looked up at two pagodastyle false roofs, the blue/green tiles nearly lost in the afternoon
shade. I don’t know why I would connect a Japanese-style roof
to Jimmy’s Zen office, but somehow I knew it had to be Jimmy’s
119
home. Why he would choose to live in the warehouse district
baffled me.
"
I parked across the street from a ten-foot high bamboo
fence, got out and went to the entrance door. It was locked. I
began a long walk around the block, past a huge four-story
warehouse, turned right up a side street and right again at an
alley that ran parallel to 43rd, right below the north-bound lane. I
then headed north on the one-lane alley, past the warehouse, to
the middle of another bamboo fence, and stopped at a more
elaborate entrance gate. Whatever might be inside was entirely
hidden from where I stood in the alley. "
I opened the door and entered a wide courtyard,
surprised by what I saw. Thirty feet in front of me was a large
traditional Japanese wooden structure. Jimmy’s home? A twelvefoot high veranda spanned its, I would guess, fifty-foot width.
Red posts held up the building's rafter beams, which ended with
whole line of exposed curved ends, carved with fierce-looking
dragon heads. I wondered if they there to welcome or chase
away. Regardless, the ambiance caused me to forgot I was still
in Portland, Oregon, only a couple miles from the city center. It
was like I just walked into a Japanese still-life, a timeless place-the view was captivating. "
I closed my eyes, just for a moment. How can it be this
still and quiet so near the highway and city center? Then I heard
the gentle sounds of wind chimes, and the gurgle and many
dripping drops of a waterfall.
"
Opening them, I studied the simple wooden building,
which was sandwiched between the four-story warehouse on the
right and an equally large stucco building on the left, its roof tiles
almost touching the neighboring walls. It seemed way too big to
be the home of a single man. While I doubted my instincts and
wondered if PGE had given me the wrong address, it was too
late. I had to find out if this was Jimmy’s house or not.
"
I looked to my left. A twenty-foot-high mountain of natural
looking rock, which climbed up the middle of the stucco wall,
produced a steady stream of water, which dropped down into a
boulder-lined pond. I looked around for signs of life. I was at first
startled by a life-sized scarecrow in a well-contained vegetable
120
garden to my right. Seeing no other signs of life, I curiously
continued on into the yard and stopped at the railing of a convex
curved wooden bridge. Very Japanese, I thought. I followed the
course of the four-foot wide stream from the waterfall--it flowed
under the bridge and ended in a large pond below the right
veranda, where lotus flowers were in bloom. "
I continued on to the middle of the eight-foot-long bridge,
stopped and surveyed the many well-trimmed and perfectly
placed Japanese shrubs, a larger cherry and a maple tree, and
many potted bonsai. The illusion of a bamboo forest obscured
the right warehouse wall, growing thick between the wall and the
lotus pond and garden. Looking down into the stream, I was
greeted by a family of red, orange, yellow and white koi fish.
They seemed well-fed, but their mouths moved as if asking for a
late afternoon snack. Sorry fish, not my job. A bench on the other
side of the bridge looked inviting, like I could spend hours just
sitting there, but I was curious. I could imagine Jimmy with koi
ponds and bonsai trees, but the house made no sense, though it
actually did. "
I walked over large moss-rimmed natural paving stones
and up five steps to the veranda landing. Obeying the sign, I
slipped out of my shoes, slid the glass covered shoji screen door
open, and went into a twelve-square-foot anteroom. It was
almost too quiet.
"
I stopped to study the photographs of proud gi clad
students receiving their martial arts belts, and other pictures of
students in action. I initially had no idea why the pictures were
there. Is this a dojo? It has to be a dojo. Jimmy couldn’t be living
in a dojo. I turned to the opposite wall and was taken aback by
an 8 1/2 by 11 photo of Jimmy. The words under it said: Sensei
Jimmy Meriweather. Oh my god! To each side and below were
framed certificates of award: Portland Police Officer 1969; Police
Lieutenant 1984; Police Captain 2004; Award of Valor--for going
above and beyond the call of duty--1997, another for 2004. Aikido Shodan 1984; Nidan 1987; Sandan 1992; Yondan 1997;
Godan 2000; and Rokudan 2003. Six black belts. He told me, but
holy shit. Jimmy's the sensei! This is his dojo.
121
"
Sliding open the next set of shoji screen double doors I
walked in a very large interior and stood in awe. I looked up at
the vaulted exposed-rafter ceiling, then down at the dojo floor,
which was a sea of white mats. An alcove in the left wall housed
an elevated stage--and a Shinto altar built of light Japanese pine.
A huge Taiko drum commanded the right side, and on left were
ancient looking banners and scrolls. I then looked straight across
from the front door to a drawn floor-length noren curtain. If
there’s an apartment here, it has to be through there.
"
I didn’t know the etiquette, whether to bow or not, so I
nodded to the altar as I crossed the maybe thirty feet of empty
dojo and opened the curtain. An ancient looking Japanese kanji
scroll hung on the facing wall. I proceeded toward it, turned right
and walked about fifteen feet down a hall before entering a room
on my left.
"
I was expecting to see Jimmy, but he wasn’t there. I
walked across the tatami mat covered room to the back wall of
glass. I could see my car, and a park between Beaver Street and
the Willamette River below. I looked around the room. There was
no western furniture. To the right of the window was a small
kitchen; single sink, two-burner stove, three feet of butcher-block
counter, and a mid-sized refrigerator. Below the window was a
round table, one foot off the ground, surrounded by at least ten
zabuton’s. "
I noticed a hall and walked toward it, stopping at a long
wooden cabinet with framed photos on top. One was of a proud
Marine sergeant, another a smiling young woman with a baby, a
teen who looked troubled, and a faded picture of a young Jimmy
with a woman. These pictures puzzled me, now realizing how
little I knew of his personal life. "
I proceeded down the hall, past a slate-tiled bathroom
and stopped to look into a small unoccupied guest room, empty
except for a doubled over futon on the tatami floor. Everything in
my well-trained mind told me to turn around and leave, that I was
going too far--that I had no right to be invading Jimmy’s privacy.
But I was a detective, and I had come here on purpose. Yes, it
seemed revengeful, but that was the point of my being there. I
felt justified.
122
"
I continued down the hall and opened the curtain,
entering a spacious bedroom. Straight ahead was a queen futon
bed with a white comforter. Two paper lamps, like the one’s in
Jimmy’s office, were on each side of the bed. I looked over to the
Willamette River-facing window. Two large over-cushioned easy
chairs, with a small round table between them, faced the river.
"
Even thought I shouldn't have been, I was surprised with
the sudden movement. Jimmy turned in his chair and looked at
me, then spoke in a calm way, as if I were expected. “What are
you doing here, Taylor?” "
I felt unnaturally embarrassed, humbled. Although I
initially didn’t know where his home was, I knew he would be
there--and so he was. Why am I here? I suddenly lost my
cockiness, my reason to feel justified. “I wanted to see where
you live,”
"
“You weren’t invited. How did you find me?” He didn’t
appear angry.
"
“I’m a detective, Jimmy.” I took a breath and decided to
act normal. “I’m suppose to find the missing people . . . I can
even find you . . . apparently . . . well . . . actually . . . ” I paused.
“Carlson helped.”
"
“Carlson? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with
him. Come over here and have a seat.”
"
“We almost had to ask the FBI.” I sat down in the comfy
chair. “You live in a dojo?” I couldn’t help but state the obvious.
"
“You noticed.”
"
“What are you wearing?”
"
“This? The blue skirt is called a hakama, blue because
I’m the sensei, and the white top is called a gi. It’s what I wear.”
"
“OK . . . how long have you lived here?”
"
“Over twenty years . . .”
"
“And nobody at the department knows?”
"
“Oh, I’ve trained quite a few police officers . . . but they
all have kept their mouths shut. It’s a code of honor thing.”
"
“The Chief knows you’re an Aikido sensei?”
"
“He does . . . which is why I was surprised he . . .”
"
“How come you’ve kept this from me, Jimmy?” I
interrupted, instantly upset with the omission of something this
123
major. “I’m your partner . . . why didn’t you tell me? Jimmy! This
is no little thing. I had no idea. Shit. You’re an Aikido sensei? You
know me . . . I love to work out . . . you know that. I’ve always
wanted to train in martial arts. My partner is a sensei and I didn’t
even know it. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” I could feel it
coming. my emotions could be like the ocean in a hurricane;
totally out of control--the inner storm was forming. "
“I’ve explained my actions to you, even though I support
the axiom that a master never explains. I would have invited
you to train once I retired. I don’t invited everyone. Carlson has
been on the force something like seven years, and he doesn’t
know. I’m impressed that you found me . . . but . . .” He looked at
me with a sad expression. “You walked in at a sensitive
moment.”
"
I took in a big breath. Jimmy wasn’t supposed to have
sensitive moments, or at least not admit them to me. I was
curious as to why he was sensitive, but I could feel my hurricane
coming, and even though I knew better, I couldn’t help myself,
“Sensitive moment? What about my sensitivity? How do you
think I feel? . . . you keeping this from me. For the past four
months you act like some sort of lazy bum, when you’re really in
your office day after day strengthening your . . . what is it?
Ki? . . . while I sat around playing ten thousand games of
computer solitaire while waiting for you to throw me some damn
doggie scraps. I could have been well on my way to a black belt
by now, solved twenty cases instead of four . . . while you
watched me vegetate. Can’t you see how jumbled up confusing
this all is for me? An Aikido sensei! Why all the secrets? Why
couldn’t you just tell me the truth from the beginning? I still don’t
get it.”
"
Jimmy put his palms together, as if praying for peace,
and gave me a long hard look. “I hear you Banks. OK. I’ll say it.
I’m sorry.” I noticed the resigned look on his face. “There’s
consequences for our actions. I know that. There are reasons I
had to separate myself from you, not tell you things, hold you
back.”
"
“Why?”
"
“If I tell you . . . you won’t like it.”
124
"
“Jimmy . . . what can you say that's worse than what you
already dumped on me today. Just spit it out. I’m not going to
walk out the door or slap you . . . or have a tizzy fit. I know
you’ve been holding something from me and I gotta know what it
is. Tell me.”
"
We locked eyes for several seconds before he spoke,
“About twenty years ago I had this rookie detective partnering
with me. Carla Espinoza. She was a lot like you . . . good
looking, cocky, brash . . . a bit out of control, and like you, very
intelligent. Within six months it cost her her life.”
"
“How?” I could sense his surrender, and I relaxed a bit.
"
“Some low life pulled a gun . . . shot her in the heart
during a simple investigation.”
"
“What does that have to do with me, twenty years later?”
"
“I had less than six months before retirement when you
came along. Everything else aside, I didn’t want to retire with
another Carla Espinoza on my mind. I heard you, trust me--I kept
trying to get you transferred, but the Chief wouldn’t hear of it.” He
paused. “I didn’t want to become attached to you before I retired.
Before I knew it four months went by and here we are. But
everything has changed since yesterday. Once the Chief gave
me this case I had two choices.”
"
“Only two?”
"
“One was to demand your transfer.” He pointed his palm
at me and I allowed him to continue. “And the other was for you
to continue working with me. I chose the latter.”
"
“That’s kind of you . . .”
"
“Listen Taylor . . . You gotta let go of what happened this
morning. I know I can be quite hard with the students I’m serious
about training. I’ve had to kick a few struggling black belt
students in the gut . . . In your case the verbal tough love was
necessary. It got your attention. Maybe it will all make sense
soon . . . I hope so. Regardless . . .” He raised his eyebrows,
then held a contrite pause. “I do feel some remorse about not
taking you on as one of my students . . . both at work and here at
the dojo. By not doing so it hurt you, and it never feels good to
hurt another human being.” He looked away to reflect, and then
back to me. “Maybe that’s OK, too . . . me feeling this way.”
125
"
“Maybe so.” I thought about the truth of his words, and
felt his sincerity. “I accept your apology.” We looked eye to eye
for what seemed like a minute before I spoke, “You kick students
in the gut?” That broke the seriousness. “Jimmy . . . I guess I
didn’t believe you . . . you really are a sixth degree black belt. A
full-on sensei. Shit. I’m impressed.” We locked eyes again, my
now seeing the strength of his character in a new light, and I
continued, changing the subject. “I saw the photos in your front
room. A soldier, mother and child . . . you with a woman. Who are
they?”
"
“My family.”
"
“I didn’t know you had a family.”
"
“I don’t.”
"
“What happened?” It was obvious to me that I was now
in the presence of a different man than the one I’d been playing
mental chess with these past months. He seemed to have fallen
into some sort of melancholic surrender, and I knew it was best
to proceed with caution. I flashed back to the night of my Police
Academy graduation when my too proud father dropped his
sword, and told me the truth about his fears. I sat back in the soft
chair, ready to hear Jimmy’s story, feeling privileged to be there.
"
“You’re actually fortunate that you don’t have a husband
and family. This job is a family killer,” Jimmy began.
"
“Being a policeman?”
"
“No. I had normal hours as a policeman and everything
seemed to be fine back then. I’m talking about being a detective.
As a street cop I came home, had dinner, kissed the wife, made
babies, played with the kids, did all the holidays . . . you
know . . . all the things young father’s do. If someone told me
that being a detective would destroy all that, I didn’t hear it. I
really wanted this job. But it wasn’t going to be more important
than my family. No way.”
"
“But it was, wasn’t it?” I asked the obvious.
"
“Someone gets murdered at nine o’clock at night and
you gotta be there . . . till three in the morning and back at work
by eight . . . Or on the day your son is pitching his first littleleague game, you’re off chasing the moron you have a hot lead
126
on. Of course my wife was complaining. It was classic, I know.
You want tea or something, Banks?”
"
“I’m fine. Go on.”
"
“Wait till you’re all in love with prince charming and he
has reservations at some hoity-toity restaurant, gives you flowers
and he’s wearing a three hundred dollar suit . . . a romantic
evening all planned out, and you get the call that someone was
murdered. The Chief doesn’t want to hear your excuses. Who
cares if you have a date? Trust me, I knew excuses weren’t
worth crap to my wife, but I kept piling them on. I gotta tell you,
even after three kids Janine was some good-looking woman. I
blew it.”
"
“How so?”
"
“About a year after I made detective she met an
insurance salesman. Anthony somebody. I don’t know how they
met. I was away from home eighty hours a weeks, for Christ’s
sake. They fell in love, I guess, at least that’s what she said. I
couldn’t believe it . . .”
"
“What happened?”
"
“She got the divorce, sole custody, took the kids and
moved to Atlanta. We were married for sixteen years, and in less
than four months it was all over.”
"
“Sounds like it still upsets you, Jimmy.”
"
“It’s all water under the bridge . . . I don’t know . . . what’s
it been? Twenty-six years? Kids are all grown. One’s a Marine
lifer. The other boy went bad. He’s in prison or dead for all I
know--she won’t talk about him or tell me where he is. The girl
has two kids. I call them every Christmas . . .
always
awkward . . . haven’t seen any of them since I went to Atlanta . . .
what was it? Twenty years ago?”
"
“Do you want to?”
"
“See them again? I don’t know . . . it all seems like
ancient history. We’ve moved on with our lives. They never call
me, or email, so I get the picture. I’ve had a good life without
them, Banks. Police captain. Six black belts. My own dojo. Do
you know how many students get ranked this high in Aikido and
then take on the title of sensei? I’ve done OK for myself.”
127
"
“There’s not been another woman since, has there?” I
asked with compassion.
"
“I’ve been practicing Aikido for over thirty years,” he
answered, again impressed with my perception. “Detective work
and Aikido is all I know. Please, just between you and me, I
wouldn’t know what to do with a woman . . . I mean how to
romance one.”
"
“I sort of doubt that, Jimmy.”
"
“She’d have to be some sort of remarkable woman to
live in a dojo with an old fool like me. When I wasn’t working all
day on cases I’d be in the dojo, either training or teaching. What
woman would put up with that?”
"
“I don’t know, Jimmy . . . the right one?”
"
“I’m still kinda handsome, in pretty good shape, and
maybe it could happen, but I’m not sure that’s what I want.”
"
“What do you want?”
"
“Good question, Taylor. I’ve been focusing on what I
don’t want . . . no longer wanting to be an active detective . . .
which hasn’t helped you out at all. Now you see my other life. I
want to open this dojo seven days a week . . . bring in more
students and teachers. I’ve been thinking about teaching a blend
of Aikido, haiku, and Zen and call it haizendoku.”
"
“Haizendoku? I like it. But . . . you must like something
about detective work, or you would have quit after twenty five or
thirty five years.”
"
“I was ready ten years ago, but I needed to pay the
mortgage on this property, so I’d retire debt free.”
"
“Did you?”
"
“I finally did. I own all of this free and clear.”
"
“I’m happy for you, Jimmy. But you must have something
good to say about detective work. I’m sure these last ten years
haven’t been a waste of your time.”
"
“No . . . we don’t waste time. Let me put it this way . . . I
like to see things in their proper place. When someone attacks in
Aikido that person is called the uke. The one who receives the
attack is called the nage. The nage learns to move in a way
where the uke either keeps moving past, or is disabled on the
mat. If the uke keeps attacking, the nage will keep putting the
128
attacker down. I enjoy doing that . . . putting the attacker down.
The attacker is the criminal. As an Aikido student you keep
training to learn to move correctly with all possible attacks. As
the nage detective I did the same . . . I know how to put most
criminals down. Understand? For the last ten years I have been
consciously living the Aikido way as a detective.”
"
“Consciously?”
"
“Intentionally.”
"
“OK, but how am I to learn . . . how am I ever going to
see it all . . . learn to move correctly, have clear intention, if I’m
coddled and kept out of harm’s way?”
"
“By beginning your training in a safe arena. I wouldn’t
put a new student, one who hadn’t earned her white belt, in an
alley to fight off hardened criminals. It takes time and practice to
know how to dodge the bullet, to dodge it even before you see
the gun.”
"
“What?”
"
Jimmy moved to the ottoman in front of me and raised
his right arm. The moment I glanced up, his left hand bent my
left wrist, pulling me up out of my chair. “See. While you were
looking for the gun, the bullet struck. You don’t quite realize it,
but you’re totally and completely disabled right now.”
"
“What does that have to do with keeping me out of
harm’s way? Not every detective is an Aikido master. Most of us
use the conventional techniques were were taught at the
academy.” Jimmy bent my wrist a little more, until I was standing
on my toes. I felt the pain. Then he let go.
"
“Those academy techniques are all about force opposing
force, about who has the bigger or faster gun. I’m talking about
natural intuition and flow. All I did was raise my arm to distract
you, and the next second you were disabled. In that split second
of distraction a hardened criminal, especially a desperate
amateur, wouldn’t have had time to draw a knife or gun. I can
move into the attack and stop it before it even starts.”
"
“And this it what you would have taught me?”
"
“Yes. In a face-to-face encounter it would have saved
Carla’s life, and greatly protected yours. If I had used the time to
train you, right now you would have a completely different
129
confidence.” I couldn’t help but frown.
“That’s not what
happened, Taylor . . . so the best I could do was to keep you
from getting hurt. I’m sorry it played out this way.”
"
“I . . . ah,” I stammered. Now his sad eyes were
disarming me. I wanted to say something, but was at a loss for
words. Then I got it. “You just succeeded in disarming me
physically, then emotionally, didn’t you?” After he nodded I
wanted to object about something, but couldn’t. “You’re good,
Jimmy. I have to admit. I get it . . . so why don’t we just drop this
story and go back to our job? I am logical and practical, you
know that. In the old folks case . . . how does your dodging
unfired bullets theory fit in?”
"
“Well . . . I think Robert St. Clair is raising his hand over
here to distract us,” Jimmy said while returning to his seat.
"
“How?”
"
“I think he cleverly planned his escape and set up all the
diversions we’re dealing with, all the time with something else in
mind.”
"
“What?”
"
“I have no idea what that something else is. And it
intrigues me. Since I apparently have no choice but to take the
case . . . I can enjoy being intrigued. It’s a new and different
puzzle. Much more than meets the eye.”
"
“I agree. I’m also intrigued and you know how much I
love solving puzzles . . . By the way . . ,” I paused to make sure I
had his full attention.
"
“What is it, Banks?”
"
“There was no need to apologize. I react the way I do
and say what I have to say. I process out loud. You had to do
what you had to do. That’s how it is. I get it. I read somewhere
that it is actually an honor when the Zen master throws his
student out the second-story window.”
"
“You read that somewhere, did you? That’s what you
think I did? Honored you?”
"
“I do. Well, maybe I didn’t, but now I do. You did the right
thing, Jimmy. I deserved it. I got it while reading the Musashi
book. He talks about strategy. About constant practice. About the
Way. The short Way and the long Way. I’m always thinking about
130
my career and building a strong body. Maybe that’s how I do my
long way. But I had no short way except acting tough. In close
fighting, you killed me. You sent me home dead and I didn’t
realize it until I read that book. You’re right. I have a lot to learn.
My stubborn ego was and may yet be the death of me. I need to
change that. I’ll be a good student from now on. I promise.”
"
“Don’t be getting too humble on me, Taylor. You don’t
want to lose your cocky edge. You need to use that stubborn ego
to your advantage. It helps you stay awake; engaged in the
game.”
"
“How so?”
"
“Aikido is the Way of Love, and yet my favorite sensei
was a cocky, stubborn, egotistic and sometimes mean son-of-abitch. Still, he was forever on the mat, training. Focused on his
Way. In Aikido even the master is the student; it’s something an
Aikido practitioner never forgets. Practice helps you to be
humble and to surrender, but with increased power and
confidence. I don’t know if Aikido is your path, but you must have
read the part when Musashi said how important it is to find a way
or path and stick to it.”
"
“I did,” I answered, realizing that my life path was now
heading in an unexpected direction, and the man in front of me
was the humble master teacher I didn’t anticipate. Still I had to
ask, “Why . . . with you knowing how much I wanted to be a
detective . . . that it is surely my Way . . . why didn’t you just kick
me out of your office right away . . . throw me out in the mean
streets so I could pay my dues?”
"
Jimmy thought about Carla Espinoza but decided not to
mention her again. “Listen, Taylor,” he paused, possibly
rearranging what he wanted to say. “A Tao master studies the
river and tides, the moon and stars, in order to understand the
natural flow of the earth and sky. He would contemplate the
seed, how once planted it one day becomes a flower, and with
the winter it dies, to be born again in the spring. The point
being--for us to enjoy the natural flow of life; to be the flower
before the winter comes.”
131
"
“I never felt like a flower. The past four months have
seemed like winter,” I answered, thinking that he sounded like
the Tao master.
"
“That was your choice. You have to understand Taylor,
the universe always conspires in our favor. If it was in your flow,
your dharma, the seed would have been planted to flower
somewhere else. The transfer to homicide would have happened
without a hitch, in a simple and natural flow. But it didn’t.
Apparently here, with me, is where you are to flower.”
"
“You’re saying I’ve been impatient?
"
“In ancient Eastern traditions, sometimes martial art
students would have to sit in meditation or practice walking on a
thin rail for a whole year, maybe two, before the master would
begin their training. Potters would clean the studio for two years
before they were allowed to sit at the wheel. There was a reason
for all that, which we have forgotten in our rush-to-action society.
Four months. Yes, you were impatient.” There was a long silence
before he concluded, “Regardless, you’re still here and we have
work to do. So pay attention. I’m inviting you to be the master
while you’re being the student. It’s tricky, but I know you can do
it.”
"
“Thanks, sensei . . . how do you say it on the mat?”
"
”Domo is thanks, but you’d say onegaishimasu . . . I am
in your hands.”
"
I let it sink in, now wanting to learn all that I could, as fast
as possible. I need to pay attention, I thought, now sitting up in
the easy chair. He said it’s OK for me to be cocky. Be the student
and the master at the same time. Always keep practicing. And I
am working with the master. Cool. I like that. He wants me to just
be me, but pay attention. I got it. “I got it, Jimmy,” I finally said. “I
may not be ready, but I’m ready to find those old people and
bring them home. You and me together.”
"
“Now you’re talking. One heart.” He pause to think up a
haiku. “In the garden. A rare rose. Only one heart. No? . . . how
about this? Gardens connected. One heart. Blooming.”
"
“What does that mean?” I asked as he smiled.
"
“Doesn’t matter . . . just made it up. I need to call my
assistant to cover my class, then change my clothes. You’ve got
132
the address?” I nodded. “Meet me in the front. Enjoy the waterfall
and koi fish. I’ll be down in five minutes.”
133
16
The destination clear-bumblebees escape:
honey on fresh baked bread.
Tuesday evening:
The sun had touched the horizon when we drove past the
processing plant and into Shambala’s campus. Hank Carlson’s
new assistant had charmed an address out of Mildred Rice-Robert St. Clair‘s home was somewhere in the forest behind the
headquarter building. This revelation upset me, only because
Mildred never suggested or reveled that Archibald Goodwin was
really Robert St. Clair, and I wasn't able to get that truth out of
her.
"
After we crossed the bridge, I took a right, driving parallel
to Company Lake, and then headed off into a deep forest of box
elder, walnut, oak, willow, pine and white alder. The single-lane
asphalt road was bordered with lush ferns, red twig dogwood,
berry bramble and wildflowers--and ventured farther and farther
into the woods. After at least a mile, all the while wondering if I
was completely lost, Jimmy not saying a word, we finally came
upon a large, modern-looking cream stucco and lacquered
redwood, flat-roofed house that blended naturally to the land
around it and the Sandy River, which we could now see below.
"
I parked our police sedan under the porte cochere, where
we sat in silence for a minute before Jimmy spoke, “In still
twilight. No sound. Beyond the forest.”
"
“It is pretty damn quiet,” I offered. “No barking dog. No
parked cars. No signs of life at all. Could that be a haiku? I
134
wonder if anyone’s here.”
"
We got out and walked to the eight-foot high, solid
redwood double doors, ornately inscribed with Om Namah
Shivaya and carvings of Hindu saints I didn’t recognize. To the
right of the door stood a life-sized standing Buddha, dressed in a
mosaic green glass robe, with one raised hand posed in a
welcoming mudra. I rang the bell.
"
After three more rings we were ready to give up and walk
the perimeter. The door opened. A small, trim middle-aged Asian
woman with a pretty face, casually dressed in slacks and a longsleeved shirt, stood in front of us. She had a questioning look,
one suggesting that unexpected visitors were rare. “I’m sorry,”
she began. “I wasn’t expecting anyone. May I help you?”
"
“I hope so,” I politely answered. “I’m Detective Taylor
Banks and this is Detective Captain Jimmy Meriweather.
Portland police. We’d like a few words with you about the
disappearance of Robert St. Clair. May we come in?”
"
“Disappearance?” the woman immediately responded,
raising her eyebrows. “He hasn’t disappeared as far as I know.
But I’ll be happy to answer your questions. Do come in.” We took
off our shoes and stepped into the foyer, onto a large ornate
Persian rug. “Please, may I offer you some tea?”
"
“Sure,” I answered for both of us as we accepted the
woman’s invitation to walk down a sweeping set of steps into
what appeared to be a gallery of exotic Asian art. The expansive
living room, with its unexpectedly-high flat ceiling, was filled with
treasures. " “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll only be a few
minutes,” the pleasant woman said as she turned and walked
over to the exposed kitchen and began filling a teapot with ondemand hot water. "
"
Jimmy and I slowly headed down the steps and stopped in
front of an exceptionally large seated Buddha, carved out of pure
jade. We looked at the ancient thangka’s on the walls and the
ornately carved cabinets filled with what we guessed were
priceless treasures. Choosing not to be
overwhelmed with
exotica, we found refuge on a conservative and purposefully
soothing cream herringbone cotton-fabric couch. It was centered
between a matching love seat and a big over-stuffed burnt
135
sienna easy chair. Between the sofa, chairs and the huge
fireplace was an enormous coffee table--a five inch thick slice of
labradorite geode, covered with glass--held up by three white
porcelain Chinese emperors.
"
“My god,” I whispered. “Can you believe this place? It’s
like we stumbled into the Emperor’s palace.”
"
“He is a billionaire,” Jimmy reminded me. “An eighty year
old world traveling billionaire. Amazing collection.”
"
I sat back, pleased with the warmth coming from the
massive fireplace, logs burning brightly. I thought of The Bank,
my new favorite coffee shop with its cozy fire. I was distracted by
the movement of outdoor squirrels. Turning my head I looked out
the big glass window to the yard between the trees and the river
below. No other houses were in sight. I felt strangely at home as
I returned to the fire and relaxed in silence, as if I were in a
sacred temple.
"
Within five minutes of our arrival the woman gracefully
glided down the stairs with a tray, upon which sat a real China
teapot with matching cups and saucers. She methodically set it
all out, three saucers, three porcelain cups perfectly placed on
them; then very slowly, most consciously careful, she poured the
tea. She waited, silently blessing her offering, possibly praying
for the highest possible outcome from this encounter, before
handing one first to Jimmy and then me. She then bowed and
said “Please.”
"
Jimmy would later tell that there was something about her
grace, her patience, and her surrender to that blank space--to
the void he had been telling me about, where time didn’t matter-that commanded his undivided attention. It appeared as though
she had prepared her dojo, her mat, and set the ambiance, all
before we even walked in the door. With no effort she performed
an abbreviated version of a traditional Japanese tea ceremony,
with the skill of a master. Now, as if in the presence of a fellow
Aikido sensei, Jimmy gave into the impulse and said, as
sincerely as I had ever heard him say, “Onegaishimasu. I am in
your hands.” He accepted the tea with a long bow of his head.
"
I also bowed, feeling the reverence of the moment.
"
“Domo,” the woman bowed back. “Welcome to our home,
136
Taylor Banks and Captain Jimmy Merryman. Did I get your
names right?”
"
“You did, except it’s Meriweather,” Jimmy answered,
impressed. “You can call me Jimmy.”
"
“Yes . . . Jimmy,” she said with a slight bow and long look,
giving him the impression that she was attracted to him, though
that was only his hopeful guess. “My name is Jane Vahn. I’m the
house manager . . . and Robert’s personal assistant. Have some
bread.”
"
Jimmy looked at the thin slices of whole wheat bread with
honey on top, and then closed his eyes. Jane and I watched,
almost hearing the haiku form in his brain, “The destination clear.
Bumblebees escape. Honey on fresh baked bread.”
"
Jane smiled and without hesitation, again as if she had
prepared ahead of time, said, “The detective bakes. A fresh
haiku. Delights her.” The two of them connected eyes for a long
while, until she asked, “How may I help you?”
"
I was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable in the
chemistry mix, so I answered for Jimmy, “OK. You both know
haiku. That’s sweet. Let me answer that question. Like we
said . . . we’re here investigating the, however you want to say it,
disappearance of Robert St. Clair and four others. Jennifer over
at Shambala Foods suggested we come see you. Interesting that
you had the same initial reaction as she did. She also didn’t think
Mr. St. Clair disappeared.”
"
“You spoke with Jennifer? Yes, she was right. Robert . . .
it’s OK for you to call him Robert . . . Mr. St. Clair is too
formal . . . told me he was going on a trip.”
"
“So that answers our first question,” Jimmy spoke. “He’s
not here. Do you have any idea where he might be?”
"
“I don’t know,” she answered, comfortably posed on the
love seat next to Jimmy. “I usually secure the itinerary for his
travels. He insisted he take care of the arrangements himself this
time. “
"
“He gave you no clues to where he might have gone?”
"
“He told me it was the right time to visit a place he hasn’t
been to in a very long time. I was curious but he wouldn’t tell me
where. Mostly I was glad to see that excitement in him again.
137
Come,” she said as she stood up, “let’s move over there.” She
pointed to a small round table in the corner of the room, with four
silk cushions. “It will be more comfortable and easier to talk.” She
put the tea set back on the tray and did an abbreviated version of
the tea ceremony on the small table. Jimmy and I followed and
we were soon comfortably seated, he still between the two of us.
"
Jimmy took another sip, savoring the taste of the jasmine
tea, and then opened his note book and scanned through it,
although he already had all the pertinent facts memorized. He
enjoyed the effect. “We need all the facts . . . starting with when
he left here on Thursday.”
"
“He didn’t leave here on Thursday night. As you know, he
was living at Happy Acres. I was aware that he was scheduled to
fly out right after bridge--sometime after eight.”
"
“Did he say anything about taking his young man Tonto?” I
asked.
"
“Tonto?” Jane chuckled. “His name’s Tenzin. No, but it
made sense that he did, since he was Robert’s assistant. I’ve
gone with him on many trips for the same reason.”
"
“So you don’t think Tenzin had anything directly to do with
the disappearance?” I asked.
"
“Again, I don’t think we’re talking about a disappearance,
since I knew he was going on a trip. Tenzin left here at seven to
take him to the airport and I haven’t seen him since. I can only
assume he went with them.”
"
“What about your mother?” I boldly asked. “Do you think
Robert kidnapped her, and Maggie and Howard?”
"
“Kidnap?” Jane repeated with a humored smile. “You two
are detectives, and you’re thinking Robert may have committed
some crime. I’m sure you received your information from Mildred
Rice.”
"
“We did. Are you suggesting that Mrs. Rice is an unreliable
witness?” Jimmy asked.
"
“Of course I am,” Jane answered with an upbeat
emphasis. “She’s quite the character. Thinks she’s another
Agatha Christie. You must have detected that Mildred’s a bored
old woman who makes stuff up. Of course she’d think Robert
kidnapped three of her patients. But did he? What would
138
Sherlock Holmes say? Preposterous. Did she tell you about
Betty Wilson?”
"
“How is it you know about Betty Wilson?” he asked.
"
“Robert had his own way of finding out the scuttle-bug at
Happy Acres. He was very close to firing Mildred over the whole
Betty Wilson thing.”
"
“How long ago was that?” I asked.
"
“It was just before he had his stroke, which put him in a
coma. Several months ago. How did you find out?”
"
“She went to our Chief, accused Howard of two murders,
and now we’re here doing our due diligence. Just following
leads, gathering info,” I said, glad that Jane was filling in the
blanks.
"
“That woman needs her head examined,” Jane huffed,
wishing she hadn’t mentioned Betty Wilson. But since she had
she continued, “Detectives are given jobs to do, some of which,
I’m sure you know, have no bearing on reality. This may be one
of them. Seriously . . . Howard being accused of two murders
and Robert kidnapping anyone is total fantasy . . ,” she pause to
reflect. “If you had the opportunity to sit down with Robert
St.Clair and Howard Johnson right now, all this would most likely
be a total non-issue.”
"
“Tell us more about these men,” Jimmy interjected.
"
“Robert is a very generous man. He comes from a wealthy
family . . . his grandparents build this house . . . His parents were
grocers and he took over the family business forty-five years
ago, built it into the success it is today. He established worker
compensation and benefit packages that are well above the
farming and food production workers norm. He hired Howard
nearly thirty years ago. He served as Robert’s right hand man for
over twenty-five years. These two men are as straight-laced as
two men could possibly be. Almost like monks, but totally
devoted to organic farming.”
"
“What about their friendship?” I asked.
"
“They are as close as two brothers could be. What a
sight--a black man who dresses in black, and a white man who
always dresses in white. Howard was Robert’s eyes and voice at
Shambala headquarters. The trust was irreproachable.”
139
"
“So tell us why you think Mildred made this all up. You
know the saying, where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Even though
I want to agree with you about the old woman, we do have to
substantiate that there is no truth in her allegations. She told us
she called you . . .” I wanted to stay on purpose.
"
“I did get a call from Mildred last Friday morning, telling me
that my mother was missing, along with Robert, Howard and
Maggie.”
"
“You weren’t alarmed?” I queried.
"
“Not really. I’m not as attached to the words missing,
disappeared, kidnapped and murdered as you are. I like the idea
of an end-of-life adventure,” Jane said with a grin, taking in
Jimmy’s calm reaction, continuing with little effort to endear
herself.
"
“Is that why you didn’t call the cops?” I quipped.
"
“I trust Robert, and didn’t believe there was a reason to
over-react. I figured he probably planned a short trip. Of course
he would have taken Howard . . . and the two women . . .” She
stopped to consider. “How about that?”
"
"
“It’s about time,” she answered with a grin. “As far as I
know, neither one has ever taken a lady interest anywhere. I’m
actually happy that Howard and Sopi are off somewhere
together.”
"
“That’s all nice and sweet, but it doesn’t answer the
allegations,” I said as I watched Jimmy sip his tea, his eyes
lingering on hers. I had to somehow move the subject away from
idealized romance. “What can you tell us about Maggie
Sinclare?”
"
“Sweet woman. Robert asked me to locate her a couple
years ago. They had lost contact with each other . . . what did
he say? For fourteen years. She wasn’t far away, Corvallis, living
with a step-son. When he found out she had dementia, we
placed her in Happy Acres. Even with her short-term memory
loss, he was obviously attracted to her.”
"
“Were they involved in a love affair?” Jimmy asked.
"
‘Maybe the beginning stages. When I asked about his
attraction to her, he said they’ve known each other for something
140
like thirty years and were special friends. Special friends? I don’t
know what that means, but it sounds a bit romantic . . . as was
his decision to move to Happy Acres . . . I thought to be close to
her.”
"
“There has to be more to it than that,” I ventured out loud,
wondering if it was hopeless to get these two to stop talking
about romance. “Howard is his best friend, Maggie is his special
friend. Don’t tell me your mother is his sister. There’s still a lot we
don’t know about these people. I’m sure you know that Robert
used an alias at Happy Acres . . . Archie Goodwin . . .”
"
“Have you read any of the Nero Wolfe novels?” Jane
asked me, unexpectedly.
"
“I have,” I answered with a grin. “And so has Mildred Rice.
He could have chosen a more obscure alias, though Achibald got
me going for a minute. If he didn’t want to draw out old Mrs.
Rice’s suspicions, then why did he choose that name?”
"
“I don’t know. To tease her?”
"
“I’m not sure what that means. Why would he want to
tease her? Jennifer says he’s some sort of recluse . . . that
hardly anyone knows what he looks like, that he minds his own
business. Apparently Mildred didn’t know who this Archie
Goodwin really was, not at first. Don’t you think this is all a bit
bizarre?” I asked in all seriousness.
"
“That he uses alias’s? That he protects his privacy? I’d call
it a rich man’s prerogative.”
"
I studied Jane for a moment, searching for a reason not to
be confused regarding Robert St. Clair’s eccentric personality.
“So how’s it a sane man’s prerogative to check himself into a
dementia facility, pay one hundred thousand dollars cash using
an alias, and then secretly remove three patients a few weeks
later, without telling anyone? You’re his personal assistant. Do
you have any idea why he didn’t give you a what’s up to all this,
why he didn’t tell you where he was taking your mother? I can’t
believe you didn’t or don’t see all this a bit foolhardy and his
actions presumptuous, if not downright goofy . . . considering at
least three of them are out of their minds?”
"
“Well . . . Taylor . . . that was a mouth full . . . Downright
goofy? The term goofy is not appropriate, a possible projection.”
141
She paused to let the possible insult sink in. “I would suggest a
little more homework on the various forms of dementia before
offering flippant opinions. For your information, my mother is
perfectly sane. She does not have dementia. Technically
speaking, Howard and Maggie are not out of their minds, they
have some problems with their memories. Do you understand?” I
nodded my head, surprised by the woman’s forbearance. She
continued, “Why didn’t he tell me where he was going? I have no
idea, although I could come up with several suggestions.” Jane’s
attention went to Jimmy. They looked at each other for too long
before she continued, “I’m sufficiently curious. Perhaps I could
join you in your investigation. I could help you find them . . .”
"
“I don’t think that’s remotely possible,” I immediately shot
back. “We’re here to ask you a few questions, that’s all . . . not to
recruit amateur detectives.”
"
“Wait a second,” Jimmy broke in, looking at me with a hint
of disapproval, then at her with apparent understanding, “Jane
was offering intelligent responses to your questions, and has
volunteered to help . . . not join the police department.” He then
again locked eyes with Jane. “I don’t mean to be impertinent, but
who are you? I need to know who we’re talking to?”
"
“What do you mean?” Jane chuckled.
"
“Well . . . you what the truth?” She nodded. “When I met
you at the door I thought you were the maid, no offense. It’s
obvious you’re . . . probably not even close to being the
maid . . .”
"
“You’re right. I’m probably not the maid, although I do a
mean bed.” Jane winked at him, causing all sorts of inner
tremors--he rushed to contain with professional demeanor. “I
actually have a PhD in Biological Engineering from Stanford.”
"
“A PhD?” I remarked without thinking, then scrambled to
recover, “I mean . . . I’m surprised. Biological Engineering? Not
sure how that relates to detective work. I don’t know, Jimmy . . .”
"
“Taylor, I asked her a question, and telling us her degree
isn’t much of an answer. I want to know more.”
"
“Do we have time, Jimmy?” My question fell flat since he
looked like he had all the time in the world. He slowly took
another sip of tea.
142
"
“Of course we do,” he finally answered, wanting to sound
debonair, while searching for an intelligent question to ask.
“What area of biological engineering did you study?”
"
“Thank you for asking. My thesis was on the geometry of
nature, how everything interrelates, emphasizing the ecological
importance of insects. After I took my doctorate I was hired at
Portland State, and after six years I was given a full tenured
professorship.”
"
“Impressive. So how did being a doctor of biology land you
a job as house manager?” I asked, wanting to move things
along. I couldn’t help but notice the way Jimmy was sipping his
tea. It was a bit too much zen for me, though I doubt he was in
no thought--he was either still lost in the ‘mean bed,’ or had
already fallen hopelessly in love, neither of which had anything to
do with finding the missing people.
"
Jane gave me a funny look and then explained, “One
night, about fifteen years ago, I gave a lecture on the dangers of
pesticides in relation to the natural balance of plant and insect
ecology. Howard attended and after the lecture he began to
actively recruit me, wanting me to head his Shambala Foods
Organics Tribe, to take his place running it, even though I had no
experience in organic farming.”
"
“Must have been a hell of a lecture. You have quite an
effect on men,” I quipped, glancing at my partner who gave me a
quick disapproving glare. His eyes just as quickly returned to
Jane’s, she most likely filling the void of the woman he never
knew he always wanted.
"
“I do,” Jane answered with a grin and a playful wink at me,
blocking it from Jimmy’s view. “But Howard’s interest was entirely
professional. Shambala was engaged in large-scale organic
farming, on thousands of acres, without the use of pesticides.
They were experiencing some nearly insurmountable difficulties
with invasive insects. My specialty. Though not mentioning
organic farming per se, my lecture was all about redirecting the
insects away from cash crops to a substitute food source--the
indigenous native weeds.”
"
“He was ready to hire you on the spot?” I wanted to say
something that didn’t sound like an insult, but was aware that
143
Jimmy had the same interest.
"
“Actually, he did offer me the job that night. I turned him
down since I was tenured, and a popular professor at Portland
State. I wasn’t looking for another job. Loved what I was doing.
Nevertheless, the research into insect ecology was exactly what
had excited me in college and led to my thesis. Howard kept
calling and finally made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I joined the
Shambala Foods team as head of the Organics Tribe. Best
decision I ever made.”
"
“So . . . I’m a bit confused. How come you’re a house
manager here and not working there?” I asked. “At Shambala
Foods, I mean?”
"
“Let’s start over, Taylor. You made an immediate
assumption that I was some lowly servant, and stuck to your
assumption. As a matter of fact, I am still employed by Shambala
Foods. I have worked in direct partnership with the owner for four
years. Personal assistant doesn’t mean maid. This is a huge
house, very close to corporate headquarters. I was offered an
apartment and office here, for good reasons.” She didn’t lose eye
contact for one second in her attempt to set me straight.
"
“I’m interested,” Jimmy said. “What are the good
reasons?”
"
“Before I moved here . . . I was quite visible . . . a Doctor
of Biological Engineering, representing the largest natural foods
company in the world. With my position and knowledge, I
became an outspoken advocate for organic farming. I wrote
articles that were published in trade journals, newspapers and
leading magazines. I was actually interviewed on Good Morning
America, NPR, and other radio shows.”
"
Despite my earlier reservations, I was fascinated. “Good
Morning America?” Jimmy’s eyes opened wider.
"
“I think that appearance was a mistake, anyway . . . there
is no denying the impact of organic farming in the United States
and, at the very same time, large GMO pesticide-using factory
farms are gobbling up land at alarming speed. Of course we had
a global garden to plant, but I spoke out against what I saw as an
ecological crime of monumental proportions with dire
consequences, right here in this country. Ironically, at the same
144
time, the Shambala gardens were thriving. We were negotiating
contracts with more and more farmers, turning hundreds of
thousands of acres of farmland all over the U.S, and the world,
into organic farms, including tens of thousands of acres in hemp
in Mexico and Canada.”
"
“For rope, not to smoke? Imagine cornering the weed
market.” I couldn’t help myself.
"
Jane ignored me, remaining in a serious mode. “For rope,
clothing, fuel, food . . . the list of what hemp can be used for is
almost endless.”
"
“So what was the problem?” Jimmy asked.
"
“Can’t you see? We were, and still are, becoming a threat
to the petrochemical companies, pesticide manufacturers,
corporate factory farms, long established canned and packagedfood producers, and so on, both here and all over the world. I
was the face of the opposition, and it just followed that I became
a target.”
"
“How so?”
"
“Shambala Foods was receiving Jane Vahn death threats
on a weekly basis. I was actually shot at from a neighboring farm
while touring one of our soybean fields in Minnesota. Robert’s
whole Shambala philosophy is mind-your-own-business private,
and I guess I had become some sort of loose cannon.”
"
“What happened?” I realized how lost I had become in
Jane’s story.
"
“By that time I’d been with the company for nearly ten
years, worked directly with Howard and had never met Robert.”
"
“You’d been there ten years and never met the owner?” I
couldn’t believe it. “How could that be?”
"
“He was an eccentric recluse who ran the company
behind the scenes . . . from here. Not even one member of the
Board of Directors had met him. Howard was his eyes and ears
and voice.”
"
“I thought you were the voice?” I asked.
"
“I was the voice of the company philosophy. Anyway, I was
surprised when Howard brought me here and introduced me to
Robert, who convinced me there was another way, a sort of
Machiavellian approach to quietly buying up and planting land, a
145
business model that he reasoned was for the good of all. I
agreed that the end justifies the means, as long as the means
and the end were altruistic. He was impressed with my passion
and kind enough to offer me a solution to the personal threats.”
"
“To live and work here at his house?” I followed.
"
“That’s right. At the same salary, as his personal business
advisor slash house manager. ‘Jane Vahn’ disappeared. That
was around four years ago and, I must say I have become quite
comfortable living here with my two relics, Robert St. Clair and
Frank Lloyd Wright.”
"
“This is a Frank Lloyd Wright?” Jimmy finally spoke,
obviously impressed. Jane nodded and smiled.
"
“Do you have a husband?” I asked, unfamiliar and not
interested in the history and significance of an original Frank
Lloyd Wright house. “Your last name is different than your
mother’s.” Both Jimmy and Jane looked at me as if I were devoid
of culture.
"
“Mr. Vahn?” Jane laughed. “That’s ancient history . . . a
brief arranged Vietnamese wedding right out of high school in
Melbourne. We stayed together nearly four years--it ended as
soon as I was accepted to Stanford. But I kept the name. Jane
Vahn works for me.”
"
“Taylor does make a good point,” Jimmy offered. “Your
mother, Sopi . . . she’s not in the system and we believe she’s an
illegal alien. What can you tell us about that?”
"
“It’s a very long story. May I share the abbreviated
version?”
"
“Please,” Jimmy said, thoroughly enjoying being in the
presence of this more-beautiful-by-the-minute Jane Vahn.
"
“My father’s parents were of royal Vietnamese lineage.
They were wealthy and could afford to send their children to the
best universities. My father went to Cambridge in London and
turned into somewhat of an idealistic rebel scholar . . . a strong
advocate of higher education, especially in developing countries
like Vietnam. He became a Professor of Biology at the University
of Saigon, which had remained remarkably isolated and safe
during the Vietnam War. My mother was also from a privileged
family. They met at the university where she was an English
146
Professor. I grew up privileged and we lived in what would be
considered a gated mansion, nearly as big as Happy Acres. I
attended an English speaking private girls school until I was
thirteen. That was the year of the North Vietnam takeover, which
happened on April 30th, 1975. The U.S. military gave our family
the opportunity to be evacuated from Saigon and taken to a safe
country. My father refused the offer, arguing that there would
always be a need for professors in Vietnam, that the sons and
daughters of the enemy also required higher education. He was
convinced that we were safe, that whoever was in power
wouldn’t bother an esteemed university professor and his family.
He was wrong. Not even a month later the North Vietnamese
took our house and my father was sent away to some sort of
retraining camp, I guess. We never saw him again. My mother
was smart. She had stashed as much money she could get her
hands on, before we were thrown out on the street.”
"
“That’s horrible,” I said. “Where did you go?”
"
“That’s really the longer story . . . we used a good portion
of our money to pay for a boat to take us to Melbourne, Australia.
I could write a book about that harrowing adventure, but we
eventually got there. Money had a different value in Australia, so
we had no choice. We found a Vietnamese refugee ghetto, a
room for our family and that became our home. My mother
taught English and worked part-time as a domestic. Since I
spoke perfect English and had a great educational foundation, I
graduated from high school when I was sixteen. Our Vietnamese
ghetto community was organized on traditional principals and the
old patriarchs pretty much forced Mr. Vahn to marry me. I had no
choice, but it was OK since he helped me with my college tuition,
believing I would become a profitable wage earner and help
elevate his economic situation. Four years later I graduated at
the top of my class in biology at the University of Melbourne.
With the help of my school placement advisor I got accepted on
scholarship to the masters program at Stanford. I divorced Mr.
Vahn and came to America . . . just after my twenty-first
birthday.”
"
“What happened to your mother?” Jimmy asked.
"
“She still lived in the Melbourne slums. She had no choice.
147
My brother was a handful and she was forever trying to keep him
out of trouble. A few years later, as a college professor, I was
able to buy her a decent house and send her money every
month.”
"
“How did she get here?” I wondered, getting back to an
original question.
"
“Several years later, during my first year at Shambala
Foods, Howard and I went to Australia to inspect our barley
fields. I introduced him to my mother. Voila! It was like a light
went on in both of them. They acted like an old married couple
from the get-go. Everything changed for her after that. Howard
bought her a big house, and the next time I came to see her she
had plenty of money. He hired my mother, brother, and even Mr.
Vahn--they all had good paying jobs with Shambala Foods. What
a twist of fate. It was like she was a princess, then a pauper, then
a princess again.”
"
“It’s all coming together,” Jimmy said with a smile, which
appeared to me to be more than a bit flirtatious. “Howard got
dementia and Robert brought her to Happy Acres to be with
him.”
"
“Yes, that’s right. Robert did bring her to Happy Acres but,
as I said, my mother never had dementia.”
"
“But it sounds like they were never a couple. Why didn’t he
marry her? It seems a bit sad that they finally got together after
he had dementia,” I queried. “It’s the same question I asked
about Robert. Why would someone without dementia choose to
live in a dementia ward? If it was the same with him and Maggie,
how come he waited until she had dementia? What’s wrong with
these men?”
"
“I don’t have the answer for Robert and I really can’t
answer why my mother didn’t move here and marry Howard
many years ago. She loved the man more than she was willing
to admit, and when she heard about Howard’s dementia, the
thought of his dying greatly upset her. At the same time, during a
routine examination in Melbourne, it was discovered that my
mother had terminal cancer. Our company doctor there called
me with the test results, and I requested that he not tell her. I
encouraged her to come to Portland, to finally be with Howard. I
148
wanted her to spend her remaining time with the man she loved.
”
"
“Wow . . . that’s some love story,” I offered. “I don’t think
Mrs. Rice had a clue. Did she?” Jane shook her head no and I
continued, “Sorry about her cancer and all, but it still doesn’t
answer to the illegal alien question. Do you mind?” Jane nodded
for me to go on. “There are no records of a Sopi Nguyen with the
I.C.E. If she didn’t get a passport or go through customs, how did
she get here?”
"
“In the Shambala corporate jet,” Jane answered matter-offactly.
"
“They have their own jet?” I asked, taking the words out of
Jimmy’s mouth, and then answered my own question. “Of course
they do. They’re one of the biggest food companies in the world.
Why didn’t I think of that? Our missing people took off in the
company jet.”"
"
“Where do they keep the jet?” Jimmy asked with
excitement.
"
“Right here. You drove past the processing plant on your
way here. The hangar’s in the back. You also drove by the
airport. The two are connected.”
"
“So there’s no customs or security or any of that,” I
ventured to guess. “You just get in your plane and go.”
"
“Pretty much. Robert brought my mother back from
Australia and I took her to Happy Acres. She’s been there for
nearly two years. I really didn’t think she would last this long . . .
but she’s been hanging in there.”
"
It was now dark out. Neither Jimmy or I had eaten and when he
started eyeing the kitchen, as if silently asking her to invite him to
stay for dinner, I knew it was time to leave. I’m sure he wasn’t
thinking about dinner for three. So, in spite of whatever Jimmy
was scheming, forgetting her request to help us, I stood up and
said, “Well, I guess we got what we needed here. We should be
able to get their flight plan, no problem. Thank you, Jane. It was
a pleasure meeting you.”
"
Jimmy gave me a disapproving look as he stood, “Well . . .
I guess we have to leave. It was good to . . .”
149
"
“That’s it?” she said to his surprise, stepping up onto the
one foot high table in order to equalize the height difference, now
giving herself a two-inch advantage.
"
“I guess. Why?” Jimmy was caught off guard, pleasantly
startled by her aggressive behavior.
"
Jane looked Jimmy square in the eyes and started in, “You
and your pretty partner come over to tell me that four, five people
are missing. You hear my life story and then you leave. Excuse
me, but three of those people are more precious to me than
anyone else on earth?”
"
“Taylor’s right, you’ve been very helpful . . .”
"
“What?” Jane interrupted, raising her voice. “What kind of
detective are you? Didn’t you hear me when I said I had some
suggestions, that I wanted to help? You think I’m just going to sit
back and wish you luck and say, ‘Let me know when you find my
mother . . . have a good day.’ You have got to be kidding. And did
you stop to consider that after I politely answered all your
questions, that I might have a few of my own? So what’s it going
to be?”
"
“What would you suggest?” Jimmy had just taken an
Aikido high fall and was rising off the mat, apparently impressed
with the woman’s fire and fearlessness.
"
“You’re the man, Detective Captain Jimmy Meriweather.
What do you suggest?”
"
“Dinner?” He took in her smile, offering one in return. “A
quiet sushi bar.” The smile increased. “Just you and me.” Now he
was feeling it. “A little sake. I’ll come back and pick you up as
soon as I drop off Banks.”
"
“Now you’re talking. Don’t need to drive through the woods
again. I’ll meet you at Bamboo Sushi at eight.”
Once in the car I smiled at my partner. “Good going. I’m proud of
you.”
"
“Proud of me? That’s not what I was thinking.”
"
“What were you thinking?”
"
“Jealousy. Competition. Innuendo insults. You saving me
from the web of a spider woman.”
"
“OK, a little of all that,” I conceded. “It’s just that . . . today
150
you admitted that you haven’t been with a woman in what? Thirty
years? I could feel the chemistry. Good for you . . . she even
makes up haiku.”
"
“Hmmm, she took me by surprise. I guess I’m excited and
a bit scared at the same time . . .”
"
“The Aikido master scared?”
"
Jimmy didn’t answer, lost in thought. I knew what was
coming and as I pulled out of the driveway and headed down the
dark forest road he offered his haiku. “The geisha pours tea. In
my bed. I dream.”
"
“Sounds like a wet dream, boss.”
"
“That’s not what I meant, Taylor. I’ve got myself a real
date. How about that?”
151
17
Risking losing all
she dances-lies forsaken.
After our morning lattes at The Bank, which Jimmy agreed was
far superior than our former haunt, we headed to the PortlandTroutdale Airport, or so I thought.
"
Driving east on Marine Drive, Jimmy instructed me to
continue on past the airport, toward Shambala Foods
headquarters. “Aren’t we going to the hangar first?” I asked,
figuring that a simple check of the control tower flight log would
tell us where the company jet was heading.
"
“We’re going to pick up Jane,” he said, not thinking I would
mind.
"
“What?” my whole demeanor instantly changed and my
sword went up. I couldn’t help myself. “Jimmy? We don’t need
Jane. She was a pleasant woman, interesting story and we got
what we needed out of her. I know you’re rusty with dating and
all that, but here’s how it goes . . . you go on a date, you pay the
bill and say goodbye. Adios. No more Jane. We’ve got things to
do, people to find.”
"
“Settle down, Banks.”
"
“Jimmy . . . everyone wants to help find their dead or
missing, but we don’t invite them along. That’s just bullshit, and
you know it.”
"
“Jane knows the flight controllers--she suggested it’ll make
things easier to have her along. Anyway . . . truth is . . . I like
her . . .”
"
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” I said as I pulled off the
152
side of the road, and then tried to settle into some logic. “OK . . .
you two have chemistry . . . that’s sweet. Ask her out after we’ve
solve this case . . . but she doesn’t need to help us. You don’t
invited your girlfriend along just because you have the hots for
her. She’ll just get in the way . . . we don’t need her tagging
along.” I knotted my brow, wanting to intuit his blank stare, then
continued, “Do you see how this might piss me off . . . after all
that crap yesterday about me not being a qualified detective . . .
and now you’re bringing in the first wanna-be detective you
meet?” His silence was beginning to upset me, so I let loose,
“Really, Captain I-can’t-keep-it-in-my-pants . . . bringing your
date on a police investigation . . . are you out of your effin’
mind?”
"
“That’s pretty dramatic, Banks. Pushed a button, huh?
You’re jealous.”
"
“My God! You think I want a Tarzan to match your Jane?
You’re either nuts or in love.” I paused for a moment and took a
deep breath. “OK. Tell me what’s really going on, Jimmy. You
know we don’t bring people along and I don’t need to be on the
force forty-five years to tell you that.”
"
He paused to think about what I said, and then in a calm
voice answered, “Technically you’re right. Technically I’ve always
been right. How do you think I made head detective? Sensei? I
played the game according to the book. I gave you that toughlove lecture yesterday because I didn’t like your odds of
survival.”
"
“What are you trying to say?”
"
“Yesterday was a big day for both of us. We both got an
opportunity to look at life from a different perspective. Is that true
for you?”
"
“Absolutely.”
"
“So tell me, Banks, have you ever broken any rules?”
"
“Is that a serious question? Really . . . I don’t know where
you’re coming from.”
"
“I’m coming from a sixty-four-year-old career police officer
who’s always played by the rules . . . a six degree black belt who
runs a dojo, who is always in control and acting appropriately. So
do you know what happens when you always play by the rules,
153
stay in control and do things right?”
"
I shrugged my shoulders, so Jimmy answered, “You die.”
"
“Well, we all die. What’s the point?”
"
”The point is living, really living, breaking the rules, finally
being out of control. Do the wrong thing now and then, maybe be
a little bit bad . . . before you die.”
"
“Your date with Jane had something to do with this?”
"
“Yes, and you did. Or I did . . . getting on your case for not
playing by the rules . . . wanting you to do things by the book . . .
It all made me see just how rigid I’ve become. I teach about
flowing, and I wasn’t flowing. Then I met Jane. You’re hard core,
Banks. No offense, but you were raised by an Army lifer and
grew up with a bunch of brothers. You’re physically strong and
stand square in the face of conflict.”
"
“That’s a problem?” I wasn’t challenging him, now
remembering that he was a sensei and my teacher, but still not
getting what he was trying to say.
"
“Could be, but not the point. I get you. You go in a straight
line. You’re predictable. But when that little fifty-something
Vietnamese woman jumped up on that table and went toe-toshin with me . . . now that was something. It was totally off the
menu. She had no fear. Knocked me off my feet and set me up
to take her to dinner. I can’t tell you, Banks . . . but it really
rocked my world. At dinner she challenged me in a way nobody
has before.”
"
“How so?”
"
“I was fading away . . . wanting to sleep through my last
six months and then live my life in peace . . . run a quiet little
dojo. How did she challenge me? She asked if she could see my
gun.”
"
“For what?”
"
“To make sure it was loaded.”
"
“Why?”
"
“So I could shoot myself.”
"
“What?”
"
“Jane said it sounds like I just want to die and why waste
time--to just do it now. Then she said that if I wasn’t going to do
it, she would . . . put me out of my misery.”
154
"
“She said that? She wasn’t serious. Was she?”
"
“Doesn’t matter. She made her point. I either start living or
start dying.”
"
There was a long pause as all this filtered through my
quickly evolving consciousness. In an alternate ending,
Miyamota Musashi wasn’t content with dropping his sword and
writing his Book of Five Rings, he would rather die fighting.
Jimmy was making a choice--to die living rather than die dying.
He was suggesting something dangerous . . . breaking one rule,
which could lead to breaking more rules, which could lead
to . . . ? I was his partner. If he was going to break the rules,
would I? In a surrendering tone I carefully spoke, “Jimmy, I’m a
rookie. This is my first year doing something I’ve always wanted
to do. In my mind, I didn’t break any rules getting placed as a full
detective. I did everything right . . . got my masters degree in a
related subject . . . worked my ass off to graduate near the top of
my class at the academy. I’ve endured sixteen weeks of
chastisement from everyone in the bureau, for what I think is no
good reason. Now you’re suggesting something . . . I’m not really
sure what you’re suggesting, wanting Jane to come along . . . but
whatever it is scares me . . . scares me from a career
perspective. We let Jane follow us around, then what?”
"
“I don’t know. Honestly Taylor, I really don’t know. But
you’re the one who said something about this being my opus. I
think you’re right . . . this may be my last parade, so how should I
play it? By the book? Or just say screw it and have fun? Even
the Chief told me to do whatever I want, and I’ve been choosing
to be as lifeless as possible at work . . . so here’s an opportunity.
Jane might look like an ordinary woman, but she really knows
how to kick a guy in the ass.”
"
“You, Jimmy Meriweather, whose butt I’ve been trying to
kick for the last four months, finally got the boot?”
"
“I’m telling you. Nobody . . . I mean nobody, has ever
rocked my boat like this woman did in three hours last night.”
"
“OK. You have my attention. But you’re going to have to
cover me. If this comes out bad then you, and you alone, are
going to have to take the rap. You understand? You’re going to
say I was being a good junior detective, obeying orders, and
155
you’re going stand up for me and tell the Chief or whoever that
you’re proud to be my partner. Will you agree to that?”
"
“Why not? I agree. Absolutely. Thanks. Let’s go get Jane.”
Jane was in the drivers seat of a new white Ford Flex, waiting for
us to arrive. She yelled for me to park the car and get in. After
trading hellos Jane drove out of the forest to the PortlandTroutdale Airport, to the guarded gate of the control tower. It was
immediately apparent that even with police badges a whole lot of
red tape would have been needed to get past the guard, who
smiled and waved Jane by without question.
Up in the control tower everyone hugged Jane and wondered
where she had been, and why she didn’t visit more often. She
introduced her friends Jimmy and Taylor, without the titles, and
then fabricated a story that she had received an email from
Robert to come get his itinerary. Not a problem, the controller
responded, as he printed out a copy of the Gulfstream V flight
plan. What happened in ten minutes with Jane’s help might have
taken an hour without her. I was impressed--and relieved that no
real rules had been broken, at least not yet.
"
Back in the car, I was anxious to see the plan. “Where did
they go?”
"
“Patience, young detective,” Jane said with humor that got
a giggle out of Jimmy. “Let’s go back to the house and make our
own plans.”
"
With that said, Jane drove back to the St. Clair estate.
Once there she led us to the kitchen counter. “Looks like the first
leg is to Osaka,” she began, looking at the flight plan. “That
means they’re going to Mt. Kurama, one of Robert’s favorite
places in the world. Says here they left Thursday night at ten,
which means they arrived last Friday afternoon.”
"
“Mt Kurama?” Jimmy asked, somewhat stunned. “My first
Aikido sensei came from there. I’ve been wanting to go to Mt.
Kurama for nearly thirty years.”
"
“Aikido?” Jane questioned.
"
“Well, if you’re going to be working with us you might as
well know,” I interrupted, surprised how easy it now was for me
156
to surrender to her participation. “I’m not surprised he didn’t tell
you . . . I just found out yesterday. Your boyfriend here’s an
Aikido sensei.”
"
“My boyfriend? A sensei?”
"
“Taylor,” Jimmy spoke up. “It’s not relevant and it isn’t your
place . . .”
"
“Of course it is. You’ve been studying a Japanese martial
art for what? Thirty years? And you’ve never been to Japan. You
live in a Japan house and run a Japanese dojo . . . a sensei no
less, you have a Japanese office with a kimono on the wall for
Christ’s sake and you’ve never been to Japan? Jimmy! Wake
up.”
"
“I am awake, Banks . . . I just never had the time or
opportunity to go.”
"
“It looks like you do now. If Jane says that’s where they
would have gone, then what are we waiting for? They’re six days
ahead of us,” I offered and then questioned Jane, “How long do
you think they would have stayed there?”
"
“Well, it says right here. They would have left Japan
Monday morning,” Jane answered. “Then they have a two-hour
stopover in Calcutta.”
"
“Calcutta. One place I don’t want to go,” I said. “Then
where?”
"
“Kathmandu.”
"
“Oh my god . . . we’re getting close to the Himalayas. I
can’t believe I dreamed he was there. See, Jimmy . . . you
pushing me into the void worked . . . I guess. Why the hell would
he be going to Kathmandu?”
"
“They also have approval to land in Lhasa, in Tibet. Not
exactly vacation hot spots.”
"
“Too bad . . . I was hoping for the French riviera.” I smiled
at Jane. I was now impressed with this woman and wished I
hadn’t overreacted with Jimmy. “Why would your boss, a
perfectly sane billionaire, be taking three people, two suffering
from dementia and one dying, to Kathmandu? And possibly
Tibet. It absolutely, positively makes no sense to me. What do
you think, Jimmy?”
"
“Discounting the Shambala fantasy . . . unless there’s a
157
clinic in Nepal that offers advanced treatment for dementia . . .
and cancer, which I doubt, but who knows, then I would agree
with you. It doesn’t make sense. What would you suggest,
Jane?”
"
“We follow them. Simple as that.”
"
Jimmy drifted far away with a look that didn’t suggest a
haiku.
"
“Jimmy. Are you listening? You’ll finally get your chance to
go to Japan. How about that?” He didn’t respond to my
enthusiam.
"
“This is good,” Jane wasn’t at all effected by Jimmy’s
pause. “I’ve been wanting to get out of the house. Have some
fun. Sure can’t expect to find them if we’re sitting around
wondering why they’re going to Katmandu.”
"
“True,” I agreed.
"
“I have a bit at stake here, time wise, which is why I’m
pushing tomorrow. My mother is dying . . . I have no idea how
this trip will effect her health . . . and I’d sure like to say
goodbye.”
"
“Katmandu is sort of out of our jurisdiction, don’t you
think?” I said to Jimmy, finally getting his attention, he emerging
from his lost in thought.
"
“So is Japan, India, Nepal and Tibet . . . and any other
place they could have gone. This is pretty quick notice. I’d have
to cover my classes for how long?”
"
“Weeks,” Jane answered with a grin.
"
“Weeks . . . hmmm. I guess I can get one of my students
to stay at the dojo . . . feed the fish and my cat.”
"
“You have a cat?” I asked.
"
“Every dojo has a cat.”
"
“I didn’t know that. You need someone to feed the fish and
the cat . . . teach your classes and . . . the Chief said we were on
our own, that there’s no travel budget . . .”
"
“No problem,” Jane interrupted. “My money just keeps
piling up. I have no expenses living here and I’ve been waiting
for a good excuse to spend some of it. Spending all of it wouldn’t
bother me in the least. It’s my treat. LIfe is good. So are we
agreed? We leave tomorrow evening?”
158
"
“Tomorrow will work, I guess, but are you sure?” Jimmy
asked. “You’ll pay?”
"
“Money is not the issue,” Jane answered. “The way I see
it, it’s fear and the lack of passion that always keeps people from
doing what they want to do. Making money be the excuse is
easy. Even if I had no money, we would still find a way to go. I
have nothing to fear and a passion to see my mother again
before she passes.”
"
“You’re right, Jane. What’s there to fear?” Jimmy agreed,
then reflected, “To tell the truth, I’d lost my passion for police
work . . . it was all the same, but different, always in Portland.
Now I get to leave the country . . . my god, I’ve never left the
country . . . always so wrapped up in one case after the other.”
"
“You’ve never ever left the United States?” Jane injected in
disbelief. " “Chief would always tell me to take a few weeks off,
go to Cancun . . . he even suggested Japan, but I never went.
Now I can. I’m feeling that passion again . . . but without the
danger and angst. All I have to do now is find my passport,” he
said with a devilish grin.
"
“Why do you have a passport if you never leave the
country?” Jane asked.
"
“I had some serious thoughts about Japan about eight
years ago . . . wanted to see how I would match up, sparing in a
real Tokyo Aikido dojo. But another case came up and . . .”
Jimmy paused to reflect, apparently remembering about how
he’d rather be dying living, than dying dying. He had told me that
he was convinced death was a long ways off, and now it was
obvious that jetting off on a wild, crazy adventure with this
beautiful woman Jane would be like a whole lot of living living.
“I’m ready to go whenever you are, Jane.” Their eyes met for an
extend period of time.
"
“Wait a second,” I objected, feeling totally left out, like an
interloper who didn’t belong. Even though I was actively
participating in making it all happen, encouraging Jimmy to go to
Japan, and wanted to go myself, I reacted without thinking, and
blurted out, “This is bullshit.” My fiery nature was triggered by
Jimmy talking in the “I” instead of “we” tense, and his born-again
passion to drop everything and take off around the world with a
159
woman he really didn’t know, where with me he’d go get coffee
for an hour in the morning, but only because he loves coffee.
“What are you doing JImmy? . . . My God! . . . you only met her
yesterday . . . and now you’re going ‘yeah, baby’ . . . free trip to
Japan . . . got my passion back. What the hell? After one date
you blow me off.”
"
“What?” Jimmy and Jane responded at the same time to
my totally unexpected outburst.
"
“Really,” I raised my voice, stirred by subconscious hidden
emotions which had nothing to do with anything other than old
abandonment issues. “I could see it coming as clear as shit last
night . . . Miss Saigon here standing on the table and all that ‘my
mommy’s missing,’ flirting with the big black captain detective
and you, like Morgan Freeman in The Bucket List, buying into it
and saying ‘you and me baby, as soon as I dump Banks here
we’ll go eat some sushi and then parachute down into Katmandu
and then you know, yeah baby, we get it on.” I was on an
emotional-tangent train wreck and too out of control to find the
brakes. “Who do you think I am? The village idiot? Give me a
break, Sherlock. You’ve been wanting to get rid of me from day
one and the minute you find your living geisha you kick me under
the rick-shaw. Again. What kind of really screwed up bullshit is
that?”
"
“Banks! Get a grip on yourself,” Jimmy almost yelled,
which wasn’t like him at all. “You’re blowing this all out of
proportion. Jane said she’d pay our way and I never said
anything about you not coming. What’s your problem?”
"
“How could I possibly go?” I answered, calming down,
suddenly embarrassed, flashing now on how I always acted
when I was breaking up with one man or another. It was never
pretty, my always having to be right. “I’ve been working as a
detective for four months. Do you think the Chief will really let me
go halfway around the world looking for a suspected murderer
who has dementia? Really, we all know Mrs. Rice is full of crap
about Betty whoever and Howard could never have committed
that murder sixty years ago. The Chief hasn’t given me one
break. It’s ridiculous to think he would ever let me go.”
"
“Taylor,” Jane interrupted with compassion. “What do you
160
want?”
"
“What do you mean?” Tears were now rolling down my
cheeks.
"
“You’ve been asking for something . . . you’ve been
wanting more action and excitement in your life, to be totally
absorbed in a case, and now it’s happening . . . you’re going to
get what you want . . . and that scares you. But it’s going to be
OK. Your outburst shows your confusion. You’re going to be
fine . . . but first you just need to be clear with what you want.
You can stay here in Portland and fend for yourself without
Jimmy, or head off into the world on some wild, crazy adventure
with us and have the time of your life.”
"
“What do you mean, shows my confusion?”
"
“I mean, you may want to consider that this confused
person, isn’t the real you. I would guess we’re hearing the crying
out of a wounded little girl who hasn’t been seen or
acknowledged or loved unconditionally. You can change that
right now, Taylor. You can be the real you, the daring adventurer
who’s not afraid of heading off into the unknown.”
"
“Wounded little girl?” I’d read all about the wounded child
in my behavioral science studies, which is probably why I took
that major in the first place. “You’re right . . . I do have some
issues . . . but maybe you two don’t want the daring adventurer
on your Japanese date.” I forced a horizontal smile as I wiped
my tears with the back of my hand. I suddenly realized that Jane
was absolutely right.
"
“Are you kidding? Maybe I need a chaperone.” She
winked at Jimmy, and then at me. “Listen, I had a good time with
Jimmy last night, but I’m not some desperate woman who runs
off with a guy after one date. Jimmy told me last night how he felt
about you, how it upset him keeping you from working these past
months. Maybe it’s time for you two to spend some quality time
together, to get out and have some fun. Do you understand the
concept of fun . . . you know . . . as in playing?”
"
“Of course I do, but we have serious work to do. Five
people are missing. It’s our job to find them . . . as soon as
possible. This isn’t about frolicking around, drinking beer and
riding roller-coasters. This is my career . . . and I’m not about to
161
blow it.” I breathed in a sniffle.
"
“What do you want, Taylor?” Jane repeated, unable to
break through my tough shell with her soft logic.
"
“I want to work homicide. I want to solve murders . . .”
"
“Do you want to find these missing people?” Jane
interrupted but didn’t wait for the answer. “Let me put it this
way . . . being a detective is about solving the crime. Do you
think a crime has been committed?”
"
“You mean, do I think that some billionaire taking three
demen . . . two dementia patients and your mother, to Japan is a
crime? Honestly, it’s so bizarre I don’t know what to think. But is
being wanted for two murders worthy of a criminal investigation?
Damn right.”
"
“I know about Mildred accusing Howard of murdering
Betty. Two murders?” Jane asked, revealing she was never told
about Howard being wanted for the Louisiana murder.
"
“He’s wanted for murdering his stepfather in 1952,” Jimmy
quietly answered as I sat back down, grateful the energy was
now going in another direction.
"
“Howard? You have to be kidding. I worked side-by-side
and traveled the world with him for eight years. He’s the
sweetest man you’d ever meet. 1952? That’s over sixty years
ago. Wanted for murder? Did he go to trial? Was he convicted?
What’s the story here?” Jane was smart. Her doctorate in
biological engineering could just as easily have been a doctorate
in law.
"
“What we’ve gathered,” Jimmy started and then paused,
wishing to be as succinct as possible. “The Monroe Louisiana
newspaper reported a double homicide in 1952, sometime in
May. A woman, identified as Howard’s mother, and her commonlaw husband, his stepfather, were murdered. The police later
accused the young son, Reggie St. Clair, of murdering the
stepfather.”
"
“Reggie St. Clair?” Jane asked.
"
“That’s Howard’s birth name.”
"
“St. Clair?”
"
“There are no coincidences . . . the plot thickens,” Jimmy
said with a grin. “Anyway, Reggie was identified leaving the
162
scene of the crime that evening, and they never found him.”
"
“Interesting. All of it. So let’s imagine . . . a black boy . . .
what was he, around twenty?” Jane had exacting logic. “A black
boy is arrested for the murder of the black man who murdered a
black woman,” Jane calculated, continuing, “in Monroe,
Louisiana in 1952. What chance do you think he would have had
of being acquitted? Whether he did it or not?”
"
“Probably zero,” I offered. “Those were my thoughts
exactly.”
"
Jane thought about it for a minute. “You know, sometimes
there is more truth coming from the mouths of dementia patients
than we want to believe. Howard would tell people, ‘I’m going
down to Louisiana to find the bastard who was beating my
mother.’”
"
“Why would he want to find the bastard if he had already
killed the bastard?” I asked.
"
“Exactly,” Jimmy opened up. “Maybe something
happened . . . like the guy was beating the wife and threatened
to kill her son if he called the police . . . and Reggie took off while
he had a chance . . . never knowing that his mother and the older
man were both murdered later that night. Taylor suggested that
the husband first killed Reggie’s mother, and then her boyfriend
or lover, or I’m thinking maybe Reggie’s real father, killed him.”
"
“And all the police saw were two bodies, a missing son
and no other suspects,” I said with excitement, even though we
were talking about a sixty-year-old cold case, and I had already
come to the exact same conclusion two days before, except for
the real father part. “You’re right.” I looked at Jane. “He wouldn’t
have had a chance . . . he would have spent his life behind bars.
So what are we going to do?”
"
“What do you want to do?” Jane asked again.
"
“I want to find Howard, bring him back . . . I don’t care if he
has dementia or not . . . I don’t think he killed his stepfather or
Betty, and I think justice has to be served here . . . We need to
find a way to clear his name once and for all.” Jimmy and Jane
nodded in agreement.
"
“So do you want to go with us to Japan and then
Kathmandu?” Jimmy searched my eyes for the true answer.
163
"
“Damn straight.”
"
“Then I’ll give the Chief a call and arrange a meeting with
him first thing tomorrow. We don’t have to ask him for Bureau
money or tell him where we’re going. You and I still get paid.
Tomorrow we fly off to Japan, drink saki and enjoy ourselves,
solve the case and come home. In the end everyone wins.
Sound like a plan, Taylor?”
"
“Sounds like a plan,” I answered with a smile. “Except the
flying off part. You going to get our tickets?” Jane nodded.
“OK . . . I’m ready to play.”
164
18
Clouds around the soul fade.
A sunlight moment:
Opens to grace.
After the detectives left, Jane sank into the overstuffed living
room chair, lost in her thoughts, pleasantly surprised with the
unexpected unfolding chapter in her life. She was a scientist and
a businesswoman whose world--her joy and passion--revolved
around biology and organic farming, not detectives, missing
people and murder. And yet, she was now more excited than she
had been in years--not just in heading off in search of her mother
and the others, but in spending more time with one Jimmy
Meriweather. She was feeling something she had never felt
before, and didn’t want the feeling to go away.
"
She wondered if her time at Robert St. Clair’s mansion
was now coming to an end. After living with him for four years
she knew the man, and what had just happened was not like
him. He trusted me to make all his travel arrangements. Why did
he keep this a secret from me? They had recently discussed her
mother’s cancer and agreed that Happy Acres would be the best
place for Sopi to live out her life; he agreed to be there with her
until the end. They had also talked about Howard and Maggie
and how they too would be safe at Happy Acres for the rest of
their lives. Was that conversation before his stroke? She thought
about his changes since his miraculous recovery, and his
surprising decision to move into Happy Acres. Why did he
suddenly, without my help or hardly any warning, take them
165
somewhere? Kathmandu? Why there of all places? She had to
find out. I’ll find them, no matter what it takes.
"
She thought back to four years ago, when she had given
almost all of her possessions to a local Vietnamese-American
charity before moving into her already furnished and expensefree suite. From that day on Jane never thought about her
$18,000 monthly salary, and the direct deposits into her cash
management account. With no need or concern for money, she
was surprised the day her broker mentioned that she had
become a millionaire.
"
Jane stayed busy while sequestered away in her
Troutdale cave, relatively happy and fulfilled while managing
Robert’s business affairs, arranging the travel itineraries of
Shambala executives, and keeping up with her research on
insects’ positive and negative effects on organic crops, and
advising company biologists regarding their research findings.
She was comfortable, easily forgetting she had other options in
life--like moving out, getting another job, or even dating. She
occasionally thought about being with a man and often wondered
why she had never experienced a truly loving relationship,
though she was aware of her ridiculously high standards. which
wouldn’t allow her to be bowled over by any ordinary man; he
would have to be extraordinary--independent, self-motivated,
self-loving, and ready to commit to loving and pleasing her in the
ways she wanted to be loved and pleased--without interfering
with, corrupting or compromising her personal integrity in any
way. This confusing self-imposed protection guaranteed a
defense against potential emotional heartbreak, ending almost
any possibility of a relationship before it began. Her ‘relative
happiness’ had everything to do with having created a celibate
life devoid of the physical touch her body craved. And while most
of the professional men she met at Shambala meetings were
intellectually stimulating, not one had the raw ‘I don’t give a shit’
masculinity of Jimmy Meriweather. By all indications he was the
extraordinary, self-motivated, good-looking man’s man--who
might well be the one to please her in every possible way. The
man she had been praying for had taken her by surprise.
166
"
Jane’s afternoon thoughts were devoted mostly to Jimmy,
and what her attraction to him meant. She still hadn’t grasped
how emotional love chemistry worked between two people. She
had never felt it with anyone else and, as a pragmatic doctor of
biological engineering, she had judged it to be an affected biproduct of base carnal desire to which she had no interest in
applying scientific proof. But maybe she was wrong, and maybe
what she was now feeling was indeed chemistry--maybe a
positive form of chemistry. In Jimmy’s presence she had felt a
stirring sexual arousal, a pre-orgasmic shivering she had not yet
experienced in her life. Is this the chemistry they talk about? she
wondered. Jane knew the very moment when it clicked in. He
was ready to walk away forever, and she was about to lose what
she didn’t yet have. Without thinking, she jumped up on the
coffee table and challenged him. There is no fear in a woman
who knows what she wants. Her instinctual action was primal,
and his reaction was unexpectedly gentle--a disarmingly
powerful surrender, like a grizzly bear rolling over to have his
belly rubbed.
"
She thought about his love of haiku and decided to
express what she was feeling in verse. She imagined the clouds
around her fading away and the sun shining through. A graceful
transition. Carefully she constructed her haiku: Clouds around
the soul fade. A sunlight moment. Opens to grace.
"
On their date the night before she was cautious, openly
frank, and oddly relaxed, while at the same time balancing a
whole mishmash of awkward and confusing emotions. She paid
attention, wanting to be genuine and express her opinions
without reserve. Yet she felt a prolonged out-of-control dive into a
strangely exciting and dangerous emotional blender, one
whirring with new and titillating sensations. And, while all this
body and emotional newness was building, her soul felt
resurrected; a precious, maybe even sacred, rebirthing; an
awakening to a still-very-much-alive feminine Jane. She was
grateful, happy, and didn’t want it, whatever it was, to stop.
"
Jane was amazed at the effort it took to get Jimmy out of
her mind, for at least long enough to get herself back on
purpose. Deciding on Mt. Kurama, Japan, she wondered if she
167
could reserve rooms at the Ryokan Hirobun Hotel. I’ll call the
owner, Kantaro. She checked her world clock and dialed the
Japan number on Skype. Kantaro was happy to hear her voice,
confirmed that Robert and the others had been there, and would
have the two available suites ready when they arrived.
"
Who should I call to book the tickets and should we travel
first class? She thought about her offer to pay all the expenses. I
certainly can afford it. Her millionaire stasis was ironic; she
certainly didn’t feel or act rich. She didn’t own a car or anything
of value, and had no impulse to shop, since she had plenty of
clothing left over from her days of pubic speaking. She realized
that it was the first time she had thought about money in years.
How much am I willing to spend to find the people I love? All of
it? The question received a resounding, Yes! Who cares if I
spend it all?
At that moment the phone rang. “This is Jane.”
"
‘Hi Jane, Taylor here. Listen . . . I just want to thank you for
today . . . apologize . . . I was a bit of out of line.”
"
“It’s OK . . . you’re like a force of nature . . . blowing out the
old in order to let in the new. I got it. No problem.”
"
“Really?” I paused to let it sink in. “You know . . . you’re a
lot older than me . . . but I feel like we’re sisters somehow.”
"
"
“I mean . . . well . . . I don’t do well with women.” I thought
about what I just said and blurted out, “Oh my god--I’m like my
mother. Sorry. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t have a
girlfriend . . . a woman friend I can hang out with. Do you think
we can be girlfriends?”
"
“Absolutely,” Jane answered with a giggle. “Do you want to
go shopping?” She realized that she too missed having a woman
in her life.
"
“That would be great. I’m not sure what to wear on the trip.
By the way, did you get our tickets yet?”
"
In a flash Jane remembered the second Shambala
airplane--the rarely used ten-year-old eight-passenger
Gulfstream G200, which was parked in a rented hangar at the
168
Portland/Troutdale Airport. “It just dawned on me. Shambala has
a second jet. It’ll be perfect.”
"
“We can take a corporate jet? Are you suggesting stealing
it?”
"
“Not at all. The smaller Gulfstream hasn’t been used since
Robert bought the Gulfstream V. It’s just sitting there. Let me call
you later, Taylor . . . I have to make a few phone calls . . . make
sure we can get it.”
After hanging up Jane thought about Jennifer, the head of
Shambala’s Image Tribe, whom the detectives had met. Jennifer
was one of Jane’s best friends, though they rarely socialized
together. During the candle-lit night vigil when Robert was posed
to die, the two bonded over tears--like sisters. "
Jane called
Jennifer, who was intrigued with how the investigation had
evolved, and told her that she was going to take the G200 to
Japan, and maybe even to Tibet in search of Robert and the
others. She wanted another trusted person to know what was
happening and why--in case there was ever a reason for
someone else to know--in case all of them disappeared.
"
Jane then proceeded to do what she always did so well-she phoned two on-call jet pilots and one flight attendant. She
ordered the ground crew to prepare the Gulfstream for a transPacific flight to Honolulu and on to Kansai International Airport,
leaving early the next morning.
"
She chuckled at her fate. She rationalized that using the
company jet and her allotted, but never used, travel funds to
locate Shambala’s owner, Robert St. Clair, and the beloved
retired tribal head, Howard Johnson, both of whom might well be
in danger, was certainly appropriate. Now, with the travel plans
taken care of, she could relax, continue dreaming of Jimmy, and
decide on whether to spend time packing or buy new clothes on
a shopping spree with Taylor. I’m ready to have some fun!
169
19
In still darkness
the fire-flies.
Thursday morning:
Jimmy and I sat in front of the fire at The Bank enjoying double
lattes with Bailey’s and Kahlua, my treat. “I was all wrong about
Jane,” I started in. “I really like her. We’re going shopping . . .
before we leave today.”
"
“That’s nice. But tell me . . . I’ve been waiting for her to
call . . . I’m in the dark here . . . did she give you any idea what
airline we’re on and exactly where we’ll be heading? When we’ll
be leaving?”
"
“Get this. She called me last night to tell me that
Shambala has a second company jet. She’s made all the
arrangements. We’re all set to fly out this evening. Portland/
Troutdale to Honolulu to Osaka, then we helicopter to a hotel on
the side of Mt. Kurama.”
"
“Is that so? She’s not stealing this jet, is she?”
"
“Funny. She’s still an executive of the company . . . and
she’s in charge of the planes. Anyway . . . a private jet . . . can
you believe that? Did you get your dojo taken care of?”
"
“I did. A fifth degree black belt friend has been wanting
his own dojo for years. I told him he could stay at my apartment
and teach all my classes . . . and even get paid. It was total winwin. So I’m free to go . . . after one last meeting with the Chief.”
Jimmy looked at his watch. “We better get going. He’s expecting
us.” 170
We stood in the Chief’s office watching the cantankerous old
man shuffle through papers. He was the only officer who had
been on the force longer than Jimmy, and ruled with an
untouchable superiority. “Well, sit down,” he said without looking
up. Jimmy laid a key on his messy desk.
"
“What’s this?” He raised one heavy browed eye up.
"
“A key to my office. It’s all yours, Chief. Don’t know when
I’ll be back. Take good care of my stuff. That samurai sword is at
least four hundred years old.”
"
“Yeah, whatever. I’d rather use my gun.” He rested his
chin in the palm of his hand, and locked eyes with his retiring
captain. “You know, Jimmy . . . I don’t have that kind of
leisure . . . taking naps in the middle of the day, listening to
monk’s moaning. But you never know . . . maybe . . .” He picked
up the key. “I’ll sneak in there one of these days and stretch out
on that futon of yours. Doctor says I’m supposed to be taking
naps at my age, but I’m too damn busy.”
"
“Listen Chief.” Jimmy was the only man in the bureau
who could speak at a peer level with the police monarch. “Life
shouldn’t be that stressful. You always have a choice. You know
as well as I . . . whatever you do, people will still keep committing
crimes. Why ruin your health over their idiocy? Take care of
yourself. I’m telling you, there’s more to life than throwing people
in jail. Use my office. Take naps. Contemplate your navel. What
the hell?”
"
“Contemplate my navel? You gotta be . . .”
"
“Chief. Stop. Please. I get high blood pressure just being
around you. Any form of meditation is good for you. Take a
breath. Relax.” Jimmy took an exaggerated deep breath and
thought of a calming haiku. “In the still darkness. Fire. Flies.”
"
“I have no idea what that means, but . . . you sound like
my doctor, Jimmy . . . you’re right . . . I need to cut down on my
stress, take it easy . . . that’s what he said. My cholesterol is
through the roof. Your office is . . . what’s the word? . . . serene, I
have to admit. Thanks . . . OK . . . I’ll think about it.”
"
“It’s important to search for inner peace, to control your
anger and practice forgiveness.”
171
"
“What else?” he grumped. It was obvious that the Chief
had heard enough of what he didn’t want to hear in the first
place.
"
“About Banks here. You and I haven’t treated her
fairly . . .”
"
“Bullshit!” "
“As far as I’m concerned,” Jimmy continued unaffected,
“you haven’t treated her fairly and the just thing to do . . . would
be to apologize.” He noted the iniquitous scowl on his superior’s
face and waited for a response before he continued, “I didn’t
imagine you would. I have apologized to her, by the way, but
regardless . . . I just want you to know . . .”
"
“I know plenty . . .” he sputtered, displaying misplaced
hubris.
"
“I just want you to know that she is now my full partner
and will be working with me on this investigation.”
"
“Are you sure?” The Chief snapped, still not giving me
the courtesy of a glance.
"
“Positive. Now, I’d like you to extend a simple courtesy.
Taylor has been instrumental in this investigation so far, and it is
more than appropriate to let her speak . . . Hopefully the two of
you can have a civil conversation, after all, you’re on the same
team . . .”
"
“Yeah, the team owner and the water girl.”
"
“Please Chief. No more insults. She just wants to give
you an update on this case. Remember Banks, no cussing.”
"
I looked over at my partner with fondness. The lessons
of the last few days swirled in my mind. Remembering Miyamoto
Musashi, I didn’t want to be out of control, leave myself
unprotected while the Chief stabbed me in the gut, again. I had
been his punching bag; a victim of his wrath, and wasn’t sure
how much more of it I could take. With the thought of Jimmy’s
warning of how my working there might be once he retires, and
now with him by my side, this might be my last chance to speak
my mind with his support. To me the Chief was a pompous old
man who was long overdue for the verbal Zen slap I was now
familiar with. After my nearly intolerably insulting last visit in this
office, I was convinced that I was the only person with a good
172
enough reason, and the guts to take a swing at him. “I’ll be a
good girl. No problem, boss,” I half lied. “But you know how
excited I get . . . two times in the chief mukiwuk’s office in one
week . . . damn. How about . . .”
"
“Banks!” Jimmy stopped me. “Stay on purpose.”
"
“OK.” I steadied my eyes on the Chief’s until they finally
met mine. “So, for the record . . . you have not said one decent
thing to me since I started working here four months ago. There
is no visible reason for your overt hostility toward me. I have
done nothing whatsoever to provoke your anger or displeasure.
You have dishonored and disrespected me for no good reason
and I deserve an apology.”
"
“Shut up, Banks,” he snarled.
"
“You’re not going to apologize?”
"
“Hell no. Give me your update.”
"
I stared at him for a long moment. Jimmy glanced over
at me, and I knew he could see that ready-to-be-out-of-control
fire in my eyes. I took a deep breath and decided to get the
factual information out of the way. “We met with the woman who
lives in the St. Clair house. She’s the daughter of one of the
missing women. Jane wants to find them as much as we do and
will pay all our expenses.”
"
“How about that. Get it in writing so we’re not liable.”
"
“No problem,” I answered even though I had no intention
of doing so. “Technically she’s sub-contracting Jimmy and I to
locate Robert St. Clair, the owner of Shambala Natural Foods
and their distinguished retired executive, one Howard Johnson,
her mother Sopi Nguyen and a Maggie Sinclair. We believed that
Mr. Johnson is innocent of all charges and we’re planning to
bring him back for a fair trial.” "
“Jesus Banks, whadaya pretending to be now, a damn
attorney?” the Chief sputtered. “Stick to being the water girl.” The
fire in my eyes was starting to burn.
"
Chief . . .” Jimmy objected and was cut off. "
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know . . . she’s your partner. I
thought you liked older women, Jimmy.”
"
“What?” I was primed.
173
"
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Banks.” He looked from
me to the Aikido sensei who stood poised. Jimmy clearly saw the
abuse, now covertly sexual in nature. “OK Jimmy . . . You know
where I’m at with all this. Keep it all under the radar, understand?
I got Carlson and some new gal from patrol entertaining Mrs.
Rice. Whatever it takes, just bring them back before it becomes
news. That’s it in a nutshell. Have fun. Send me a postcard . . .
and by the way . . . make sure you come back for your retirement
dinner.” He paused, wanting to give a compliment, but when he
couldn’t think of one he just blurted out, “I forgot what I’m
supposed to give you after forty five years. What do you give the
Zen master?”
"
“How about a formal bow?” I answered.
"
“A bow? How ‘bout you mind your own effin” business,
Banks.”
"
Jimmy and I seriously looked at each other, which
flustered the Chief. Jimmy frowned and nodded, giving me a
what-the-hell go ahead. He was well aware of my fits of anger,
could see that look in my eyes--and he could only hope that the
wild fire he was about to witness wouldn’t rage totally out of
control. Allow it to be what it is, he whispered in my ear. In the
dark stillness. Fire. Flies.
"
“Jimmy is my business. When you abuse me you abuse
him. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll apologize to both of
us right now,” I answered in Jimmy’s defense, though he didn’t
need defending.
"
Oh shit, here we go, Jimmy thought.
"
“You’re one cocky broad, Banks . . . you’ve no right
speaking to me with such insolence.” He stood up, as did Taylor
and I “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll apologize to me
and leave this office before I fire your ass.” He almost took a
breath, but the effort didn’t help to calm him.
"
“Chief . . .” Jimmy had to take a stab at putting out the
fire before it got out of control. “You agreed not to go there again.
It’s not too late for you to apologize.”
"
“I won’t!” He insisted, raising his voice, and then
glowering at me spoke with authority, “I think you’re a worthless
piece of shit, Banks. For some crazy reason Jimmy wants you as
174
his partner . . . and he brought you in here to give me a
report . . . the only concession I’ll give is a few more minutes of
tolerating you. If you have more to report, for Jimmy’s sake here,
I’ll humor you . . . even though I really don’t give a crap what you
think. So tell me . . . where did they go?”
"
“We got a tip they’re on their way to the Himalayas . . .
wouldn’t that be . . ?” I began to answer, then paused. I closed
my eyes and tried to calm myself, tried to ignore his terrible
insults, but my calm seemed like self-betrayal. The man had no
right speaking to me that way. I had warned him and he
persisted with his abuse. Even though I flashed on not losing
control, I had to respond in kind, no matter the outcome. "
Jimmy could see the red when I opened my eyes.
“Taylor, be careful.”
"
“You call me a worthless piece of shit one more time
and . . .”
"
“Banks!” Jimmy warned, wanting to stop me before it got
ugly.
"
“You worthless piece of . . . ” the Chief snapped, holding
himself back. “I’ll call you whatever I damn well please. One
more outburst of insubordination and I won’t hesitate. I’ll fire . . .” "
“You listen to me, Chief,” I interrupted and then paused
again. I glanced at Jimmy, remembering the lessons he had just
taught, then took a deep breath. I quickly rearranged my
thoughts and then glared at the Chief with equal authority,
assuming a commanding stance neither man had yet witnessed.
“Jimmy taught me something the other day. Doesn’t matter what
words I throw at you . . . if you’re really a man of honor there is
no way you’ll be dishonored by whatever I say . . . unless it’s the
truth.”
"
“Phui. The truth?” the Chief sputtered.
"
“The truth is . . . you’ve had four months to fire me.
Actions speak louder than words. You can’t fire me.”
"
“What? . . .” "
“You heard me. You can’t fire me.” My words and his
facial reaction to them convinced me that it was true. After four
months of forming a hypothesis, I was now certain my conclusion
was valid. “You made a deal with someone, I’m not sure who.
175
Someone has got you by the balls and you’ll lose your job if you
fire me. Even a dumb detective can figure out that your payoff is
too close and too much for you to blow it now.” I knew there was
truth in my words as the Chief leaned back without retort. “You
made a deal with Jimmy and then dishonored him by putting us
together, then dishonored him again by giving him this particular
job, knowing full well it will extend beyond his retirement date.
Jimmy told me, you said--babysit Banks--don’t give her anything
to do. You don’t hire a detective, partner her with a captain and
give her nothing to do. Doesn’t equate. There had to be a good
reason for assigning me to him, holding me back until a high
profile case came up and then suggesting he use me. I imagine
your anger toward me is wrapped up in your guilt, but regardless,
there’s a bigger story here and I’m going to find out what it is. As
far as I’m concerned, your deception is disgraceful and your
corruption is unconscionable.”
"
“Bullshit!”
"
“Bullshit is right. You want more of the truth? This old folk
missing case has turned into a potential nightmare for you . . .
the owner of one of the biggest companies in the world is
involved in a murder and kidnapping. National news. Someone
higher than you wants it swept under the rug and ordered you to
use me on this case. Money is involved, I know it. Damn straight,
money passed hands. I’m going to find out what this bullshit is all
about, then heads are going to roll.”
"
“I’m still your superior officer . . .”
"
“You’re right. But let’s be clear. I’m not one of your dumb
dicks. I’m a damn good detective and I’ve got your number. Sure,
we’ll save your ass, we’ll go away and keep it off the front
page . . . Jimmy and I will figure this one out, bring them back
and some sort of behind doors deal will be made . . . and you’ll
get your payoff. I’ll make you look good, only because I’m a
professional working with the master here . . . but I’m going to
find out . . .”
"
“That’s enough, Banks . . .” the Chief almost shouted.
"
“And why.” I wasn’t done and not the least bit
intimidated. “Don’t kid yourself for a minute. I will not be
someone’s bought thing. I’ve come here to be a serious police
176
detective . . . on my own merits. You or no one is going to stop
me from being the best damn woman detective this bureau has
ever had.” "
There was a definitive stillness in the office. In the dark
stillness, Jimmy thought. None of the three knew quite where to
go next with this."
"
“Chief,” Jimmy finally broke in. “All this is besides the
point at the moment. Taylor and I have a lead on this case and
we’re going to follow it. We may be gone for a month. Maybe
when we get back you two can have a heart to heart and clear
this up. Why don’t we just leave it at that?”
"
“Fair enough,” he said in resignation, which surprised
both of us. “Get your bulldog out of here and Jimmy . . . be
careful. Don’t believe everything you’ve just heard . . . no use
spreading rumors . . . Come back for your retirement dinner. The
mayor and commissioner have some sort of high brow event
planned . . . just so you know.” He put Jimmy’s key in his pocket
as we turned to leave.
Once out of the Chief’s office I hugged my partner for the first
time. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. I had to speak my truth.”
"
“That was quite a show you put on. Extremely risky and I
would have thought ill advised.”
"
“Maybe, but I’ve been around powerful men all my life.
I’ve been privy to back room deals and my father told me things.
I had a ‘what’s up’ about the Chief before I began working here,
though I didn’t want to believe it at the time. My father says it’s
the way of survival at this level, but I don’t like it, not one bit. I get
you Jimmy. I know you’re not like that. It’s why you didn’t accept
those jobs . . . the Commissioner and Mayor, right?”
"
"
“Well, thanks for standing up for me. You’re a man of
your word. I won’t let you down.”
177
20
The master yields
--a mighty force-sustained.
Jimmy and I took a taxi to his dojo, where a grey tabby met me
at the entrance door. With the cat in my arms, he pointed out
some of his favorite bonsai’s while we crossed over the pond. On
the other side, Jimmy reached under the bridge and brought out
a box of fish food, sending tiny colored pebbles into eagerly
awaiting mouths. We stood there and watched the fish for a long
while, as if he were going to dearly miss them. He finally quietly
recited a haiku, “Always coy. Fish in still life. Pondering.”
"
“Thanks again Jimmy . . . for standing up for me,” I said,
matching his calm, wanting my sincerity to be heard in the
stillness.
"
“I’m glad you knew what you were doing. Did you consider
while speaking your mind that he could have easily fired you, as
not?”
"
“Oh, I didn’t care one way or the other. Really, it won’t be
the same here without you . . . and why be anywhere where
we’re not wanted. I’m young and well-connected and I’ll land
solid on my feet. Beaverton wanted to hire me . . . I even got a
call-back from the Seattle PD.”
"
“It’s your out-of-control anger that concerns me.”
"
“Like I said . . . I always land on my feet.”
"
“We’ll see . . .”
Once inside the dojo, Jimmy went to his knees and bowed
before entering onto the mat and then, still on his knees and
178
facing the altar, bowed again. I managed a couple awkward head
bows as I followed him onto the center of the mat. “Wait here,”
he said as he went to a cabinet under the altar and extracted a
pair of white draw-string pants, a gi top and cloth belt. “Go to the
dressing room and put these on,” he said to me. “Hurry back.”
"
Confused, I headed down the left-side stairs into the
woman’s dressing room. When I returned Jimmy handed me a
three-and-a-half-foot-long hardwood sword, a bokken. “You need
to let go of your anger, Taylor,” he said in kindness, holding his
bokken like a golf club. I copied. “Now . . . let’s spend about
fifteen minutes sparing.”
"
“But . . .”
"
“It doesn’t really matter whether you’ve done this before or
not . . . it’s all about intention. You read Musashi’s book about
slicing and dicing. I want you to keep coming at me, swinging
your sword. This is your anger time, Taylor. Your time to be out of
control, to express your rage. I’m the Chief. I’m your father. I’m
every man who has ever pissed you off . . . Now’s your chance
to knock their block off with that sword.”
"
“What if I actually hit you?” I objected, figuring I would.
"
“Don’t go there. You’re not protecting me . . . I don’t need
protecting. You can protect babies and little kittens, not grown
men. This is your time. Your only purpose is to hit me. When you
swing that sword, feel the sound coming from your gut. It’s called
kotodama. Use the power of sound when you cut. Huahhh!!”
Jimmy shouted as he cut his bokken toward the mat, stopping an
inch from it. “Can you do this?”
"
“I think so. Are you going to swing back?”
"
“No. Let me hear it. HUAAHHH!”
"
“HUAAAHH!” Shouting felt good. “HUAAAHH!” I shouted
again, louder.
"
“That’s right. You’re the uke and I am the nage. You just
keep attacking. Don’t stop no matter what. I may swing you
around and put you on the ground, but I will let you up to come at
me again. Now down on your knees.” I obeyed as he also went
to kneel. “Bow down to me and touch your head to the mat. I will
do the same to you.” We bowed. “Now come back up and put
your palms together like in prayer.” After we had done that he
179
said, “Say to me, onegaishimasu.”
"
“Onegaishimasu.”
"
“That means I am in your hands. You are in my hands,
Taylor. In my hands I am asking you to release your anger. OK.
Stand up. When you’re focused on the attack, start swinging.
Don’t hold back.”
I didn’t hold back. For the next twenty minutes, as if I were in my
“Insanity” training, I kept coming at him--yelling, screaming,
swinging with all my might. My strength gave Jimmy leverage.
The more strength I exerted, the faster I came at him, the easier
it was for him to move aside. I would charg--forward swinging
and cutting with my bokken, and he would whip me around and
I’d crash on the mat. Over and over I’d get up and charge at him
in anger and frustration, screaming “HUAAAHH!” until I was
horse, until I lost my mind in the exercise. I did everything in my
power to hit Jimmy, but to no avail. Finally I collapsed to the
ground and cried longer, louder and harder than I had ever
remembered.
"
Jimmy had given Jane the address of his dojo. A few
minutes after the sparing began she had slipped in and watched
my valiant attempts to strike the older man. When I wailed in
defeat and finally fell to the mat in tears, Jane cried too. Jimmy
gave me a few minutes and then clapped his hands to get my
attention. “On your knees,” he ordered. And when I did he also
was on his knees bowing to me. “Onegaishemasu. Very good
Taylor-san.”
"
“Onegaishemasu, sensei-san,” I said in return.
I was stunned. With all my youth, muscles and endurance I
couldn’t even come close to touching Jimmy, a man over twice
my age. I was humbled as I walked back to the dressing room in
silence. My anger was spent and it felt as though I would never
be the same again. My usual cockiness seemed shallow and I
now had a better idea of what he meant by surrender. Jimmy had
earned the right to be confident and quiet, I hadn’t. There was so
much more to learn and now I was finally ready.
"
After I dressed and reappeared on the mat, Jane took my
180
hand and we walked out of the dojo. Once on the street I took a
deep breath and shook my head, as if adjusting to a totally
different reality. One look at Jane’s car and my old self
reappeared, “A Tesla? Is this yours?” She nodded no. “Robert’s?
What’s an eighty year old guy who doesn’t drive doing with a
Tesla Roadster? A Tesla Roadster? You’re kidding? . . . You’re
not kidding . . . obviously . . . it’s right here. OK! I’m driving.”
"
“Take it,” Jane said. “I’ll have a taxi drop me off at your
apartment as soon as I’m done with the tour. He wants to show
me his world. I’ll be there in a little while.”
When Jane was seated comfortably on my leather couch, we
revisited the dojo experience. “Can you believe what happened?”
I asked. “I’m a finely tuned athlete and I didn’t come close to him.
Half the time he hardly moved as I went flying by. At first I didn’t
want to hurt him . . . then I really wanted to hurt him . . . well, not
him, per se . . . I was just so angry . . . angry about . . . I don’t
know . . . everything.”
"
“So he succeeded,” Jane concluded.
"
“In showing me how out of control I am? Yeah . . . he
succeeded all right. I’m a bit ashamed of myself at the moment. I
can’t believe how patient he’s been with me . . . how he put up
with all my tantrums. You should have seen me in the Chief’s
office this morning. I’m surprised the old man didn’t throw me in
jail. I even had one yesterday over you.”
"
“What happened?’
"
“I jumped all over him when he made you junior detective
overnight. It was more about me than you. I didn’t think it was
fair.”
"
“ About what? Making me a junior detective?”
"
“Earlier he had given me a bunch of shit about not being a
qualified detective, not ready to handle a real case.”
"
“Are you?”
"
“A qualified detective? I thought so . . . until now.” I thought
about it for several seconds, then realized how unprepared I was
for a real street fight.
"
“You haven’t been on the force very long.”
"
“But I’m a good crime student . . . I have a masters degree
181
in human behavior. I went from years of college into the police
academy . . . always at the top of my class. I was ready to work,
to do what I’d spent so many years preparing for. It wasn’t fair
that . . . that I wasn’t given anything to do. I think it would be the
same as when you got hired to teach college, after you just
receive your doctorate degree. What if they gave you no
students and then your senior professor told you that you haven’t
had enough experience to teach and that’s why you’re not
teaching anyone? What do you do with that catch-22
information?”
"
“Use it to become a better teacher,” Jane answered. “I
would have started tutoring or done volunteer public education
work. No one should ever stop you from doing what you love to
do.”
"
“So you think Jimmy gave me nothing to do as a test? So
maybe I would spend time volunteering at a shelter or
something . . . so maybe that would make me a better detective?
Was he testing my passion?”
"
“No doubt, though from what I heard . . . he was taking
orders from his boss. Beyond all that, he’s a sensei. He operates
by a different protocol, Taylor. You apparently felt entitled, and
not willing to pay your dues, not willing to do any more than show
up. Maybe after this dojo experience you’ll be a bit more humble.
He likes you . . . or that sparring session would never have
happened.” She stopped and looked at me, searching for the
words to make everything all better. “You’re his number one
junior detective. Me? I’m more arrogant than I have any right to
be . . . his number two junior, junior detective.”
"
“Junior, junior, junior,” I laughed, as did she.
"
“You’ll have your opinions Taylor, as you should,” Jane
continued, “Opinions on how good you are, how smart you are,
how qualified you are and so on. I’ve learned that the best
students have the biggest opinions, but your opinions are just
that, your opinions, and they may not apply in the real world. A
good teacher has patience, allows the student to express
opinions, encourages life lessons, and when the time is right,
applies strong guidance, as Jimmy has done with you.”
"
“Isn’t that the truth.”
182
"
“Let’s you and I agree, Taylor. We’re two strong headed
women. I too will have my opinions. I’ll speak my mind. But when
it looks like I’m taking over, or I’m out of line or get too bitchy,
give me some room. I’ll do the same with you.”
"
“You bet, thanks.”
"
“You were honored today. Be grateful, but don’t lose your
spirit. Keep expressing your fun fiery self . . . and remember to
be humble . . . remember today . . . and never forget that
Jimmy’s your sensei . . . he has your best interests in mind.”
"
“You’re right,” I replied. “Why can’t I make it that
simple?”"
"
“You can and you will.” Jane smiled and held my hand.
“Now let’s change gears. The plane is fueled and the crew is
ready to go. We’re scheduled to take off in a three hours. Let’s
get you packed.”
"
When I finished packing, I called Jimmy. “Are you ready? Our
plane leaves in about two hours.”
"
“Two hours? I lost track of time. I got busy with last minute
dojo details. Where are you?”
"
“My apartment with Jane. Better get packing, boss. Don’t
want to miss the plane.”
"
“I’ll have a bag together in about fifteen minutes. What
about you? Do you have your passport? You all set?”
"
“I was born ready. Got my passport, toothbrush, hairbrush,
all the woman stuff I need. My ego in check. Why don’t you meet
us at the airport.”
"
“If you remember . . . we took a taxi here. You’re not
far . . . just come pick me up. I’ll be ready when you get here.”
"
“No can do, sensei. I’m driving a two-seater sports car . . .
unless you want Jane to sit on your lap.” Jane nodded and
smiled, ready for the fun to begin.
"
“That’ll work. I’ll be waiting inside the front gate.”
By six o’clock that evening we were cruising over the Pacific, two
hundred miles west of Portland. The plan called for a six-hour
layover in Honolulu for the pilots to rest, and then on to Japan,
arriving sometime around noon the next day. We enjoyed the
183
Shambala Foods evening meal and during the Honolulu stopover
our airplane beds were prepared, for a good night’s sleep.
"
After breakfast the next morning we arrived at Kansai
International Airport, the hub between the Shambala
headquarters in Oregon and the rest of Southeast Asia. A limo
was waiting on the tarmac. We noted that there were no customs
or identity checks, and before long we were in a helicopter on
our way to Mt. Kurama, eleven miles north of Kyoto.
END OF PART ONE
184
185
Shambala
Part Two
- The Journey -
186
I am coyote howling at the new moon.
I am the peacock in full bloom.
I am Kunte offering five pigs, three bows
And twenty arrows.
I am the wild stallion prancing.
I am Zorba dancing, breaking plates.
I am the man who has waited
Half a lifetime to smell your sweet perfume.
I am ready for you to come home.
I am an artist with an empty canvas.
I am a creator in a universe of infinite possibilities.
I am a god calling for my hearts desire . . .
Calling for my sweetest dream . . .
the woman who was designed for me.
I’m calling for you to come home.
Robert St. Clair

187
21
Trust life-the bridge to eternity
beckons.
Thursday, two weeks before the detectives began the
investigation:
After a satisfying dinner I, Robert St. Clair, known to everyone at
Happy Acres as Archibald Goodwin, moved over to the bridge
table with my three best friends--Howard, Sopi and Maggie. It
had been three weeks since I had presented Mildred Rice with a
hundred thousand dollars cash and moved into Betty Wilson’s
room, and a little more than a month since I miraculously
recovered from my near certain death coma.
Happy Acres, which I indeed owned, was an executive gated
facility, which housed twenty-seven “guests,” all of whom arrived
with various stages of dementia or Alzheimer’s. No one there,
except Sopi, had any idea that the new patient, Archibald, me,
had a healthy and active mind. If Howard were to tell anyone that
I was the billionaire owner of the facility, they would laugh it off
as just another of his fantastic tales.
"
While shuffling the cards, I grinned. I was pleased--all was
proceeding as planned.
"
I reflected back to the days after I purchased Happy Acres.
I met with only one person, a general contractor. That man
coordinated the architects, sub-contractors, carpenters, painters
and interior designers and within a of couple months he
188
converted the huge mansion, set at the front of twenty wooded
acres, into an upscale and exclusive retirement resort, with a
price of admission well beyond the working class budget. The
so-called guests arrived from rich, cultivated, privileged,
groomed, and polite lives. All over seventy years old, they were
constantly watched by Mildred Rice and her well-trained staff of
caregivers, who led the guests through a daily routine of
activities: exercise, arts and crafts, games, movies, and outdoor
walks. One staff member played the piano and quite often they
all joined in the singing of oldies but goodies, eliciting good
memories and robust laughter. Nobody was allowed to sit for
hours, vegetate, or stay in their room, unless death was
imminent. The guests were encouraged to express their unique
personalities, though some, like Howard and Betty Wilson’s,
clashed. But for the most part they all liked being together,
entertaining one another with stories of their lives before Happy
Acres, either real or imagined. In the past weeks, My calm voice
and funny stories made my three friends extremely happy, and
they all were grateful that I had come to join them; an old friend
with a new name--Archibald Goodwin.
"
I focused on my plan and how I would execute it. I had
been trained for many years in the conscious movement of
energy. My study involved many disciplines--prana yoga,
kundalini yoga, Reiki, and the conscious expansion of ki or chi-all forms of life-force energy. My daily meditation for the past
seventy-five years included one form of energy work or another,
and although invisible, it was directly responsible for the global
success of Shambala Foods. At my darkest hour, the time of my
death, I decided to turn this energy inward, and use it for selfhealing. It worked. My current plan is to share this life-giving
energy with my friends, and at that moment, facing Maggie,
Howard and Sopi at the bridge table, I could only hope for the
same result.
"
Watching her watching me shuffle the cards, I was drawn
to the tiny white polka dots on her dark blue dress, the way her
gray hair was held in a bun with waterfall strands touching her
shoulders, and how her baby-skin complexion was accented with
a touch of pale red lipstick. I could imagine her smell, maybe a
189
light spray of sweet perfume--to me she was still very beautiful
and I had no doubt of my intentions.
"
Maggie had short-term memory loss and although I had
wanted to, I couldn’t tell her about my plan. She would agree
with my explanation, and forget all about it five minutes later.
Howard would listen to my story, but since his mind confused
time, space and accepted reality, he would come up with an
even better imaginary story to tell. Sopi would like Howard’s
story better even though she knew very well it probably wasn’t
true.
"
I remained patient as the bridge game began. I was again
impressed with how Maggie and Howard remembered hundreds
of technical terms, the rules and intricate maneuverings of the
complicated game. They could care less about keeping score,
winners or losers; they wouldn’t remember anyway. In the midst
of counting cards, making bids, plays and runs, they shared
pleasantries as all bridge players do.
"
After twenty minutes and a winning trick, I took a Tony
Bennett LP out of my white jacket pocket and gave it to the
attendant, who thinking nothing of it, slipped it in the CD player
and turned up the volume. Maggie loved Tony Bennett and shyly
squealed with delight when I stood up and asked her to dance. I
left my heart in San Francisco . . . high on a hill . . . it calls to
me . . .
"
The bridge game was officially interrupted as I removed
my sunglasses and led Maggie to an open area and we began
dancing cheek to cheek, which was easy since we were nearly
the same height. Howard took Sopi’s hand, and then bending
over, lifted her from the wheelchair and held her frail body. He
put his cheek to hers, and joined us on the dance floor. This
amused the two evening attendants, who would be shocked if
they knew what I had in mind.
"
After about a minute of slow dancing I proceeded in doing
what I most purposefully intended to do. Maggie looked curious
as to why I placed one hand on her head, opposite my cheek.
With my cheek next to hers I began the energy transference.
"
She felt the tinkles and they made her giggle. Something
190
extraordinary was happening and without thinking she was
actually thinking about healing energy, which was what her life
profession had been all about. She was conscious of her
thoughts. “Archie,” she whispered into my ear, “what did you just
do?” I smiled. “You know,” I whispered back, “prana, chi, ki. Do
you remember what you were just thinking?” That question
surprised her. “I do. I was thinking that you just sent life force
energy into my brain. Did you?” We moved our heads back and
looked into each other’s eyes. “”I did,” I answered. “I know
how . . ,” she whispered in my ear, “but I never thought it could
be used on the brain like this. What do we do now?” I put my
cheek back to hers and whispered, “Act like nothing has
happened. Now, work with me with the life force energy . . . you
and I together . . . on the rest of your body. Let’s fill it with healing
light . . . right now.” I put my hand on the small of her back and
with no fanfare she helped heal herself of osteoporosis, arthritis,
and the first stage of cancer she wasn’t aware she had. As the
song came to an end, I bent Maggie over, which almost made
her eyes pop out of her head, moments before physically
impossible, and whispered in her ear, “How do you feel?”
"
“Great!” she answered, still whispering. “Can you do that
to Howard and Sopi, too?” The next song came up, I’ve got the
world by a string . . . sitting on a rainbow . . . got the string
around my finger . . . what a world, what a life . . . I’m in love.
"
“We’ll see. Sopi is next,” I answered, moving away.
Tapping Howard on the shoulder, and before taking Sopi into his
arms I asked, “May I have the next dance, madam?” I then
proceeded to heal her of terminal stage four cancer, a disease
she knew nothing about. When the song was through I placed
her back in the wheelchair and took it to the table.
"
Maggie smiled at my and began whispering to Sopi about
what had just happened. I then leaned over to Howard and said,
“You know that place we always talked about going?”
"
“Oh do I. You mean up in the mountains. That fishing hole.
Under the stars and pines. Oh my, yes I do know that place.”
"
“I want to take you there, Reggie.” In private I often called
Howard “Reggie”--after all, that was his real name.
"
“When?”
191
"
“As soon as we don’t have to be here any more.”
"
“Well, I like it here, but you know . . . there’s still lots of
places to go. When do you want to leave? I’m ready.”
"
I looked deep into my dear friend’s eyes. “You know I
would never do anything to harm you. You know that don’t you?”
"
“Of course I do. Don’t be silly.”
"
“OK then. Let’s you and I go to the little boy’s room.” We
excused ourselves and went to the men’s room where I cupped
Howard’s head in my hands and sent healing energy into my
friend’s brain. Later Howard told me that the Latin names of
botanicals flooded his mind and the horticulturalist wondered
about his office and lab and an experiment he was conducting
before he forgot. All he could say was, “Oh my god.” He hugged
me and we returned to the bridge table.
"
Maggie and Sopi were both grinning when we
returned."
"
“Keep quiet, all three of you,” I whispered. “Stay in your
wheelchair Sopi . . . practice walking in your room. Don’t let
anyone know, or even suspect anything, especially the
attendants over there . . . most especially Mildred Rice. You must
act as if nothing has changed.”
"
“Why?” Maggie asked.
"
“I have a trip planned” I looked at my best friend. “It’s time
for you and I, Reggie, to take that trip we talked about, and bring
these two beautiful women with us.”
"
“So what’s the plan?” Howard asked, looking around to
see if anyone else could hear.
"
“Well,” I paused. “I want to take the three of you back to
Shambala with me.”
"
“That’s just a myth,” Maggie offered, her mind suddenly as
sharp as ever. “There is no Shambala, Archie.” Maggie had
gotten used to calling me Archie, and although she knew my real
name, she liked the other better.
"
“Oh, there sure is a Shambala. I’ll prove it. Well go there
next week.”
192
22
In the ocean:
lies secrets deep deceptions-Unfathomable
The week that followed “the healing” wasn’t a pleasant one for
Maggie, Howard and Sopi. Although Sopi felt better than she had
in years--her legs worked properly and she was cancer free--she
wanted to be out of her wheelchair, take off her shoes and feel
the grass between her toes. She longed to walk hand-in-hand
with Howard and dance with him around the trees--to do things
she wouldn’t even allow herself to do when she was in full
health. Dementia had freed Howard’s mind, and now he wasn’t
as out-going as he had been in the last two and a half years. He
returned to his “normal” quiet self. The staff thought he was
depressed and wanted to increase his medication, since he no
longer happily offered the non-sensical stories which entertained
them. Not wanting to further arouse their suspicion, it took quite
a lot of effort for him to recreate his dementia personality and
make up gibberish.
"
Maggie had the hardest time of all. She now saw me in
an entirely different light, and realized that she really didn’t know
me, since she had had no contact with me in the last sixteen
years. Although she went along with it, she disapproved of my
charade.
"
It made no sense to her why I refused to identify myself
as who I was, the owner of Happy Acres. She argued that if I
owned the place then I could dictate the rules, including making
up one that would allow me and other mentally fit guests to live
there. Now aware that dementia could indeed be healed, she
193
wanted to come forward and attempt the healing on everyone
else. She insisted that I teach her how to heal the others of
dementia and Alzheimer’s, which I refused to do. I argued long
and hard against her saying a word about this to anyone; she
acquiesced, but quite reluctantly. Maggie’s compassion then
focused on Howard and Sopi. She saw how they struggled with
their pretense and continued to argue with me on their behalf. If
only I would confess then Howard could stop acting so stupid
and Sopi could walk around and express her good health. I
begged for her patience.
"
Throughout the weekend Maggie remained persistent in
her argument for transparent disclosure and truth. With her
thinking intact, she had no room for make-believe--or lies of any
sort. At first she considered my plan, to take them to Shambala,
an old man’s fantasy. She tolerated it, but by Monday, as I began
stating out loud that I was once a guru from Shambala, in an
attempt to convince the staff of my dementia, she was losing her
patience. “Why would you say such a thing?” she asked me.
!
To make things worse, during a private talk with Howard
and Sopi that weekend, she found out for the first time that I was
the billionaire owner of Shambala Natural Foods. She had known
me for thirty years, and I had never told her. I’m a very private
and secretive man, but from her point of view my not telling her
the truth about my career was an act of deception--the lies were
beginning to pile up. “A guru wouldn’t be like you--he would
never tell a lie,” she said to me in front of the others. “You’re no
guru.”
"
She began to question how she got to Happy Acres in
the first place. We hadn’t been in contact for at least fourteen
years before she arrived. I had somehow tracked her down and
brought her here, but why? “Why did you wait so many years
before contacting me . . . and if you knew I had dementia and
you had the ability to heal my brain all along, why hadn’t you
done it before? Am I a part of some long-term con you’ve
conjured up, keeping me in the dark until now? Until you were
ready to go to this Shambala place? There’s no Shambala,
Archie. I’m happy that you’ve figured out some way to heal
physical and mental illness, but what about healing yourself?
194
Don’t you have some sort of mental illness?” Sometimes it was
hard to take, but I knew she would be happy when we finally
were in Shambala.
"
By Tuesday afternoon Maggie was beside herself; her
mind was filled with so many unanswered questions--she was
beginning to feel anger and told me that we needed to have a
serious talk. Late that night after curfew she went to my room, a
cozy little two room apartment, with one bedroom and a small
living room, and tapped on the door. We sat in the two stuffed
chairs, separated by a table and lamp. I offered her some tea.
"
“I know it’s past the curfew,” she started in, “and if you
would come forth as the owner of this place I, not to mention
Howard and Sopi, wouldn’t have to be worried about being
caught.”
"
“There’s no reason to worry,” I politely answered.
"
“I don’t need you to placate me, Archie. You’ve put all of
us in a very precarious position. You’re asking us to pretend and
lie . . . for what? It’s not in my nature to play make believe, nor is
Howard’s. Sopi wants to get up and dance and express her good
health. We’re cured of our mental illness, but are you?”
"
“What are you talking about?”
"
“I’m talking about all your lies and secrets and
deceptions and cons. It just goes on and on . . . telling people
you’re a guru from Shambala. There is no Shambala . . . and a
guru who lies and deceives people? I can’t take any more of
this.”
"
“It’s only for two more days.”
"
“Two more days? Then what? We get on a magic carpet
and fly to this fairytale land of yours? I don’t think so.”
"
“It’s true.”
"
“True? The magic carpet? Archie . . . wake up! I just
found out that you’re actually a billionaire, one of the richest men
in the United States. You never told me about Shambala Foods
and we’ve known each other for thirty years. Don’t you think
that’s a bit odd?”
"
“No.”
"
“What do you mean, No? You’re a billionaire renting a
room in a dementia facility under a false name.” Maggie began to
195
laugh at the absurdity of it all. “I find out that you own the place,
and old Mildred Rice, who has run it for the past three years,
doesn’t recognize you? She has never met the person she works
for?”
"
“There was no reason.”
"
“There is every reason! You own the damn place! But
never mind. I just want to know if you’re in your right mind and if
there is some sort of meaning to your wacky behavior.”
"
“There is, Maggie. I can’t tell you what it is right now.
You’ll just have to trust me.”
"
“Trust you? Why? Everything you do and say speaks of
mistrust. If you are in your right mind, then you need to come
forward with the truth - at least to us. You have some sort of
power, Archie . . . it’s obvious and I appreciate what you’ve
done . . . but it’s not enough. You started something that you
need to complete.”
"
“It’s far from completion. It’s only beginning . . .”
"
“There you go again . . . being vague . . . trying to draw
me into your fairytale and I’m sorry . . . I’m just not going to buy
into it.”
"
“What do you want me to do?”
"
“Tell the truth!”
"
“I will. How about tomorrow evening after dinner.”
"
“I look forward to it. Good night, Archie.”
That “good night” was interrupted by a light knock on my door. I
opened it and my young Tibetan assistant walked in.
"
“Good evening, Tulku,” he said to me with a deep
reverent bow. “I take it that everything is in order with you
tonight. Good evening, Mrs. Maggie. I hope I have not interfered.
Forgive me.”
"
“I was just leaving, Tenzin,” she answered. “Good night.”
"
“May I help you to your room?”
"
“That isn’t necessary. Good night.”
Soon after she left, Tenzin bowed to me and left Happy Acres. I
knew that Mildred Rice tolerated Tenzin’s nightly presence only
because I demanded it. The reasoning why the young man
196
showed up between eight and nine made absolutely no sense to
anyone except me, the man with the many secrets; now Tenzin’s
appearances were taken for granted, which was exactly what I
had in mind.
197
"
23
A seed once planted sprouts undaunted: the father’s wish fulfilled.
Wednesday night--the day before we disappeared:
Howard’s apartment had been furnished by Portland’s top
interior designer--I wanted the best of everything for my friend. It
was, by far, the biggest and nicest suite in the Happy Acres
mansion, but Howard, who was slipping in and out of realities,
could care less. It meant nothing that the couch material was the
most expensive crushed velvet or that his La-Z Boy was heated
and had massage features. Howard never once turned on the
wide-screen TV or attempted to read one of the hundred books
on the shelves. He was comforted by a few personal treasures
from Mississippi and his world travels and that aside, the room
was just a place to sleep at night. He never had visitors--so as
we, his friends, gathered in the apartment which he now fully
appreciated, it felt good hosting in elegant ambiance.
"
Once we were settled around the rosewood coffee table
and the conversation came to a pause, I broke in, “Maggie came
to my room last night. She accused me of lying, of being
deceptive, of running a con and I can’t remember what else . . .
oh . . . of being mentally ill.”
"
Howard let out a big belly laugh. “I was thinking the same
thing myself.” Sopi also laughed and Maggie remained tightlipped.
"
“Me, too,” Sopi offered. “What’s wrong with you?”
198
"
“Surely you don’t think I’m not men. . .”
"
“Don’t you see, Archie?” Maggie seized the opportunity,
“it’s just not me who thinks these things. You need to be
forthcoming with us. No more lies.”
"
“I’m not lying.”
"
“See? There you go again.” Maggie was an old woman,
but she hadn’t lost an ounce of her spunk.
"
“Are you going to give me a chance?” I almost pleaded,
which was something I never do.
"
“I’m not sure. Look at you. You’re wearing sunglasses
inside this room --the sun went down two hours ago. You’re
what? Eighty years old and have a ponytail below your waist-like some hippie from the sixties.” She gave me an overall
disapproving scowl. “I’m supposed to take you serious?”
"
“I have severe photophobia, which I haven’t been able to
cure.”
"
“Oh . . . sorry.”
"
“The hair has to do with a vow I took when I was in Tibet
studying to be the head Rinpoche of a monastic order.”
"
“And we’re supposed to believe that?” Maggie questioned,
still not allowing for my truth.
"
“That I vowed to not cut my hair, or that I studied in Tibet?”
"
“Both . . . all of it,” she insisted.
"
“Maggie . . . Howard, Sopi . . . I’m telling you the truth
now.”
"
“That you were this guru from Shambala?” Maggie
pressed.
"
“Technically . . . a guru is a teacher with knowledge or
wisdom in a certain discipline. That would apply to all of us.”
"
“So you just loosely used that term . . . for effect?”
"
“It’s easier to comprehend. I was actually a Rinpoche.”
"
“A Rinpoche? What’s that?”
"
I smiled and then patiently explained, “A Rinpoche is an
honor earned or sometimes given to a Tibetan Buddhist lama
who has been identified as a reincarnated master and, like the
Dalai Lama, sometimes the master is recognized as a child. At
five years old I was identified as a Rinpoche, the one who was to
succeed the master of our order. I studied at the Potala Palace in
199
Lhasa for five years, and when I was ten we moved to a beautiful
valley in the Himalayas called Shambala. I was there until I was
thirty-five years old, when I ran away from that life. I found my
parents here in Portland and began working with them in their
grocery business. I turned a small chain of organic supermarkets
into the biggest natural foods grocery supplier in the world. I
retired from active duty after forty-three years, and I still head the
Board of Directors.”
"
Maggie was speechless. She stared at me for a long time,
as did the other two. They finally were getting that this was not
the babbling of a man with a mental illness. They each had
witnessed my power first hand, and it wouldn’t take much
research for Maggie to substantiate what Howard insisted was
true--that I was the owner of Shambala Foods and one of the
richest men in the world. “OK,” she finally said. “Quite a story. I
would like to hear the details one of these days. But why all the
deception?”
"
“It’s not actually deception, Maggie. More like a personal
respect of my inner knowing. And I have credible reasons for
honoring my our privacy, and for continuing my spiritual
practices.”
"
“Then why come here?”
"
“First to prepare you for the journey that we are about to
undertake, and second . . . to clear up old business.”
"
“Old business here at Happy Acres? Maggie asked.
"
“Mildred Rice. The director. She was hired by someone
other than myself. I accepted her hire only because I liken her
position to an over-paid baby-sitter, and figured at her age she
would be benign. She wasn’t that way at all, and possibly out of
boredom she complicated her authority, creating trouble around
here for no good reason. I pretty much ignored the negative
reports on her, but when fabricating a story that Howard
murdered the woman whose room I now occupy, I decided to fire
her. I notified my attorney to find a replacement and have her
removed. That process began only days before my stroke. When
I recovered four weeks ago I was surprised she was still here.”
"
“You had a stroke?” Maggie asked, creating a tangent.
"
“I remember doing my morning exercises, and then
200
passing out. Apparently I went into a coma, which I stayed in for
a little over a month. The morning I came out of it I decided that I
wanted to continue living. Lying there I remembered and then
applied the healing techniques I had learned while in Shambala-to myself. It was then that I heard my inner voice that said it was
time to return there--and to bring the three of you along.”
"
“Pretty impressive I’d say . . . healing yourself,” Sopi
offered before being interrupted my Maggie.
"
“You moved in here three weeks ago. Why didn’t you tell
us that you just got out of a coma?” She was still confused with
unanswered questions. “And why did you use a fake name? And
most of all . . . why didn’t you heal us then, instead of waiting
three weeks?”
"
“Your recovery wasn’t one hundred percent complete, was
it?” Howard surmised. “You wanted to be around a trained
nursing staff in case you had a relapse.”
"
“That and I wanted to be with my best friends while I was
recovering, instead of being basically alone at my home.”
"
“You didn’t answer my questions,” Maggie insisted.
"
“Howard answered it roundabout. Healing myself took a lot
out of me. I was still recovering and I wasn’t sure I had the
strength to attempt a complete healing on one other person, let
alone three. When I decided to do it, it still was an awful risk, but
I felt I capable. That was six days ago and I’m just getting back
to feeling healthy again. I was taught that this healing movement
of energy took no effort and that there would be no side effects.
Maybe I forgot a step or two . . . it did drain me.”
"
“Your fake name?”
"
“It’s a long story . . . I considered firing Mildred before I
moved in, but didn’t want to arrive during the confusing changing
of the guards. My attorney met with one of her technicians at his
home, and he discovered she was manipulating her male staff to
act as spies, and so we paid young man to be a double agent.”
"
“Who?” Howard asked. “Why?”
"
“Doesn’t matter who. Why? A simple precaution. I always
want to know exactly what I’m getting myself into. This is how I
found out she likes to play detective and used operating funds to
buy sophisticated surveillance camera’s and equipment.”
201
"
“She’s been spying on us?” Maggie asked in disbelief.
"
“She has . . . though we weren’t sure why. But anyway,
Archie Goodwin is a fictional character in Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe
novels. I was informed that she has a library of his books. I
wanted her to find out who I really am, and for her to see my
connection to Howard.”
"
“Why?” Maggie asked.
"
“So she would know that I’m on to her. I was giving her a
chance to come clean, to save her job . . . and to forget about
the whole Betty nonsense. There’s more to it . . . but beyond all
that I don’t want anyone else to know who I am.”
"
“I’m sorry . . . I just don’t get why you’re so secretive. Who
cares if people know who you are, or not?” Maggie just couldn’t
figure out the enigma in front of her.
"
“Who I am is nobody’s business. I have agreed to my
dharma. My life has purpose and I have been clear and focused
on that purpose, and because of it I feed many millions of people
every day with nutritious life enhancing foods. Who I am as a
personality is beside the point.”
"
“But you do have quite a personality,” Maggie stated.
"
“I am who I am and when ordinary people see me they
rush to judgment. It’s much better that I live my life in the
shadows.”
"
“You didn’t have to heal us,” Maggie responded. “We
wouldn’t have cared. It’s actually made being here very
complicated . . . actually extremely uncomfortable. You’ve forced
us to be deceptive and play games we don’t want to play, for
what reason?”
"
“You know why.”
"
“Shambala? You want to take us there.”
"
“Yes.”
"
“But there is no Shambala,” Maggie protested with
insistence.
"
“Are you sure?”
"
“Am I sure there is no Fairy Kingdom? Or a lost city of
gold . . . El Dorado? These are myths that nobody has or ever
will prove to be true.”
"
“Are you sure?”
202
"
“Of course I’m sure.”
"
“Positively, without a shadow of a doubt?”
"
“Well . . .”
"
“What if I told you that I healed all three of you
because . . . let’s say that for the last thirty years I had used my
extreme wealth to launch unprecedented expeditions in search
of El Dorado? And that we had finally found it . . . and that the
wealth and beauty there is far beyond anything that you would
ever imagine. And on top of all that . . . Ponce de Leon’s fountain
of youth was there. And there is only three people in this world I
want to share this with . . . you three. Would you turn down the
offer and opportunity to journey with me to this magnificent city of
gold?”
"
“Maybe not . . . but you just made that up. You want us to
believe that you actually didn’t make Shambala up? That there
actually is a Shambala and you know how to get there?”
"
"
“And you want to take us there when?”
"
“Tomorrow after bridge.”
"
“Oh.”
"
After an uncomfortably long pause Howard finally broke the ice,
“I guess it’s never too late to start over. Are you going to tell us
what you have in mind?”
"
“I like it here at Happy Acres,” Maggie declared. “I feel so
good and you know . . . there’s a lot of people I can help, right
here. I want to stay and for you to teach me your technique,
Archie. Why should we be the only ones who are healed?”
"
“That’s not the point,” I answered.
"
“I’m a healer, Archie. Where is Shambala anyway? The
Himalayas?You can’t seriously expect us . . . a bunch of terribly
senior citizens . . . to go trekking off in the mountains. I wouldn’t
even go to Mt. Hood on a sight-seeing tour.”
"
“We can do it.”
"
“In your dreams . . . look at us. I don’t care if we’re disease
free . . . we’re all still old and somewhat feeble. I’d rather stay
here and channel healing energy until I die. We’re all going to die
soon, you know . . . and I can’t imagine us walking around in the
203
Himalayas doing anything other than causing our deaths much
sooner than later. Really, what is the point?”
"
“Living our lives to the fullest while we still have them, for
one.”
"
“Sounds like a whole lot of unnecessary pain if you ask
me.”
"
“What happened to the arthritis you had last week,
Maggie? The osteoporosis? Your cancer? Your dementia? Are
you not pain free right now? Do you actually think that your
healing can’t be continual, that it only happens once? Can
you . . . with all your years of healing and spiritual study . . . even
half-way entertain the idea of reverse aging?”
"
Maggie looked at my for a long while. I took off my
sunglasses so she could see the sincerity in my eyes. I was
pushing the envelope and it was almost more than she could
take. “No, Archie . . . I can’t. I’ve watched my life progress for
seventy-eight years. I will accept a few more years if I’m blessed
to heal a few more people . . . but beyond that I welcome death.
I’ve come to a place of peace with my life . . . finally. This
week . . . I’m happy to have my health and mind back . . . but I’ve
realized that I don’t like the drama, the pretending to be
someone that I’m not. Once we end this silly sham I imagine
going to the rec room and fessing up . . . then loving and serving
everyone here until the day comes when I don’t get up. Don’t you
see . . . I’m OK with it.”
"
“And if you could go to El Dorado?”
"
“What good would all that gold do me? What good would it
do me to be standing in some paradise right now? I have no
desire. Sorry.”
"
“What if you had a second chance with life? What if you
could do it all over again without the need for death and rebirth?
Would you be willing to be uncomfortable for a little while to
experience life anew . . . if you could actually bathe in that
fountain of youth?”
"
“If you could guarantee it. Maybe?”
"
“What if I can?”
"
“Can you?”
"
“Come with me tomorrow and I will show you.”
204
"
“Archie . . .” She gave me a grandmotherly don’t-screwwith-me look.
"
“I’m dead serious.” I looked at my old friend. “Reggie?
Sopi? Will you come to paradise with me?”
"
“You know I’ll go anywhere with you, Robert. Sure. I’m
coming.”
"
“I’ll go wherever Howard goes,” Sopi said. “I want to
walk . . . the Himalayas? Why not? Maggie . . . will you come
with us? I want you to come with me. Please.”
205
24
An empty cup-before dawn
the beggar rejoices.
Thursday, the day we disappeared:
Maggie brooded most of the day. She wasn’t a pleaser and had
never been one. She had owned her own business for over forty
years and conducted her life on her own terms. Her first
marriage was a young girl’s mistake. Her second was one of
mutual convenience, and her third was--well, another mistake. In
each one, it was her decision to leave. She would not allow
herself to be bullied into unwise decisions, and now that she was
back in her right mind that was not about to change.
"
She avoided me and did her best to ignore Sopi’s
pleadings. The Vietnamese woman was quite familiar with
Howard and my closeness. She had no doubt that Howard loved
her beyond measure, but she imagined herself being the girl on
a boy’s trip. Whether that would be the case or not, she wanted a
woman’s company--and she really liked Maggie. “Come on
Maggie. Don’t be a party pooper. We’ll have fun. Robert will grow
on you, you’ll see. What can go wrong? You’d miss us and I
know you’ll think you made a big mistake when you’re here all
alone.” Throughout the day Maggie listened to one variation of
that theme after another, until she decided to lock herself in her
room, until it was time for dinner.
"
Maggie’s mind was crowded with thoughts and during that
first hour she wondered if she were better off with dementia. At
least then she couldn’t remember her thoughts and didn’t lament
206
over the fact she was having confusing ones. These are my best
friends, she thought. I totally love Sopi and Howard. It makes
sense that I would go with them. But . . . it seems so much like
being two couples. I don’t want to be a couple with Archie . . . at
least I don’t think I do. Her mind scrambled to see it that was
totally true. He did make an effort to explain himself, but he’s
such an odd duck. I still don’t completely trust him, Rinpoche or
not. One of the richest men in the US? What difference does it
make now? A free trip to paradise . . . I guess he can afford it . . .
but what would I do . . . sit around and knit socks? I don’t even
knit. I don’t like it when I can’t see a man’s eyes. How can I trust
someone if we don’t look each other in the eyes? I know he’s
looking at me like a man looks at a woman. That’s awfully
peculiar. Maggie got up, went to the mirror and examined her
face. I’m an old dried up prune. Why would any man be
interested in an old prune? He’s terribly short . . . and that long
hair. A vow not to cut your hair? I don’t understand vows . . .
well . . . I made a few and where did that get me? I never was
any good with men. Why would it be any different now? . . . even
if he was my knight in shiny armor . . . which he certainly isn’t.
!
Tap, Tap, Tap. Who could that be? I hope it’s not Sopi
trying to talk me into going some more. Should I ignore it? She
looked over at the clock on her wall. It’s still an hour to dinner.
Hmmm. I guess I should see who’s there.
!
“Archie! What are you doing here? I was just thinking
about you.”
"
“Can I come in?” She lead me to the small sitting area,
which was the exact floor plan as my room with similar furniture,
though the ambiance was as different as night and day. I took a
seat. “Obviously I was thinking about you too. What was it you
were thinking about?”
"
“That I don’t like to talk to a man without looking him in the
eyes. I’ll draw the curtains. Would you be so kind . . . and
remove your shades?”
"
“Shades?” I chuckled as she closed the curtains and
turned out the lights. “OK.” I removed my glasses.
"
“I must admit, you have wonderful eyes,” she honestly
offered, studying them. “They’re blue. I would have guessed
207
hazel. Is it alright, Archie? Can you see me well enough?”
Maggie was pleasantly surprised that I acquiesced.
"
“My vision is fine . . . Maggie.” I paused until I was sure of
her undivided attention. “Remember when we used to be
friends? Years ago when I would take you out to dinner and I told
you some of my deep dark secrets?”
"
She thought about it for a minute, holding steady eye
contact. “I don’t remember you wearing sunglasses at the time.
You were a client . . .” Her mind went back nearly thirty years.
“That’s when I had my office in Gresham. You first came to me
with a shoulder injury . . . rotator cuff. Your hair? You insisted on
wearing a hat all the time . . . was that a wig under it? How come
you never told me you were so rich and owned Shambala
Foods?”
"
“I liked you right away, Maggie. I wanted us to be friends.
That’s why I asked you out all the time. I don’t have many
friends, you know. I liked taking you to dinner. You were always
talking about your business . . . I liked to listen . . . and I did tell
you I was a grocer. You accepted that without a lot of questions,
so I just didn’t elaborate. Wealth and power seems to intimidate
people, makes them act silly . . . and I wanted us to relate as two
hard working people. I did wear a wig and my eyes weren’t as
sensitive back then. I want you to remember how it was. Us
being friends. I told you important things. Remember that
massage therapist you sent to my home?”
"
“Oh my god Archie. I do.” Maggie looked away, recalling
the details. “I was shocked when you told me what happened. I
fired her right away.”
"
“It wasn’t her fault. But I just wanted you to remember that.
You were the only woman I have ever been so open and honest
with.”
"
“Are you serious? A man of your wealth? I would think you
would have been with many women after that girl.”
"
“I haven’t, Maggie. Not one.”
"
“No one? I can’t even imagine . . . you’ve never had a
woman you were intimate with?”
"
“Besides a brief time with that girl . . . only you.”
"
“But we were never intimate.” She let it sink in. “That’s
208
really sad, Archie. Maybe I would have been a better friend if I
had known. How come you stopped coming to see me? All those
years . . . you never came back.”
"
“Maybe it had to do with your divorce. You didn’t want to
go out with me any more. You weren’t very nice about it, Maggie.
I think your words were something along the lines of go away
and never come back. I take words like that seriously . . . and I
was hoping that you would remember our friendship and call . . .
maybe say that you didn’t really mean it. But you never did call.”
"
“I’m sorry, Archie. I didn’t think . . .”
"
“That’s how it played out. After that I stopped hoping for a
relationship with a woman and focused on building my company
and expanding Shambala Foods out to the world.”
"
“You wanted me to be your woman?”
"
“That was a long time ago, Maggie.”
"
“What about now?”
"
“I want a companion. I want you to be my friend . . . my
confidant again. I want you to come with us, Maggie. I really do.”
I stood up and walked to the door. “Dinner is in a half hour. If you
decide to go with us, pack a small bag of personal items. Don’t
worry about clothes. Put the bag just inside your door and leave
your door unlocked. We will sneak out of here during bridge.
Please come.”
Tenzin arrived in the evening as always, nearly an hour early,
and as always nobody paid any attention to him. Maggie, Sopi,
Howard and I had just finished dinner and moved to the bridge
table. The young man went to Howard’s suite and removed the
small suitcase, walking it to the car as if he had every right. He
did the same with Sopi’s medium sized shopping bag. In my
room he followed instructions; wiped everything down with a fine
cloth, erasing all fingerprints. The room was to look as though I
had never been there, and so it was when he slipped out with the
same small suitcase I had arrived with three week before. No
one, except our inside double agent, had seen Tenzin coming in
and out of the building. Lastly, he entered Maggie’s room . . . and
took her small traveling case to the car. Upon returning he
209
nodded to the attendant, who went to the spy closet and booted
up all the malfunctioning camera’s and surveillance equipment.
The spy then informed Mildred Rice that he had found the
problem and fixed the cameras. All was proceeding according to
plan.
The first thing Sopi wanted to know, when we settled down at the
bridge table, was Maggie’s decision. We all wanted to know, and
the answer could only come in a whisper. Maggie didn’t even
have to answer. She smiled. We knew. The cards were shuffled,
dealt and bridge night commenced as if nothing was at all out of
the ordinary. I had already discussed the escape plan with
Howard and Sopi. It was timed to happen beginning precisely at
seven thirty-five.
"
At seven thirty I nodded to the attendant who still had his
Tony Bennett CD. He slipped it in and turned up the volume, You
make me feel so grand . . . I want to hand the world to you . . .
You make me understand . . . each foolish little scheme I’m
schemin’ . . . dream I’m dreamin’ . . . I know why my mother . . .
taught me to be true . . . She meant me for someone . . . exactly
like you . . . I winked at Maggie, which didn’t help her confusion.
"
When the song ended, with a slight nod from me, Sopi
asked Maggie to wheel her into the woman’s room. It was not an
unusual thing to do. At that point Maggie had no idea it was part
of the plan. At precisely seven thirty the double agent had invited
Mildred into the video closet, both to show her that the
equipment was now functioning properly and to bring her
attention to the white Ford Flex parked at the bottom of the
entrance steps. “I don’t know why he is just sitting there in the
car,” the man lied to Mildred. “He came early tonight and has
been walking around the halls. He usually arrives on bridge night
when Archibald is finished, to tuck him in.” Mildred was intrigued,
and having nothing better to do, sat in the second chair to watch
the young Tibetan man, who wasn’t doing anything.
"
Maggie and Sopi never went to the restroom. Sopi told her
friend to act like she was dead when I picked her up. She
agreed. Less than one minute after the women left the table,
Howard and I appeared in the foyer. We each picked up a limp
210
woman and simply carried them out the front door to the waiting
car. Tenzin used the remote to open the iron gates and we were
gone.
Mildred sat there with her mouth open, I’m sure.
"
"
211
25
A squeeze play-kings and queens
close room coup.
Mildred sat in her little spy closet, half beside herself with what to
do, and half thrilled with thoughts of looming possibilities. She
could call the police, but what proof did she have that a crime
had taken place? This is more of a mystery than an obvious
crime. They left with the owner . . . but what is the crime? Her
mind was busy calculating; she didn’t want to make a rash
decision--a mistake. Nobody knows that he’s the owner, except
me. If I called the police now . . . maybe they’d chase after him.
But what good would that do me? She thought of Nero Wolfe. He
would use the police to his advantage . . . they can do the grunt
work for me. I will call the Chief of Police in the morning . . .
demand he send his best detective out here. She had her man
re-run the tape. Why did they carry the women out? They look
like they’re dead. Couldn’t be. Well, maybe? Were they
murdered? The thought excited her, but such an allegation had
no substance. Were they kidnapped? She had him reverse
another tape and watched them leave the bridge table. She
checked the times on both tapes. A little over one minute lapsed
between when the women left the bridge table and when they
were driven away. Slick. Well orchestrated. Hmmm. Not enough
time to murder two women. Archie, I mean Robert, had to be the
mastermind of all this. Maybe he drugged them. Chloroform? Or
some sort of instant knock-out pill. They ran the foyer tape.
Howard picked up Sopi and she drooped her head. Archie let
Maggie collapse in his arms. It looks like they were drugged, but
212
when? I don’t see it. A kidnapping? That has to be it. But why? I
have to think this through. She dismissed her man and began
plotting her strategy. Something very fishy is going on . . . I knew
it the minute he came here, calling himself Archie Goodwin. Of
all the names, why choose that one? Did he know that Rex Stout
is my second, maybe third, favorite mystery writer? Rex would
drag the story out until Nero Wolfe had all the evidence he
needed to solve the mystery. Agatha would do the same. That’s
what I have to do. I hope he sends some smart detectives. I want
a good challenge. I won’t say anything about a kidnapping. Won’t
mention murder, not right away. Just a simple disappearance . . .
to start. This is good . . . very good, yes. How long will I be able
to keep it from the detectives? . . . a kidnapping and maybe
murder . . . Betty’s murder. Oh goody, goody goody. This is going
to be so much fun.
I was confident that Mildred wouldn’t over-react. No true mystery
buff would. She would wait a day, maybe two, before calling the
police--plenty of time to make it a real disappearance and for her
to contrive the perfect mystery. I figured she’d at least use the
witnessed kidnapping, complete with video proof, to begin. I was
glad that I hadn’t fired the spinster.
"
“Where are you taking us first?” Maggie, who had scooted
over between me and Howard in the back seat, asked as Tenzin
headed north on 148th toward Sandy Boulevard. Sopi remained
on Howard’s lap.
"
“To the airport.” I had talked about Shambala, somewhere
in the Himalayas, but so far I had not mentioned an itinerary.
"
“Of course we’re headed to the airport, Archie. I imagine
you got us first class tickets. It’s been years since I flew
anywhere,” she said. “You know I’ve flown all over Africa.”
"
“I didn’t know that,” I answered.
"
“I guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me either,
Archie.” Maggie was attempting small talk, trying not to think
about how anxious, nervous, and maybe a bit overwhelmed she
was with what had just happened.
"
“Are you sure we did the right thing, sneaking out of there
without telling anyone?” Sopi asked. “You know that snoopy
213
Mildred Rice. She will call the police when she finds out we’re
gone.”
"
“Oh, I don’t think so,” I answered, with a chuckle.
"
“Did you tell Jane where we’re going?” Sopi was beginning
to appear anxious. “She will be worried when she finds out I’m
not there. I hope you told her.”
"
“Don’t worry about Jane. She trusts me. I told her that I’m
taking a trip and, as soon as she hears that you and Howard are
gone, she’ll figure out that I took the both of you with me.”
"
“You didn’t tell her?”
"
“I just didn’t want her to know why and where . . .
sometimes it’s better not to know.”
"
“Where are we going first?” Howard asked.
"
“Japan,” I simply answered.
"
“Japan?” Maggie repeated. ‘You’re taking us to Japan?
Tonight?”
"
“My plane leaves at ten.”
"
“Your plane?”
"
“You still have that Gulfstream 200?” Howard asked.
"
“I’ve upgraded. You’ll see.”
"
“Why are we going to Japan?” Maggie now didn’t know
whether to be excited or ask to be taken back to Happy Acres.
"
“Well, as Howard and Sopi know, there’s a hotel on the
side of Mt. Kurama. We’ll stay there a couple days.” I paused
and looked over at Maggie, noting her questioning eyes. “Why?
We need to attend to our bodies before we trek around the
mountain.”
"
“Trek around the mountain? The Japanese mountain or
the Himalayan mountain?” She stopped to answer her own
question. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care . . . I’m not trekking
anywhere.”
"
“Tibet,” I answered anyway.
"
“Well . . . what about this Mt. Kurama?” Maggie asked.
"
“It’s a few miles north of Kyoto. It’s one of my favorite
places in the world. We’ll be at a traditional Japanese inn on the
side of the mountain. It has natural hot springs. We’ll soak and
rejuvenate, get massages and prepare ourselves for what’s to
come.”
214
"
“Natural hot springs?” Maggie smiled. “That’s one of the
first good things I’ve heard. Do they have hot rock massages?” I
nodded. “Perfect. My body will love it.”
"
“Does Tenzin have a cell phone?” Sopi asked. “I want to
call Jane.”
"
“Don’t worry, Sopi. Jane will know we went to Mt. Kurama.
Trust me.”
Tenzin turned into Shambala’s processing plant yard and then
headed all the way to the back, to a fairly large warehouse, the
home of the company jet, a ten-year old Gulfstream V. The
hangar was conveniently located less than a quarter mile from
the Portland-Troutdale Airport, with a private taxiway connecting
the two. He drove through the huge open doors and parked the
Flex. Workers were scurrying around preparing the plane for
flight.
"
“Oh my god!” was all that Maggie could say, seeing the
shiny slick plane with the word SHAMBALA stretched out below
the windows. “You own this?” She followed me out of the car,
attempting to comprehend the reality of me actually being one of
the world’s richest men.
"
“I do.”
"
Maggie stared at me, still perplexed that I’d kept it a secret
from her.
“Excuse me, Tulku,” Tenzin interrupted, while Maggie continued
staring at the huge airplane.
"
“Yes, Tenzin,” I answered, long past wondering why the
young man called me Tulku, meaning ‘precious one,” the title
given to a reincarnated Rinpoche.
"
“I am coming with you, sir. You cannot go to Katmandu or
Tibet without me. You know that is the area of the world where I
am from and I absolutely must go with you.”
"
“Of course you’re coming,” I said with a broad grin.
"
“Yes? You are pulling my leg? No? I have been a most
loyal assistant. You must know that. And now there are four of
you. I am not asking for four times the wage, in fact I would be
most happy if you were to give me nothing. You will not regret
215
taking me with you. I will guarantee this to be true.”
"
“I said you can come.” I was convinced that Tenzin had
something very important to do with my return to Shambala. The
young man seemed very familiar, but since I had no local Tibetan
contacts, and was told that he was a Portland University student
and this was only a part-time summer job, I tried not to think
beyond present time reality. “I know you’re from Tibet and I’m
sure your family will be happy to see you.”
"
“I am very grateful, but I have no family . . . except you,
Tulku,” Tenzin said to my surprise. “I am here for you, that is all. I
will assist you in the most expedient way. It is not a problem.
This is my dharma.”
"
“Your dharma?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”
"
“You know what I mean. My work with you is only
continuing, far from ending. There are no accidents or
coincidences. You do understand this . . . I have no doubt about
what I am to do.”
"
“And if I were going to Scotland?”
"
“I would still come, but don’t you see? I am not a Scottish
boy. I am a Tibetan boy and it makes total sense that I am
coming with you.”
"
“All right, Tenzin,” I chuckled. “I’ve agreed to take you. Are
you ready to go?”
"
“I am. Is there anything you would like me to do before we
leave?”
"
“I’m fine, thanks. Did you bring your passport?”
"
“I will not need one,” he answered. “I do not require any
government approval to come and go as I please.” He reached
into his cloth shoulder bag, his only bag, which obviously had
nothing in it except what he was pulling out. “I have brought my
favorite book for you . . . I think for Mrs. Maggie.” Tenzin pulled
out a hardback copy of Many Gods, One Heart.
!
My mouth opened in shock. “Where did you get that?” My
mind began to reel, since I was sure it had been out of print for at
least forty years; Tenzin’s copy looked brand new. Finally I
gathered himself, my curiosity whetted, perplexed with this
young man--wondering who he really was and what he knew.
When Tenzin ignored the question I went back to pragmatic
216
matters, “Well, they will most likely want to see your passport in
India, Nepal and China. Unless you know how to become
invisible, it may cause some problems.”
"
“I will become invisible. It is not a problem, Tulku.”
Our group walked to the stairway and the two captains and two
flight attendants politely welcomed the five guests aboard.
"
Once inside, Maggie, Howard and Sopi were more than
surprised by what they saw. After purchasing the used
Gulfstream V for $25 million, I paid an India airplane interior
design company $500,000 more to gut the interior and equip it
with every possible luxury, all in a motif fit for a maharaja. The
wall material was of a colorful ethnic Tibetan print--with side-byside golden tassels above the windows on both sides. Above
each window was a small alcove and in each alcove was a
Buddha, Krishna, Shiva, Ganesha or Kali--fifty-eight one-foot tall
ornate brass sacred images in all--twenty-nine on each side and
the fifty-ninth--a three-foot high half Shiva and half Pravati image
in a back alcove. Each seat was a dyed rich purple leather and
the aisle carpet was of a fine Persian weave. To the right of the
end statue was a door to a large bathroom with a marble vanity
and shower, and to the left was a hall that lead to my end-of-theplane personal bedroom, with a queen-sized bed. The galley
with an open bar was behind the cockpit in the front of the plane.
Three single sleeping berths down one side--lounge seats that
had been moved and converted into beds, separated by foldaway curtains--were readied for Maggie, Howard and Sopi.
Tenzin insisted that he didn’t require a bed and would be fine in a
regular seat. He sat near the front with the two flight attendants.
"
After a brief orientation we all settled in for a good night’s
sleep, since it was well past our bedtime. The Gulfstream lifted
off at ten thirty and began its five hour flight across the Pacific to
Honolulu.
217
26
Rain on the pavement
tells them-he has arrived
Everyone, except Tenzin, slept through the two hour Honolulu
layover and by the time we woke from a good eight hour’s sleep
the plane was still seven hours away from Osaka’s Kansai
International Airport. With everyone up, the flight attendants
removed the curtains, dismantled the beds and rearranged the
furniture into a cozy lounge--Howard and I sitting across from
Maggie and Sopi. Following breakfast, Maggie wanted to hear
the longer version of how and why I came to be a rinpoche and
my alleged thirty years of life in a mythical land called Shambala.
Even though I had already logically explained myself, she still
had plenty of doubt; it all still seemed like a fantastical fairytale.
“Archie, now that we’re sitting here with nothing but time, will you
tell us your story . . . how you got to be this guru from
Shambala?”
"
“It’s something that I have difficulty . . .”
"
“I have known you for what? . . . over twenty-five years,”
Howard interrupted, “and I have never asked. I knew you were
keeping your past from me for some good reason and I always
thought you would tell me when the time was right. But you
never did. I do want to hear it.”
"
“I’ve always been curious, too,” Sopi offered. “We all know
you’re a very private person Robert, and I respect that . . . but
come on . . . sharing our past is also part of friendship. You
always said I was one of your very best friends, and yet . . .”
"
“I know . . . believe me I know . . . but I never wanted my
218
past to define who I was . . .”
"
“But it has,” Maggie interjected. “Look at your hair, your
white clothes and your monk-like seclusion . . . look at the
interior of this airplane . . . everything about you is defined by
your past and yet you hold it like some sort of deep dark
unspeakable mystery.”
"
“I guess I could tell you the story . . .”
"
“Great!” they all said at the same time.
"
I removed my sunglasses and motioned for the attendant
to dim the lights. It was still dark out, though the first rays of
sunlight were beginning to welcome a new Pacific day. “I haven’t
told this story to anyone, except to my parents on their
deathbeds.”
"
“Why?” Maggie asked, more interested in why I had never
allowed myself to be intimate with friends and family, than why I
had never shared my story.
"
“Because I chose not to . . .” I looked at Maggie with a
resigned smile. “Because nobody would have believed my
story . . . because it was something that happened far in the
past. It was a story I felt I had no good reason to tell . . . until
now.”
"
“I’m ready, Robert. Like I said, I’ve been waiting a long
time. I sure have been curious.” He patted me on the knee.
"
“I know, Reggie . . .” I thought about it for a minute.
“OK . . . I should start this story when I was five, when my
parents took me to Tibet . . . but I think I’ll start it when I was
thirty-five, right before I went into the grocery business.”
"
“Start wherever you please, Archie,” Maggie allowed.
"
“OK then, I’m going to start in 1967. I was thirty-five years
old at the time . . . the night in question . . . a young man dressed
in a deep maroon Tibetan robe sitting in the back of a limo in
downtown New York City--wide-eyed, mesmerized with the
flashing neon and rush of western humanity. It was my very first
time in a big American city.” I looked at my friends and when
none of them appeared to disbelieve I continued, “The limo
stopped at a swank hotel . . . it was The Plaza. I stayed there
about ten years ago, just because I could . . . I wanted to relive
the memory. Anyway I got out of the limo and was led through an
219
excited crowd. All the people were bowing and cheering. Hippie
girls were throwing rose petals on me, and all sorts of important
people were waiting for me in the lobby.”
"
“Rose petals?” Maggie was instantly engaged. “Hippie
girls?”
"
I chuckled and then continued, “In the hotel lobby there
was a big poster of a young master from Tibet named Chogyal
Da Rimpoche and a picture of his book, Many Gods, One Heart.”
!
“That was you?” Sopi asked, as Tenzin moved to the seat
behind me.
"
“No wonder you haven’t told anyone,” Howard said with a
loving grin. “You were a young spiritual master from Tibet? A
white master from Tibet no less? Even I’m having a hard time
believing you, and I’m your best friend.” He winked, and
everyone relaxed a little more.
"
“Everything I’m saying is true. Trust me.”
"
“Why were you there?” Maggie asked, now accepting my
honesty.
"
“I was in New York City to give a lecture. I remember it so
well. That evening I was driven to this large theater called the
Apollo.”
"
“The Apollo?” Howard interrupted. “That’s a black theater
in Harlem.”
"
“I guess it didn’t matter, because it was filled with
people . . . and only a few of them were black, as I recall. I gave
an opening talk about love, which maybe I’ll tell you about
later . . . but I think you really want to know how I got there . . .”
"
“Do you remember what you said?” Maggie asked. “In
your speech?”
"
“Not word for word, but I know my story. I remember I had
everyone’s attention . . . and so I said . . . something along the
lines of, ‘I have come here from a place that is very, very far
away and so isolated from the world that I myself may never find
my way back.’”
"
“Is that still true?” Sopi interrupted. “You said this was
forty-five years ago and now you want to take us there. Are you
sure you can find it?”
"
“I honestly don’t know, Sopi. . . . I think so . . . may I
220
continue?” She nodded. “I was saying, ‘Many of you are
confused when you see this white man with long hair and flowing
robes. I look very much like an American hippie and I speak your
language fluently. Am I really a master from Tibet--or an
impostor?”
"
“That’s what I wanted to know,” Maggie said as I continued
the story, “‘Well . . . yes and no. I was born in what you call the
state of Oregon. My parents took me to Tibet in 1937 and ended
up leaving me there with a living master, their teacher. I was five
years old. For thirty years I was taught to self-realize as what you
would call a guru, but technically I am a rinpoche, a reincarnated
master. You may wonder why I would say such a thing. If you
would be so kind as to listen, I will tell you my story.’ I waited,
and when everyone clapped I took that as a sign they wanted me
to continue. I take it you also want me to continue?” The three
nodded.
"
“I can’t remember my words here so I will just tell you. I
told them that my parents were the first real twentieth-century
American hippies. I said that I knew this word because I was told
there would be many free spirits there that night . . . hippies were
described to me. I liked that word, hippie, I remember, but it
wasn’t a name anyone called my parents. People didn’t have a
word for them, so they were called the Barefoot Tribe.”
"
“The Barefoot Tribe?” Sopi asked.
"
“My mother told me the story years later. It was because
they lived in the mountains like Indians and didn’t wear shoes. I
had to piece the story together for the audience in 1967, since
this part happened before I was five. I asked the audience to
please pardon me . . . I didn’t know that one day I would have to
tell this story. I told them that I didn’t think I would grow up to be
a hippie.’”
"
“I think I accused you of being an old hippie,” Maggie said,
“but you never were a hippie, were you?”
"
“I was influenced by my parents, no doubt, but no, not
actually. Anyway, I continued with my speech and explained that
the Barefoot Tribe was formed to protest World War II back in the
thirties, and two of their symbols of protest were to never cut
their hair or wear shoes. ‘Just like your hippies protesting the
221
current war,’ I told them and said that I thought I was America’s
first hippie love child . . . and that I remembered my father’s long
hair and a log cabin and the big white mountain called Hood. I
said I didn’t think it was as big as the mountains in Tibet where I
live.”
"
“You’re parents were hippies before there were hippies
and you never cutting your hair wasn’t the same as their not
cutting their hair, right?” Howard asked.
"
“That’s correct. Not cutting my hair had to do with a
directive from an Oracle in front all the lamas. It was very clear
and I vowed . . . I was in my twenties . . . you would have had to
been there . . . but in those situations you don’t break the
vow . . . anyway I was telling the audience, ‘During my first years
of life I was loved by everyone and I was a very happy child. My
parents and their friends always danced and sang, especially
when they learned the devotional kirtan songs from India. They
knew all about lila and were into God’s play. At this time, my
parents discovered the teachings of a master from Tibet and
since they were rich enough, they decided to go there and sit at
his feet. In 1937, four years before the war in the Pacific with the
Japanese, we found passage on a cargo ship out of Portland
and were able to make our way across the Pacific to Japan . . .”
"
“Wasn’t Japan in a war with China at that time?” Howard
interrupted.
"
“That was to our advantage. Many years later my father
told me of a deal he made with Japanese authorities for safe
passage papers. Remember, Tibet was a remote and
independent country back then, not a part of China . . . anyway I
was telling the audience, ‘we got passage to Calcutta, and then
hired a caravan to take us to Tibet . . . to Lhasa. It was quite an
adventure for a little five year-old. At that time Lhasa was called
the Forbidden City; forbidden to Westerners, especially
Americans. I’ve wondered how my parents even got into the
country, but somehow they did.’”
"
“You were making this speech before your father told you
about the Japanese papers, right?” Sopi asked.
"
“That’s right, Sopi. So, I remember telling the audience . . .
once we arrived at the Potola we were treated like royalty, I think
222
because we were the only Americans in all of Lhasa. They gave
us rooms in the ashram, even servants, and we began our new
lives as devotees of the master. I was a blue-eyed blond boy
who knew only love. I liked to play and laugh and dance, and get
into mischief.”
"
“Sounds like a normal happy child,” Maggie interjected.
"
“I still remember that I was a favorite of all the monks and
lamas and even the master himself. I was just being a kid, and I
don’t imagine my parents ever expected it, but . . . after maybe
six months the master told them that I was the incarnation of a
greater master and the next-in-line tulku, a special rinpoche, that
it was written. He said it was time for them to return to their
monastery in a hidden valley called Shambala, as they
themselves were but guests of the Dalai Lama. I was to go with
them to study, and my parents were instructed to return to the
United States without me. I’m not sure how they reacted to the
news . . . I wasn’t there when they were told . . . but because
their devotion was deep . . . they left. I don’t remember how I
felt . . .”
"
“You weren’t upset? I’m sure you cried when they left?”
Sopi broke in.
"
“All I knew was joy and happiness at the time . . . ‘That
was thirty years ago,’ I told the audience. ‘I was never sure if my
parents made it back to Oregon. I’m still not.’”
"
“Your parents just left you in Tibet when you were five
years old?” Maggie asked as thoughts of her happy childhood
and how terrible it would be to abandonment a child and reasons
it was all so wrong stormed into her consciousness.
"
“I can tell you think that was a heartless thing to do,
Maggie, but I don’t blame them or regret my life . . . it was the
correct thing to do . . . anyway, this is what I remember saying to
the audience, ‘I was taken to Shambala, which most of you call
Shangri-La. There I was taught all the tenets of Tibetan
Buddhism and the precepts of Hinduism, Christianity and the
other major religions, mostly by a wise old master named Chopa
Tenzin.’”
"
“Tenzin?” Howard cut in, looking at the young man sitting
behind me.
223
"
“Oh . . . the current Dalai Lama is referred to as Tenzin. It
literally means upholder of the teachings. That is what my Chopa
Tenzin was doing as my teacher.” I looked over his shoulder. “I
have no idea why they named this young man Tenzin . . . maybe
you can ask him later. But, to go on with my story . . . Chopa
Tenzin continually challenged me to question God. By the time I
was ten years old, finding God became my passion and I studied
God from every point of view . . . One God, hundreds of Gods
and no God at all. After twenty-five years of dedicated study I
came to a conclusion. God is the energy which permeates all
existence and since we’re permeated with this energy then we
are God.”
"
“The energy you channelled in our healing,” Maggie
offered.
"
“Exactly. I concluded that there is no separation between
man and God. God is prana. God is love. We are love. Love
exists in each and every cell . . . in the human heart . . . and all
our hearts are connected. The logic--to me--was simple and
clear. Chopa Tenzin made me write down my thoughts and
conclusions, which he edited. My manuscript was brought to
India and published in a book called Many Gods, One Heart. I
think most of the people in the audience that day had read this
book.”
"
I paused and turned around to Tenzin. “May I see the
book?” Tenzin reached in his cloth pack and handed it to me.
“Here Maggie. This is a perfectly preserved copy of the book I
wrote, so you will have no doubt that what I am saying is true.”
"
“I’m believing you, Archie,” she said as she looked at the
front and then studied the back cover. “I can tell this is you.” She
showed it to Sopi.
"
“I then told the audience that nothing in my thirty years in
paradise was as important as my first five years of life here in
America. This revelation started a buzz of talking. I raised my
hand again and concluded the statement by saying: ‘I spent my
life seeking the innocence and freedom I had as a child. If my
conclusions are true . . . that we are all the many gods and we
are connected with one heart, then we need to begin seeing
each other with the innocence of a child, with a free and trusting
224
heart. You must begin to see each other as you see me. From
the moment of birth, even before, we need to recognize that
precious baby as one of the many Gods. My parents and
teachers saw me this way, which is probably our only
difference . . . why I’m up here and not you. If we all loved each
other this way, starting with the baby in the womb, then I would
not be so special. The special you project on me . . . you would
see in everyone. Then countless gods and goddesses of love
would be filling the streets of the world.’”
"
“You said that?” Maggie was moved by what was just said.
“Then what happened?” "
"
“Everyone in the auditorium stood up and started to give
me a standing ovation, but I stopped them by putting up both
arms. ‘Listen to me good people,’ I said in a louder voice.”
"
“Oh my God,” Sopi had to say something. “What
happened?”
"
“I could tell that no matter what I had just said they were
going to want to make me their guru.”
"
“Don’t you think they understood what you were saying?”
Maggie asked.
"
“Maybe a few did. But most of the others, apparently not.
So I stood up and raised my arms again, asking for everyone’s
attention. Chopa Tenzin had taught me most effectively with
graphic illustrations. So when the crowd was silent I asked that
they each cup the left hand with palm up and put it over the
heart. Like this.” I illustrated. “I told them that the left was
feminine receiving. I asked them to receive, to fill the cup and
hold the love of God in it, the love which they possess in their
hearts. I asked them to raise the right arm high. Everyone in the
whole auditorium, even the ushers and guards, raised the right
arm. I then told them that the right was masculine giving.
Showing by example I asked them to reach in the cup and take
out some of the love they were holding in their hearts. This is
God’s love, the love of the master they really are. I showed by
example and told them to take this love and send it out, throw it
out, to the world. Everyone made loud sounds as they threw love
toward me, and toward each other. It was very powerful. I told
them that every one of them was a powerful master who can
225
both hold the love of God in their hearts but also send it out to all
the people in the world. Then I asked them to put the palms of
their hands together like they were praying and say the word
‘namaste’ to everyone around them. I told them that the word
namaste means ‘I honor the God in you which is also in me.’ And
they all did that and you could almost touch the love it was so
thick.”
"
“Then what happened?” Maggie asked as she put her
hands together and said “Namaste” with a sweet little bow to me,
then Howard, then Sopi.
"
“Namaste,” I replied and then continued, “There was all
this noise. I bowed and simply walked off the stage. I could see
that I couldn’t help but move people to a higher place of love,
which was good; but they would not be able to stop themselves
from making me their guru. I had made up my mind at that very
moment. I knew that it was to be my first and last lecture.”
"
“So that was it?” Howard asked. “You must have had a
tour booked.”
"
“The promoters had me scheduled for twenty-two talks
around the United States. There was a lot riding on this . . . and
a whole lot to lose if anything happened to me. The show had to
go on.”
"
“So you did it anyway?” Sopi asked.
"
“No. But I couldn’t tell them what I was thinking. I knew it
would do no good to argue with the promoters or the high lamas.
That performance had sealed my fate, and now the lamas were
all thoroughly convinced of my place as their master. Somehow I
had to escape. I couldn’t wait even one day. It had to happen
that night.”
"
The story was interrupted by a flight attendant. She put tea
and snacks on the table and then addressed me, “I’m sorry to
interrupt your story sir, but Maggie had agreed to a massage at
this time . . .”
"
“But I am enjoying this story . . .”
"
“It’s OK Maggie, it’s a good time for a break. We’ll have
our tea and talk about other things while you’re gone. We’re still
hours away from landing and there’s plenty of time to finish this
story. Enjoy your massage.”
226
27
What is seen
was sown-harvest moon.
After her massage, Maggie moved forward to join us and relaxed
into the soft leather. She had spent the whole hour thinking about
my story and hers, of how each childhood was so drastically
different. Everything I offered was a revelation and, whereas
before she was upset that I had been so secretive, she now
realized that she had not told me one thing about her past. She
decided to tell her story as soon as possible, but not today.
Although she enjoyed the massage, she could hardly wait for it
to be over so she could hear the rest of mine.
"
“So you were telling us that you wanted to escape from
that life, the life of a guru or master or whatever you call who you
were . . . a rinpoche,” Howard started right in as soon as Maggie
sat down. “I don’t understand why. Sounds to me like you were
on top of the world. A master teacher with a large following.
Seems you could have kept giving that same speech over and
over again, and the people would finally hear you. You would
have touched a lot of hearts . . .” When I didn’t respond, Howard
continued, “So . . . let me get this straight . . . you were just five
when you left Oregon . . . and you were somewhere in the
mountains of Tibet for the next thirty years . . . probably always
without money . . . never cooked your own meals . . . you knew
nothing about personal survival. You had absolutely no idea how
to fend for yourself on the streets of America, especially New
York City . . . and you were wanting to escape for what reason?”
"
“To find my parents . . .”
227
"
Considering what she had been thinking about her
parents, and the love she held for them, Maggie was surprised
with the words and almost without thinking continued my train of
thought, “Who could be anywhere since you hadn’t heard from
them in thirty years. That’s a long time. But you logically guessed
that they most likely returned to Portland. So what happened
next?”
"
“To tell you truth, once I left the stage I really didn’t have a
clue as to what to do next. The show wasn’t over . . . a Hindu
scholar was speaking, explaining my teachings, and there was a
dance troop from India about to go on for the finale. On my way
to the dressing room, the dancers fell to their knees and touched
their foreheads to the ground, validating that what I had just said
didn’t register. I instructed the lamas to go listen to the scholar,
so I could be left alone.
"
“I didn’t lock the door and, after a while, a teenage kid
slipped into the room. He told me that he was a stagehand and
that what I had just said was all new to him. He liked the idea of
everybody being a guru, but didn’t see how he or anyone in
Harlem qualified, or ever would. I liked him right away. The fact
that he wasn’t in awe of me was refreshing. He told me that he
was from a broken home and had just graduated from high
school; his father was in prison and his mother was a drunk--they
didn’t care about him and never would. He said there had to be
more to his life than what was in store for him there. When I told
him that I wanted to take off, sneak away from the lamas and
find my parents, whom I thought were in Oregon, he didn’t
hesitate for a second. ‘I’m more than ready to get out of New
York City. Oregon? Sounds good. Anywhere is better than here.
When do you want to go?’”
"
“That’s what he said? He was going to take off with you
right then and there?” Sopi asked, her mind reeling.
"
“Not at that moment. He had to do some planning and
come up with some money; after he asked and found out that I
didn’t have any.”
"
“After what? a ten minute conversation? You trusted that
this stranger, some kid, would come up with money, and he
would just give you some, and the two of you would take off
228
across the U.S. without telling anyone?” Howard questioned.
"
“You must understand, Reggie . . . the magical and
miraculous was quite common in my life, almost expected. That’s
all I had known my whole life. Remember, I had always been set
aside as special, a high rinpoche, a reincarnated enlightened
master. Nobody had ever treated me as normal. This boy was
different from anyone I had ever met, and yet his showing up
was another example of the divine perfection of my life. I had no
doubt that he was willing to help me, to serve me if you will.
There was no pretense, and the need to leave was mutual . . . I
wanted to find my parents and he wanted to get out of New York
City. For both of us the sooner the better. So we arranged to
meet outside my hotel at five fifteen that morning.”
"
“Didn’t you have an entourage protecting you? I mean the
lamas wouldn’t just let you out at five in the morning for a stroll in
Central Park,” Maggie remarked.
"
“I chose that time for a reason. My people meditated
between five and six every morning. Religiously. That morning,
as always, I sat in front of six men and started the meditation
with a prayer. They all kept their eyes closed, as if it were a sin to
open them during meditation. One of the lamas started in with a
low guttural chant, which continued on for the next fifteen
minutes, toward the end of which I simply got up and slipped out
the door, knowing that the next forty-five minutes would continue
on in silence.”
"
“So this kid was out there waiting for you? What was his
name?” Sopi wanted to know.
"
“He was. He introduced himself as Louie. Said he was
named after Louie Armstrong. Somehow Louie had come up with
two hundred bucks and clothes that fit me. We took off for the
station and got tickets for the six o’clock bus to Philadelphia.
Once there, we stuck out our thumbs and headed west.”
"
“You hitchhiked across the United States?” Maggie asked,
enthralled.
"
“Back in those early hippie days lots of young people were
on the road hitch-hiking, so it wasn’t hard to get rides from
Philadelphia to Chicago and then across the country to
Portland.”
229
"
“So this kid was traveling with a guru. He probably had a
million questions,” Howard broke in. “I’m sure you two probably
got real close. Interesting that you’ve never mentioned him.”
"
“Actually, we didn’t talk much. He knew my secret, and I
knew enough of the life he didn’t want to remember. I told him a
little bit about Shambala, but not much. We were both seeing
America for the first time and were filled with wonder, hardly
believing how vast the country was. I spent a lot of my time in
prayer and silence, and pretty much fasted the whole trip.
Neither of us knew what lay ahead, so I think we were both
making plans for when we arrived in Portland.”
"
“So what happened when you got here?” Maggie
wondered. The three were still glued to their seats, hanging onto
my every word.
"
“Well, we got left off on Burnside, downtown. There were
no phone numbers or addresses to exchange, so we said
goodbye. That was it. I never saw him again. We had this goal,
we reached it. End of story.”
"
“I’m sure it’s not the end of the story. I have a million
questions . . .” Sopi began to say.
"
“I know you do, Sopi,” I interrupted. “I think this is enough
for now. How about we play a game of bridge? Now that Howard
and Maggie are in their right minds I figure I don’t have a
chance.”
"
“You never did,” Howard joked, and we all laughed.
At ten o’clock on Saturday morning, fifteen easy hours after they
left Portland, the Gulfstream V landed in Japan. At this point in
their investigation Jimmy and Taylor had absolutely no idea
where the missing folks were.
"
As scheduled, a Lexus limo was waiting on the tarmac.
We were soon back up in the sky for a twenty-minute helicopter
flight to Mt. Kurama, eleven miles north of Kyoto. At the helipad
another Lexus waited for the short ride to the Ryokan Hirobun
Hotel, comfortably nestled on the side of the forested mountain.
When we arrived at the hotel, the owners and all of the staff
came out to greet us. Maggie felt like royalty, but on second
thought she wondered if I owned the place.
230
28
In still twilight
no sound-beyond the forest
Saturday:
The ivy-covered Ryokan Hirobun Hotel, which clung to the side
of Mt. Kurama, was my favorite hotel. Maggie’s assumption was
correct--I owned it, at least partially. Japan’s 1989 recession, and
subsequent slumping tourist industry, had a disastrous effect on
the hotel’s financial stability. At that time I considered the owners
my Japanese family, and I couldn’t imagine them losing their
hotel. I offered--and they accepted--my financial assistance,
gratefully embracing me as a silent one-third owner. In order to
guarantee success, I paid for modern renovations, including the
building of an upper wing. That wing included my personal twobedroom apartment and two additional suites for Shambala
guests; which could be rented to travelers for a premium price.
"
So I went to my master bedroom and Howard took the
large second bedroom, and we were quite at home in no time.
Sopi and Maggie shared the--nearly as large--neighboring two
bed suite, even though Sopi was a bit disappointed to be
separated from Howard. Tenzin insisted he didn’t require a room.
"
A half hour after settling in their rooms, we met for lunch in
the hotel’s traditional Japanese restaurant--seated at a cozy
booth with room under the table to comfortably dangle our legs.
A sweet young serving girl brought tea, poured each of us a cup,
and left menus with colorful photographs of each dish. Tenzin
had been invited to join us, but opted to hike the trails in search
231
of the mythical tengu mountain creature, which I had talked
about during the limo ride up the mountain.
"
“I know this is your favorite hotel, Robert, but if we’re on
our way to Shambala then why stop here? If you wanted us to
get used to a high altitude, you could have taken us to Mt. Fuji
for a few days,” Sopi said once we began sipping our tea. “I’m
just not sure why you decided to stop here. Why are we here?”
"
“Well . . . first off . . . you’re right . . . this is one of my
favorite hotels in the world. Howard has been here several times,
and I wanted you and Maggie to see it, to enjoy it.” I looked
around and stretched my arm out. “I wanted to share all this with
you. Then there is the wonderful food, and mineral baths and
massages, the fresh air . . . our body and soul’s need this
pampering. Besides all that, there’s the mountain . . . the healing
energy of this place. Mt. Kurama is a very spiritual place,” I
answered.
"
“Thank you Archie, for bringing us here,” Maggie said,
patting me on my hand. “The hotel is lovely, the room is
lovely . . . the ambiance is perfect and I’m looking forward to the
baths. I’m almost afraid to ask . . . but what do you mean by this
mountain being spiritual?”
"
“Afraid to ask?” I took off my sunglasses and brought her
into myeyes with a why-don’t-you-trust-me questioning look.
When she leaned back and smiled I began, “Ancient legend says
that Kurama was a volcano that came out of the sea two
hundred and sixty million years ago, and that two hundred million
years later a Venusian king by the name of Maou-son, who went
throughout the galaxies fighting evil, came here to save all
mankind.”
"
“From Venus?” Maggie laughed, more than a slight bit
skeptical and surprised that I would pose such an unbelievable
assumption. “There was mankind here sixty million years ago?”
"
“Undoubtedly. Maggie, I’m not making up Japanese
mythology, but that’s not the point.” I wondered if she would ever
trust me.
"
“Which is . . ?”
"
“To answer Sopi’s question about why we’re here and
not on Mt. Fuji. My intelligent answer, and I’m sure you want to
232
discuss other things besides beds and baths, Maggie . . .” I still
had my glasses off even though the light was as much an
obvious irritation as Maggie’s attitude. I never consciously
argued, I simply continued, “or you wouldn’t have asked the
question . . . is in regards to Mt. Kurama’s relationship with time
and dimensions.”
"
“What are you talking about?”
"
I took a sip of my tea and waited. My story on the plane
was accepted without a great deal of disbelief, but now I was
confronting beliefs; I internalized Maggie’s defensive attitude and
decided to change the subject. “I don’t know if this is something
you want to hear, Maggie. It’s not my wish to challenge your
beliefs about physics and such. Let’s order lunch.”
"
“I’m interested in what you have to say,” Sopi offered
and Howard nodded. “You can at least listen, Maggie. I want to
know the history of this place, and hear Robert’s answer to my
question.”
"
“I just don’t know what any this has to do with anything,”
Maggie said, staring at me with continued skepticism. “First you
tell us this fairytale about Shambala, then driving up here you tell
us there’s crows and dogs around here that shape-shift into old
men, and that people came from Venus and settled here sixty
million years ago and now you’re suggesting this mountain is in
another time and dimension. I’m just not that gullible, Archie.
Please.”
"
The service gal came by and everyone ordered sushi. I
put my sun glasses back on and sat back in peaceful silence.
For ten minutes nobody said a word.
"
“OK . . . I’m sorry Archie. I’m smart enough to
comprehend whatever you have to say. Just say it. I’m listening.”
"
“Are you sure?” She nodded and gave a half smile, so I
started, “We all know that time, earth time, is a third dimensional
protocol. Time is that which refers to the history of that which is
solid and has depth. A geologist, for instance, might determine a
solid object like a volcano to be two hundred and sixty million
years old. He is measuring a solid object with depth . . . in linear
earth time.” I paused to see if I held Maggie’s interest.
"
“I’m still with you, professor?” she responded.
233
"
“All right, I’ll talk about non-linear time then,” I said with a
grin. “I’m sure you have all heard of the continent of Mu, or
Lemuria.”
"
“Lemuria? Here you go again, Archie. Another myth.”
Maggie realized she was falling back into her defense and
regrouped her mind. “OK . . . sorry . . . I know something about
Lemuria. It was an island in the middle of the Pacific that
disappeared, some say 13,000 years ago. Of course there was
nobody recording history back then, and no real proof it ever
existed. Where are you going with this?”
"
“You’re right, Maggie, any geologist will insist that there
never was a continent in the middle of the Pacific Ocean called
Mu. If they cared enough to even entertain the notion, they would
argue that its alleged existence is a physical impossibility, given
our knowledge of the floor of the Pacific. Therefore only a
disillusioned kook, maybe a kook like me, would talk about the
lost continent of Mu as if it were a true historical place. And you
know what? The geologists’ are right . . . there is no three
dimensional evidence of Mu . . . except off the coast of
Okinawa . . . but . . .”
"
“So why did you bring it up?”
"
“Because Mu is real. It did exists . . . but on the sixth
dimension of reality, not the third. It still exists.”
"
“Still exist? The sixth dimension?” she wondered, now
paying attention. “OK . . . I’m somewhat familiar with
dimensions . . . I’ll go along with you on Mu . . . but what does
this mountain have to do with Mu and the sixth dimension?”
Maggie paused, wondering if Japan was a remnant of Mu, then
remembered that it was on the third dimension. Okinawa? “Mt.
Kurama looks pretty much three dimensional to me. Wait a
second, is Shambala in the fifth dimension?”
"
“I believe it is,” Robert answered with a smile.
"
“But I don’t get it,” Maggie responded, now fully
engaged. “If Mu exists and nobody can see it, how do you expect
us, me, to see Shambala if it too is in the sixth dimension?”
"
“Actually, Shambala is on the 5th dimension, the
dimension of love and compassion. I don’t expect you to see it. I
know you will.”
234
"
“How?” Sopi asked. All three were now completely lost to
anything other than what I was saying.
"
I again removed my glasses and said “Domo arigato” as
the food servers placed an enticing array of food on the table.
“Please, help yourselves to the food and I will try to explain.” I
helped myself to a meager portion of rice and raw salmon. “The
third, fourth and fifth dimensions are states of consciousness. As
you move up from the first, second, third, the vibrational energy
increases. In the fourth you have all your beliefs in the unseen,
your religions, angels and devils and so on. By the time you get
to fifth dimension consciousness, the third dimension appears to
you as a paradise and all you feel is love. This is what I was
talking about in my speech in New York. As you raise your
vibration to the fifth, then all you see is love. Remember the Fifth
Dimension’s song, The Age of Aquarius? Some of the Beatle
songs referred to the fifth dimension.“
"
“All you need is love, love is all you need,” Maggie sang.
"
“That’s it. But after the fifth dimension the vibrational
frequency becomes so fast that what’s there, the form
disappears from the eyes of those accustomed to third
vibrational reality. You see, mass consciousness agrees with
third dimensional reality and that is all the people of the earth
see.”
"
“That makes sense,” Maggie said, “but it doesn’t answer
my question.”
"
“Shambala exists in consciousness on the fifth
dimension, but in form in six dimension simultaneously. When
you’re there the physical surroundings seems like the third, the
Buddhist spiritual teachings seem like the fourth, the love the
people there express for one another and every living thing is the
fifth . . . but because the fifth dimensional consciousness has
persisted for thousands of isolated years, the overall effect is fifth
dimensional.”
"
“I’m confused.” Maggie was doing her best to make
sense of it all. “You say Shambala is in the third, fourth, fifth and
sixth dimensions at the same time because the people have
lived in love for so long . . . I still don’t see how a skeptical old
woman like me would ever be able to see it.”
235
"
“You’ll need to fall into love.”
"
“You’re serious? How so?”
"
“I don’t know, Maggie. We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
"
“But . . .”
"
“You’re with me. Like I told you, I lived there for thirty
years. I came from there and I can return there. I have never
stopped loving--never stopped loving the people of this planet.
That is what Shambala Foods is all about. Let’s just live each
day and see what unfolds.”
"
Maggie thought about it for a minute and then started
humming.
"
“Go ahead, Maggie. Sing it. It’s the next best step you
can take into the fifth dimension. Go ahead,” I said with a big
grin.
"
“Imagine there's no Heaven,” Maggie began
singing, remembering the lyrics. “It's easy if you try. No hell
below us, above us only sky. Imagine all the people living for
today. Imagine there's no countries. It isn't hard to do. Nothing to
kill or die for, and no religion too. Imagine all the people living life
in peace. You may say that I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only
one. I hope someday you'll join us and the world will be as
one. Imagine no possessions, I wonder if you can. No need for
greed or hunger, a brotherhood of man. Imagine all the people,
sharing all the world. You may say that I'm a dreamer, but I'm not
the only one. I hope someday you'll join us, and the world will
live as one.”
"
Maggie waited as the others reflected on these profound
words, then continued, “So you’re saying that all those things
Lennon wrote about are the biggest difference between the
people of Shambala and the rest of the people on Earth. You’re
saying that Shambala is an imagining of what this whole world
could be like?”
"
“Except Shambala is not an imagining. It actually exists.
All the people in Shambala do live in peace and love. They are
sovereign and free of want or need, whereas almost all the rest
of the people on earth need or want something. In other words,
in Shambala each person is already whole and complete and
seen by each other as a master in their own right.”
236
"
“Yes . . . but . . . ”
"
“Thank you Maggie. That was a beautiful song, and I
believe you, Robert.” Sopi interrupted. “Vietnam has many myths
and legends which we believe are true. I remember the one
about the superman Luc . . .” She decided not to go off subject.
“Tell us more about Shambala.”
"
“It’s a wonderful place,” I answered, happy to stop
explaining. “It’s vibrantly alive. Very peaceful. It’s like the home
you have always longed for; the one you’ve been searching for.”
"
“You told us the story of how the master took you from
your parents in Lhasa, but I still don’t understand how you got to
Shambala.” Maggie still wanted more clarity on my explanation
of dimensions. “How do you get to a place that nobody can see?”
"
“With love, Maggie. I told you . . . you need to fall into
love. But to answer in a mundane way, we walked there,” I said
with a smile. “When I first went there I was five years old, and
totally innocent. I had no doubt that everything I was seeing was
real. An innocent babe could easily walk into the fifth dimension
and not think twice. Have you ever seen children under five
playing with their invisible friends--looking out into space in total
awe? But once we’re trained to doubt, most everyone would be
just like the western trekkers who would walk right through the
Shambala valley and not see the paradise they were in.”
"
“Just because they’ve lost their innocence?”
"
“Correct.” I looked at the table that was loaded with
uneaten food. “Here is some very delicious third dimensional
food. The best. We can share.”
237
29
A master’s painting-the sky reveals:
Angel wings and things.
After our Sunday breakfast we soaked in the hot tubs until our
skin felt soft like that of a newborn baby. We spent the whole
morning in the spa--tried many of the menu’d items, first the hot
rock massage, then the mud and herbal rubs and other delightful
things. All of us were pampered out of our minds--as we
surrendered to the bliss-filled morning hours.
While we were lounging in the mineral springs, Tenzin sat alone
in an ancient meditation hut farther up Mt. Kurama. Ravens
landed in front of him, squawking at him maybe for intruding,
before flying away. Images would flash in the corners of his eyes
and disappear. He didn’t move a muscle. After two hours in
silence, a gnarly, rag-clothed old man, with an exceptionally long
nose, leaning on a wooden staff, stood in front of him. Neither
said a word, and after a long stare, he moved on. Soon after that
a young man appeared and sat on the cushion facing him. This
man wore a better quality, clean white cotton kurta. He had very
long hair, was androgynously handsome and radiated a blissful
love energy. He remained in open-eye and thought transference
meditation with Tenzin for at least a half-hour, before moving on.
"
We went directly from the spa to the restaurant for lunch. As we
were finishing up Tenzin appeared, at least to me curiously older
and wiser looking, and asked for our attention. He suggested an
easy hike up to an ancient meditation hut. I felt something--that
238
the young man had important information to reveal, and agreed
to go--speaking for all of us. Although we were more than bliss’d
out from the spa treatments and a full meal, and Maggie wanted
to nap, I insisted that we go, and they agreed.
"
We left the hotel and ascended gradually on a wide trail,
shaded by Japanese maple and mountain ash in full foliage-white dogwood, wild lavender orchids and golden honeysuckle
painted the way. We were in much better shape than expected,
and before long we were resting in the same meditation hut
Tenzin had visited earlier that day.
"
Owned and maintained by the hotel, the hut was twelve
feet square with overhanging eaves and constructed with
traditional Japanese features: rafters ending in upward curves
and a forest-green-tiled roof. Once inside, Tenzin motioned for us
to sit side-by-side on the cushions, facing one he now temporary
sat on. He spoke, “I was here today, not so long ago, and I sat in
meditation . . . right there where you are now sitting,” he began
and then paused before continuing, “Tulku told you that this
mountain is the home of the tengu. He was telling you a true
story. They say the tengu were once arrogant samurai warriors,
who reincarnate as dogs or birds, mostly ravens, who then
transform into ugly old men with long noses . . . who scare
people on this mountain.” He paused again, taking in our faces-each one of us surprised with his story, and that Tenzin had so
much to say. “I came up here to meet the tengu.”
"
“Did you,” Sopi asked, suddenly excited, “meet one?”
"
“First some ravens landed right here and looked at me,
then squawked at me, before flying away. After that an ugly old
man with a very long nose came by, and he stared me down. I
have no doubt that he was a tengu, but we did not speak.”
"
“Are you sure he was a tengu?” Maggie was now
enthralled.
"
“After he left he turned into a raven and flew away.”
"
Both Maggie and Sopi were like children hearing a most
wonderful bedtime story. “Then what happened?” Sopi asked.
"
“I sat there contemplating the tengu, and after a while a
young man, around my age, walked into this very same hut and
sat in front of me, on this cushion. We looked in each other’s
239
eyes for a long time, and then he left.”
"
“He didn’t say anything to you?” Maggie asked.
"
“Yes, we spoke to each other, but he did not need to speak
aloud, because he could talk to me without words. As he was
leaving he asked me to bring you here today, Master.” Tenzin
looked at me and I knew that he was speaking the truth.
"
“Was this man you met also a tengu?” Maggie wanted to
know.
"
“He was surely not a tengu. You will soon see for yourself.
Then you will know. I suggest we sit in silent meditation and wait.
I do not think it will be long before he appears. Will you please
me to do this?”"
"
“We can wait,” I spoke for the others. Within minutes a
beautiful and quite stunning looking young man with waist-length
straight black hair, almost feminine features of an angelic
demeanor, sat in front of us. His dark complexion spoke of an
ancestry similar to Tenzin’s--certainly not Japanese--apparently
from India or Tibet. He was charismatically magnetic even
without speaking, and we couldn’t stop staring at him. His eyes
meet mine, and I unconsciously took off my sunglasses.
"
The stare-down went on for several minutes and I began
to feel uncomfortable in the silence, experiencing a feeling of
deja-vu. I knew that it was my place to speak for the others, so I
finally broke the stillness, “We have met before. I think I know
you.”
"
"Indeed," the young man answered in a sweet voice.
Howard, Sopi and Maggie looked from him to me, perplexed.
"
I held my breath and the young man’s intense stare.
Finally I exhaled, cleared my throat, then uttered, “I can’t
remember . . . ”
"
"You will."
"
“Who are you?”
"
“It makes no difference who I am,” the young man kindly
spoke, not losing eye contact with me. “What matters is that you
remember who you are.” He gave off a familiar energy; one I
hadn’t experienced since I was in Shambala, forty five years
before.
240
"
“What do you mean?” I was confused. I knew I wasn’t in
the presence of a normal human being and wanted to choose my
words carefully.
"
“You were once a young master, the student of a great
teacher. Each day you rose from your sleep with a renewed
innocence. Your world was a grand place and all you ever
wanted to do was to explore and learn and love.”
"
I thought the young man would elaborate, but he then
turned to Maggie and their eyes met. 'You do not remember who
you are, Radha . . . but this I know . . . you have given your
whole life to loving and serving, to touching and healing
everyone who comes to you. You represent the divine feminine.
It matters little where you are, only to be in present time loving
and serving. You have done no wrong in your life. You have
loved the many, and now it is time to love the one.” Maggie
looked dumbfounded as she contemplated these words.
"
He then looked at Howard and their eyes connected for
a long moment. “You have served your master well in many
lifetimes, including this one, Sudama. You have had no interest
in yourself, in your needs and desires. You have only loved and
served for the highest good of humanity. This is good. It is now
time for you to surrender to personal love. To no one person
other than to your beloved, do you understand? To love her as
she truly deserves to be loved.”
"
To our surprise he then turned and bowed down to Sopi
and held the bow for what seemed like an uncomfortably long
time before he rose again. Looking deeply into her eyes he
spoke, “Mother, it is indeed my pleasure to see you again.” Tears
were rolling down Sopi’s cheeks, and she couldn’t help but sob
out loud. “You have lived in the shadows and now it is time for
you to come into the light, for all to see your love, to see who you
are. It is your time to be cherished and adored. Allow it to be.” He
touched her hand and she visibly shivered, as if shocked by a
bolt of electricity.
"
Then he turned back to me. “You are who we knew you
were. You have lived your dharma and it has been good for the
people of this earth. You have planted a bigger garden than any
one man has in the history of the world. For this I bow to you,
241
young master.” He moved forward and let his forehead settle in
the palms of my hands, immediately sending my whole body into
a state of bliss.
"
He then sat back up and moved to where he was. I could
tell that his energy had shifted as he spoke, “You have lost your
innocence, master. You have been a leader, orchestrating your
plan, your army of many thousands of workers, as was needed
to insure your success. Your dance, the dance you were taught
as a young master, the lila dance, turned from one of play, to one
of serious business. Everything you do is calculated, which is the
opposite of innocence. Do you understand what I am saying?”
"
I couldn’t answer.
"
“Of course you don’t. You identify as the leader. You are
not seeing who these people are. You only see who you are . . .
someone of superior knowledge, wisdom and intelligence, a man
with a plan for them to live a better life. You need to let go of all
your plans. You will try, but you will not be able to hold on much
longer to the illusion of your power. You are on a journey to the
higher realms of love. Do not forget.”
"
"What do you suggest I do, master?" I humbled himself.
"
"I am suggesting that the leader become the follower. I
am suggesting that you stop professing to be enlightened . . . to
stop with your stories to impress . . . and allow your friends to
make up their own minds . . . and to honor them even if they do
not agree with you. You must stop forcing people to agree with
you. Do you hear me?"
"
I was stunned. Tears began streaming from my eyes,
and as though the silent drops were screaming, Howard, Maggie
and Sopi turned to me, obviously puzzled with what they had
heard and were seeing.
"
“Are you alright?” Maggie asked with compassion.
"
The very moment all attention was on me, the young man
slipped away unnoticed, onlyTenzin and I saw him leave. For the
second time in my entire life, I was ashamed of myself.
"
“How did he know us?” Howard wondered out loud.
"
“Please,” I answered with words that seemed to leak from
my confused mind. “I need to be alone.”
242
30
The geisha pours tea-In my bed
I dream
I suppose Maggie sensed my discomfort as she stood outside
the hut, appearing reluctant to leave me there alone. I assured
her that I was fine, that I need some alone time to sort things out.
Her compassion was endearing and though a long hug would
have made me feel a bit better, I was glad to see them all walk
away. Tenzin was the last to leave, saying that he would see me
tomorrow, that he need to spend more time with the young
master.
Sitting there in the still calm I had to admit my faults. I know I had
plotted and schemed, manipulated, entirely orchestrated and
controlled just about everything that had happened since the
morning I recovered from my coma. The only thing I had nothing
to do with was hiring Tenzin; the young man was a constant
enigma to me. But he didn’t get in the way, so I couldn’t object.
Up until now not one thing, except for Maggie’s resistance and
doubts, got in the way of my return to Shambala, with my three
best friends.
"
It wasn’t easy for me to find fault in my business success-I had created a grocery empire, feed millions of people and had
become an extremely wealthy man. Millions of people benefitted
from my drive to be the very best. Now I didn’t know how to let
go of who, the driving force, I had become--to be a leader told to
stop leading. I guess I have to let go of my seriousness to start, I
thought to myself. That’s it. I have been all too serious. I call it
243
love but maybe it was only my strategy. Is it that I don’t trust
anyone except myself? Maybe. It’s been so many years since I
was lost in innocence. I’m not the same person. How could I be?
I studied back then, yes . . . but I also played and laughed . . . I
always made jokes and never worried about being made wrong.
I trusted. I trusted everyone . . . and now who do I trust? No one?
Have I totally lost my innocence?
!
I looked around in every direction, hoping to see the young
master. I still had questions to ask. Tenzin . . . who is this Tenzin
who can speak telepathically with the master? I used to be able
to do that. I wonder if I can now? I took a deep breath and asked
him a question out loud, as if he were in front of me. “How am I
to find Shambala? What is the key for me to get into the valley?”
"
His sweet voice came into my mind. The key is love.
Always and forever, love.
"
That’s the key to entering Shambala, and I have lost it.
Have I forgotten how to love, without condition? I wrote about
this . . . I wrote a whole book about it . . . about love and
innocence . . . how divinity is found in surrender, in letting go. I
need to let go . . . I need to remember how to play and have fun,
not be so damn serious. Can I? Is it still in me? It has to be . . . I
have to let go . . . if not, then I might as well turn around and go
back to Oregon. One way or the other I have to change . . . I
will . . . I have to.
"
I thought of all my accomplishments over the past forty-five
years, building the family business and all of what I had done
and so on and so forth, until it all sounded like a whole lot of ego
stew. And what did it all boil down to? An eighty year old multibillionaire who now sat in a chair in a darkened bedroom in a
hotel in Japan with his head lowered--my entire way of being
exposed and crushed in one totally unexpected confrontation.
What am I to do? They have to come with me. But will they want
to? . . . I’m a good man, I know that. I will be better . . . I have to
be . . . whatever it takes.
Maggie was moved by what she had just witnessed, yet was still
characteristically rational. He called me Radha. Said I
244
represented the divine feminine. How could he say that about
me? I’ve never seen him before. And poor Robert . . . the young
man came down so hard on him. He has been manipulating us,
but we never would have come otherwise. I’ve thought that all
along . . . but it’s not so bad. I’m in a luxury hotel in Japan . . . the
mineral baths and massages . . . the food . . . it’s all so heavenly.
And I met an immortal master. I can forgive Archie. But lead him?
I’m not so sure I can be the leader. We need to talk about that.
Howard was steadfastly loyal to me, the man who had saved him
from a life of poverty nearly thirty years before. He knew me and
supported my passion and life purpose. It didn’t matter what
anyone said, including an immortal master, he would always be
on the side of his best friend. He had never felt manipulated or
controlled--he found the master’s lecture interesting, but not
compelling. The only thing that was wrong, as far as Howard was
concerned, was the sleeping situation. That needed to be
changed. Sopi liked the words divine feminine but had no desire
whatsoever to change her role as a woman. She didn’t want to
be a leader--she wanted Howard to lead her. As far as she was
concerned we were all in this together. I was doing exactly as I
proposed, to which they had all agreed. I was taking them on a
wonderful vacation and as long as Howard was by her side she
didn’t care where we ended up. She too was disappointed with
the sleeping arrangements.
An hour after returning to her hotel suite, Maggie looked over to
the side wall at an antique Japanese print. It was of a gnarly old
man with a big frown and a six-inch long nose cocking a wooden
cane behind his head, ready to strike. A tengu. Tenzin said he
met a tengu. She thought of all the ravens flying here and there.
She knew that ravens and crows were the smartest creatures on
earth, besides man. They could think logically, remember people,
places and events for their whole lives, and some were even
able to make useful tools. Are they also able to shape shift?
Would one of them shape shift into that long-nosed old man and
hit me over the head? Who would protect me? Archie? The
young master? I think Tenzin would.
245
"
Maggie’s mind was being stimulated like never before.
She had just met an immortal master, something she had never
thought possible in her lifetime. And then there was Tenzin, who
played a passive role in the magical encounter. She just couldn’t
get the confident and well-spoken man who led them up the
mountain out of her head. He was not the same twenty-year-old
boy who she had arrived in Japan with the day before. Even
though the very thought was crazy to her, she could swear he
was rapidly aging. She felt ashamed of having ignored him up
until now. I always initiated introductions--why didn’t I with him?
"
Her thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the door. “Come
in,” she called out.
"
Tenzin opened the door and entered the room. “May I
have a word with you, Mrs. Maggie?”
"
“Of course,” she giggled nervously and stood up, startled
that his appearance coincided with her thoughts, wondering if he
had read her mind. When he stood in front of her she continued,
“You can call me Maggie. I’m not married. And may I call you
Tenzin?” She felt relieved the introduction was finally made.
"
“That is my name. Do you know what it means . . .
Maggie?”
"
“Archie told me, but I forgot. Please tell me.”
"
“It means guardian of the teachings.”
"
“Is that what you do?” Maggie asked.
"
“It is,” he replied, creating a long pause, during which
Maggie considered what sort of teachings he might be guarding.
"
“Would you mind sharing more?” she asked, offering him a
seat on the couch next to her, which he accepted.
"
“I would not mind, Maggie.” He looked around the room,
paused for a moment on the tengu painting, and then focused on
the old woman. “You have just witnessed something very
extraordinary. The master spoke words to Tulku and you which
must have sounded most confusing. Is this not so?”
"
“I think it was very personal for Archie and I don’t wish to
judge it one way or the other. I hope he wasn’t hurt. I was
confused when he said I represent the divine feminine and
calling me Radha. Didn’t she have something to do with
Krishna . . . the gopi girl?”
246
"
“That is so . . . though she was much more than a cow
herder.”
"
“So why did he say those things to me?”
"
“That is for you to find understanding. I am here to serve
Tulku. In so I wish to remind you that the teacher will have flaws,
because the teacher is only human . . . but that does not
invalidate the truth of the teachings. The words are not about
him, they are for you . . . they are to remind you of who you really
are. Forget about the other person and focus on your self . . .
and then you will come to know that the words of the master are
true.”
"
“OK?”
"
“I have brought you a book,” Tenzin answered, handing
her his brand-new-looking hard-bound copy of Many Gods, One
Heart, which she had seen on the airplane. “I think it would be
helpful if you read it.”
"
“Why?”
"
“You have many questions. Maybe you have much study
on healing and about things other than the eye can see or
scientists can prove. And still you have lived in a world of things
that need to be seen and proved. You are no longer in that world.
From this day on, you will encounter many things your logical
mind will not understand. You must be prepared for your new
life.”
"
“What new life?” Maggie realized her life would never be
the same, but it sounded to her as if Tenzin was suggesting
something terminal without logical, and she wondered logically
what that was, exactly. The fifth dimension?
"
“Please, Mrs. Maggie . . . I want you to understand. The
words in this book came from a consciousness that was once
very pure and this same man, my Tulku, your Archie, is now
wanting to return to how he was so many years ago. That is all.
You may ask me about passages in this book, and I will answer
as best I can. Now I must go.”
As soon as Tenzin left, Howard and I walked into the room.
Maggie sat with the book still in her hands, quickly wishing she
would have hidden it from me, curiously nervous as to what my
247
reaction would be seeing her with it.
"
I had resolved a major issue or two since we were last
together, and I did notice the book, but chose not to say anything
about it. I began the conversation, “Maggie and Sopi . . . I have
had a long conversation with Howard and have apologized to
him, he accepted though he didn’t know what for. If you feel like I
have been manipulating or controlling either of you in any way, I
apologize. I’m sorry. Forgive me. I only wanted us to all be
together and to show you the land I love.”
"
“Is that still possible?” Maggie asked.
"
“I believe it is. But most important . . . do you accept my
apology and do you wish to continue on this journey?”
"
Maggie and Sopi looked at each other, agreeing. “Yes,”
they answered at the same time. “Apology accepted,” Maggie
added.
"
“Thank you. Well then . . . you’ll need passports. As soon
as you agreed to come on this trip, I sent your birth information
to a master forger here in Kyoto.” I pulled three passports from
my pouch, and handed them out. “Your new passports.”
"
“Maggie St. Clair!” she almost shouted. “That’s not my
name. They made a mistake. Everyone will think I’m your wife.”
"
“Exactly,” I answered with a smile.
"
“Look at this,” Sopi squealed in delight, “Sophia Johnson.
Oh, Howard. How sweet. We’re married!”
"
“Not Howard.” He grinned. “Reggie Johnson. Mr. and Mrs.
Reggie Johnson. How about that? Should we switch rooms now
or later?”
"
“Oh, Howard, you’re such a flirt. Yes! But you know . . . to
me you’ll always be Howard.”
"
“You can’t do this,” Maggie broke in, unsure whether to be
upset or to laugh at the insanity. “What if I don’t want to be your
wife, Archie?”
"
“Oh, Maggie,” I said with compassion. “None of this is real.
It’s all an illusion. Don’t you see? Two old couples traveling
together makes a lot more sense to everyone than four old
singles. Don’t worry, you don’t have to be Maggie St. Clair
forever, unless it’s the next best thing that happens.” Did Tenzin
give you that book?” I pleasantly changed the subject.
248
"
Maggie nodded. “He said it would be helpful to read it.
Should I?”
"
“I’m not the one to answer that, Maggie. Perhaps there’s
something in it which will offer you comfort, help you to trust and
find more fun and joy in all this. I don’t know . . . sounds like I
should read it again myself. Maybe it will give you an idea of
where I came from, and where we’re going.”
"
“I want to trust you, Archie. I want to believe everything
you have told me, I really do. I still wonder why you brought me.
Why am I here? . . . on the way to there . . . I’m still not totally
convinced if there really is a there,” Maggie almost whined,
subtly begging for answers. “So much is happening too fast,
Archie . . . I still have questions that need answers.”
"
“The answers are always found along the way.” I paused
to let that sink in. “I have no answers for you, Maggie, nor does a
book or a travel guide. Obviously after what happened today I’m
looking for my own answers. At first I was ashamed and then I
realized . . . that my answers and healing will be found along the
way. Everything changes . . . and I think we all have what it takes
to change accordingly. We are all at choice, you know. You don’t
have to continue.”
"
“But I want to . . . I really do.”
"
“Want to?”
"
“I will.”
"
“Well, OK then, Mrs. St. Clair. Why don’t you pack your
bags. I need to move you to my suite.”
"
“What?”
"
“Don’t worry, there’s two bedrooms. I think Mr. and Mrs.
Johnson want to spend the night alone.”
"
“Sounds good to me,” Howard said.
"
“Perfect.” Sopi moved to him and they hugged.
"
“OK,” Maggie conceded.
249
31
A tengu-bamboo sword cuts
through time.
Monday:
A whispering mist covered Mt. Kurama, shrouding the hotel in a
sparkling aluminum glaze. Maggie rose before the others and left
Robert’s suite. It was before eight p.m. when Robert closed his
bedroom doors the night before--the day had been full beyond
measure and he simply said good night. She stayed in the living
room and read awhile, before retiring. Both had many thoughts
before they welcomed sleep--their dreams were rich and filled
with unremembered messages.
"
Maggie followed a cobblestone path to a nearby hut where
she decided to sit in morning contemplation. It was a bit chilly, so
she tightened her shawl, crossed her arms and huddled in the
corner of the cushioned bench. One of her favorite books came
to mind--The Life and Teachings of the Masters of the Far East.
She believed ascended masters and immortals did exist, though
she never thought she would actually meet one. She kept a
lookout in case the young master showed up, though she
doubted it. He said what he needed to say--it was more than
enough to leave her in a state of wonder. Does he just appear
and disappear as he pleases? Is he from some place?
Shambala? What does being immortal mean? He must have
been born and lived like a normal human. Did he just decide not
to die? Of all the people, why did he appear to us? Why here?
Why now? Is Archie that important? She wanted to ask him
250
questions like these after he handed out the passports, but felt it
wasn’t appropriate. Maggie had seen his reaction to the master’s
words, seen his tears, and wondered when or if he would tell
them what really happened. She hoped it wasn’t long until he
did--she really wanted to know.
Maggie was suddenly startled by a huge raven who landed on
the armrest, at the other end of the bench. It looked right at her
and said “Caaw.” The bird scared her. “Go away,” she said to no
avail. It just keep looking at her. “Kaa-caaw,” it said louder.
“Please, go away.” She was afraid to move.
"
Six other ravens flew down from the clouded trees and
landed on the ground not ten feet away. They began chattering
among themselves. Maggie felt helplessly surrounded. She
didn’t know if ravens actually attacked humans, but she couldn’t
think of anything except the story of the the old tengu who shape
shifted from a raven and hit villagers over the head with his staff.
Please, she thought, don’t . . .
!
But it was too late. The huge raven suddenly flew into the
midst of the other birds and began spinning. It all happened in a
split second, and then--standing in front of her was the ugliest
man she had ever seen. He was dressed in a rustic rough cotton
multi-layered brown robe, baggy blue pants and was barefooted; toenails as think as grizzly bear claws. His long black hair
was matted, unintentionally dreaded, and flopped in all directions
down. His face was grotesque. Gnarly. Filled with oversized
warts. The eyebrows were like two black dragon caterpillars
ready to engage in battle, guarding red-veined eyes that
protruded like hard-boiled eggs--irises as ebony as raven beaks.
But most alarming was his nose. It extended a good eight inches
out from his face, with wide-open nostrils as big a golf balls. The
nose was clustered with warts and at the half-point slanted off to
the right. He had fat wide lips, the lower protruding out from the
upper, turned down in a permanent frown, and a crocked chin
punctuated with a foot-long rivulet of hair growing out of a big
black mole. He growled as he raised his wooden sword high over
his head.
"
Maggie had never been as afraid as she was at that
251
moment. She had no idea what to do. The other ravens began to
squawk loudly as if urging the tengu on. “Hit her. Hit her,” is all
she could hear, though it couldn’t possibly be translated from
“caw.” She had never allowed herself to be a victim, and didn’t
intend to start, so she decided to run--and then realized that she
was too old for such a thing. The fog was dropping and to her it
was beginning to seem too surreal to be true--everything within
twenty feet in every direction was now shrouded. Maggie had no
choice. She stepped out into the clearing and faced the
menacing creature.
"
The tengu growled and swung his sword down to the
ground on his left side, then up and down to his right side. The
ravens enjoyed the show. His frown seemed to extend out
almost as far as his nose. He spluttered something in incoherent
Japanese, which Maggie wouldn’t have understood anyway. He
inched forward with his staff held high. She had the crazy
thought of wishing she had her camera--when Tenzin appeared
out of the mist.
"
The young man shouted something in Japanese, which
Maggie was surprised he spoke, as he moved between her and
the brute. The tengu grunted gibberish back as he gestured his
intent to swing. Tenzin also had a wooden sword and with one
smooth move brought it high over his head and crouched down
slightly as if saying, “Give me your best shot, old man.” And he
did. The swing hit nothing but dirt and put the tengu in a position
affording Tenzin a good swift kick to his butt. It took the tengu off
guard. The young man ran around and kicked him in the butt
again. The ugly creature swung his sword around like a blind
man while Tenzin hopped about laughing at him, exaggerated
mocking. The tengu had lost his reason; his only purpose was to
frighten and now it wasn’t working, and so as quickly as he
appeared he shifted back into the big raven and flew away.
"
Maggie looked around in wonder. Did that just happen?
She knew the answer, of course, as Tenzin walked toward the
hotel, with her trailing quickly behind. They didn’t say a word to
each other, and she decided not to talk about it, not to him or to
the others. It was too obvious that she had manifested her fear
and she knew there was nothing to do but learn the lesson and
252
move on. When she arrived at the suite Robert’s door was still
closed. She rang room service for a pot of tea and sat in the
living area, in self reflection.
"
After a while she picked up the book Robert had written so
many years before. She had left it on the coffee table, having
read a several passages after she had said good night to him.
Tenzin was right. It helped her to understand, to calm down and
surrender to the journey she was on. She opened a random
page:
The Divine dance is My dance,
your dance, our dance.
It is within you I dance,
within you--life begins anew.
Let Your words be my words.
Your vision be my vision.
Through your grace allow the Divine Feminine to be alive in me.
Let me be Your Earth Angel.
The healing hands of God
--Let me be Your one dear heart, you see,
I’ve come too far, don’t turn from Me.
Maggie set the book down, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Considering what the Immortal Master had said about her
representing the divine feminine, it was as though the verse had
been written especially for her. She contemplated the words. My
whole career was about my healing hands; channeling universal
energy through touch and sound, raising the frequency--the
higher the frequency the closer one is to love and vibrant health;
divinity. God? And now this book--written almost half a century
ago by the man she was traveling with, a man who had once
253
written about wanting to be the healing hands of God--was all too
familiar. Who really wrote this? Archie? Are these words
appearing just for me? She had never been so metaphysically
confused.
An hour later they were all packed and met in the restaurant. It
was the day they decided to move on, and begin the next leg of
their journey to Shambala. After a quiet breakfast of miso soup
and grilled salmon, the four gathered in the courtyard entrance
and gave the customary bows to the hotel staff, who had treated
them like family. Tenzin watched from a distance, as if he wasn’t
part of Robert’s entourage. Maggie noted this, and nodded their
shared secret; he nodded back. After seeing him in the lobby that
morning, comments were made around the breakfast table. The
young man appeared to have somehow aged ten years in two
days. But Tenzin seemed comfortable and confident in his own
skin--so there really wasn’t anything for anyone to say or do.
Maggie couldn’t help but wonder how Robert, Tenzin, and the
Immortal Master were linked. It wasn’t in her nature just to ask,
but she was more than a bit curious--anxious to find out what
was really going on.
"
A limo took them to the helipad, and after lifting up through
the low-lying cloud layer into a rainy Kyoto sky, they headed
back to the Kansai Airport where the Gulfstream V was ready for
takeoff. By mid-morning they were back in the sky, heading for to
Calcutta--a refueling stop before Kathmandu.
254
32
Shady afternoon.
Water trickle moon glow
the dream revealed.
While flying southwest from Japan we in the purple leather
lounge chairs and I half-listens as Howard, Sopi and Maggie
talked about their days on Mt. Kurama. Sopi was still concerned
that Jane didn’t know where she was and Maggie wondered if
her son-in-law and family were worried about her. Howard was
blissfully enjoying himself, grateful to be free of any mental
handicap and glad to be back on the road; overjoyed to have
finally spent the night with his beloved.
I remained quiet and lost in thoughts of how to proceed. I had
taken the young Master’s words to heart--no longer interested in
manipulation or control; wondering how I was going to relinquish
my leadership role.
"
Maggie interrupted my silence. "You know, Archie, I’ve
been thinking about Shambala for the past two days. I’ve read
some of your book. You said that everyone in Shambala is a
master. I don’t understand. The young master said I represented
the divine feminine. I certainly don’t feel like a master. What is a
master anyway? That young man certainly seemed to be one . . .
and obviously you mastered business . . . had some sort of
mastery to heal us . . . and masterminding our escape from
Happy Acres and quite honestly . . . sorry . . . maybe you were
one a long time ago, but I’m still not seeing you as a spiritual
master. After that lecture you got I’m sure you probably don’t feel
like one either.”
255
"
“I never suggested I was.”
"
“I know, not now . . . but before . . . when you lived in
Shambala. You said that everyone was a master, you being one
of everyone. It’s just hard for me to believe that everyone could
see everyone else as a master. Societies always create a
hierarchy. Leaders and followers. Some people are ambitious,
others are lazy. Everyone can’t be the master. It’s impossible. Do
you see what I mean?"
"
“I do and agree,” Howard concurred. “You did say you
were their intended master, Robert. A master has followers,
devotees. Isn’t that a form of hierarchy or leadership. You
mentioned lamas. There’s head lamas, lower lamas and monks.
There must be farmers and merchants to sell the produce. Aren’t
they all examples of hierarchical separation?”
"
I wasn’t sure I even wanted to engage in this
conversation. It put me in an awkward position, but I started in as
low key as possible. “In Shambala the lamas and farmers were
all doing what they loved to do--some took on more
responsibility, some less. There were no merchants selling things
since there was no money and everything was free.” I paused to
collect my thoughts. "I know it’s difficult to comprehend a world
were everyone is sovereign and enlightened, or not suffering
from some sort of disease. We can live in peace and harmony
without hierarchies and separation.”
"
“We can?” Sopi was confused.
"
Maggie didn’t hesitate in answering Sopi. “There are
people here on earth, I’ve read stories, who live in complete
peace and harmony. These people feel genuine oneness with all
life and aren’t bothered by politics and laws. I doubt if they have
a guru or leader, in fact they probably don’t.”
"So, you're saying that all the people of Shambala are like
this and also possess an evolved form of enlightenment?”
Howard asked.
"
“While they are in Shambala,” I answered, wanting to
hear more from Maggie; who these people are she was referring
to. “But it is not considered special there, as it is here.”
"
“I get it,” Maggie responded, her mind filled with
questions. “They’re in a secluded valley being farmers and
256
monks and everyone lives in some sort of harmony. That makes
sense. But it also doesn’t make sense. Weren’t you the leader of
the Shambala people? As their master weren’t you trained to
know . . . didn’t you know things that no one else knew? “
"
“I did . . . I had my purpose--”
"
“What if you or someone else got sick? Don’t they need
to train people to be doctors, for instance?” She asked with a
new excitement.
"
“Just like here, there are teachers, and children go to
school. And as they matured . . . even a master is always
learning.”
"
“You mean always humble?” Maggie asked.
"
“That’s right. The direction was always inward, not
outward . . . in other words, the answer is within you, always. To
answer your other question . . . by the time they completed their
formal education every person was a doctor, with the ability to
self-adjust and remain eternally young and vibrant, selecting the
age they are most comfortable with, which periodically changes,
though that was a choice. I think I could have remained thirty-five
forever.”
"
“I like that age, too . . . and the concept . . . but honestly
Archie . . . there you go again . . . another fairytale . . . selecting
your age? . . . Really?” Maggie said with a grin. “If I could, I
mean if it’s true and I were there . . . maybe I’d be a few years
younger. I liked being in my early thirties.” She paused and
considered the possibilities. “Do they need massage therapists in
Shambala? What about dementia? Do people there have mental,
emotional or physical diseases?”
"
“It’s good to be touched and many people choose to be
massage therapists. But no . . . as I just said, there are no
diseases of any kind. There are also no politics or governing
body. Everyone is self-governing, always doing the right thing for
the good of all. This creates a synchronicity where everything
transmutes to the highest possible equation. All relationship are
the result of conscious connections. So there is no divorce, or
conflict or rules to control or contain.”
"
“Sounds good, especially living disease free,” Maggie
said, reaching over to touch my hand for a brief moment.
257
“Sounds like that was what the master wanted to remind you
about . . . to let people chose what’s best for them.”
"
“Yes.”
"
”I appreciate what you did for us . . . helping to take
away our mental and physical disease. You know . . . that was
really sweet of you, Archie.” She waited to collect her thoughts,
“The reason why I love the Lennon Imagine song so much is that
I truly believe what he says is possible. I think there can be a
world with no disease or hunger. I’ve learned to live without
religion or attachment to possessions. I believe in the
brotherhood of man. I’ve always wondered if there was some
hidden valley on earth where people actually lived this way all
the time,” She looked up and returned my confident grin. “You’re
saying that the Shambala people live like this, but how is it
possible for people like us to create a world of peace and
harmony, the brotherhood of man in a world of so many laws and
regulations?”
"
"I think you know the answer to that question, Maggie.
You and Howard and Sopi . . . are basically no different than the
people of Shambala. If you innocently seek your place in
paradise, you will find it, though you’ll never find it if you try. It’s
really a matter of accepting our divinity and living accordingly.”
"
“Easier said than done.”
"
“No doubt. But don’t you see, we don’t have to try to be
who we already are? If we let go of trying and allow ourselves to
return to our innocence, then all of a sudden we’re surrounded
by others who reflect our love. It’s that simple. Then we’ll not
consider that it is anything different then just being who we are,
where we are. This is how the people of Shambala live.”
"
“Sounds a bit like Happy Acres,” Sopi remarked.
"
“So let me get this straight,” Maggie continued, wanting
this to work for her. “You were in Shambala for thirty years and
you were living in this multi-dimensional paradise. Right? You,
and everyone else there, were reflecting this innocence, this
love. But then you came out . . . ran away . . . and you didn’t go
back. Why would you do such a thing?”
"
“I told you why.”
258
"
“OK . . . but if those lamas who were watching you were
enlightened you’d think they would know you were leaving and
where you were going. You would never have been able to pull
one over on them and walk out the door at five in the morning. I
want your story to make sense to me. Have you always been
enlightened? Are you now?”
"
I thought about the question for several moments. I
didn’t want to sound like I had something that they didn’t. I was
struggling with my own loss of innocence, and didn’t wish to
trivialize a complicated issue. “Like I said we’ve, and that
includes me, simply have forgotten our innocence. When the
lamas walked out of the fifth dimension into the third, the denser
mass consciousness predominated.”
"
“Predominated?” Howard questioned.
"
“Yes. Third dimensional consciousness has agreed upon
the laws of physics as we know them. For instance, we agree we
can’t fly like a bird or disappear into thin air and transport our
bodies from one place to another. Laws confine us in the
dimension we’re in, until we break the laws of dimensionality.
Imagine living somewhere in complete peace, with no cars,
manufacturing, TV and anything electric for thirty years, for the
lamas all their lives, and then being dropped in the middle of
New York City. We went through quite a culture shock. A whole
lot of mass consciousness stuff was bombarding us all at once.”
"
“So why were you there in the first place?” Maggie
asked.
"
“This is the answer to one of your other questions. You
asked why I was set apart as a master, learning things that the
others weren’t learning. Someone had to learn the teachings
and go out into the world . . . to tell the story of what’s possible.
That’s why I was instructed to write that book. The master of our
teachings is essentially a sacrificial lamb, a gift to the third
dimensional world.”
"
“You were a sacrificial lamb? I don’t understand . . . well,
I guess I do. How else would anyone know about Shambala?
You told us you snuck out. I’m surprised they didn’t have a guard
at your door. I suppose they didn’t have any idea that you were
going to run away,” Sopi offered.
259
"
“No, they didn’t. I don’t think they even considered it. I
did everything right up until that point. Like I said, the master
before me spent many years away from Shambala, in Lhasa. His
teachings were sent all over the world, which is how my parents
found out and went there to sit at his feet. When the master saw
me he knew that I would be able to spread the teachings in a
more effective way. I was trained for the day when I would go on
tour and teach about heaven on earth; from direct experience.
Coming to America was part of the plan. My leaving them
certainly wasn’t.”
"
“Is going back part of the plan?” Sopi asked. “What if
they found another master?”
"
“Going back is my plan and I’m sure they’ve found my
replacement by now, though I haven’t seen any signs. It’s been
forty-five years. After I almost died I received a very strong
message to return to Shambala, and I prayed that the three of
you would go with me. It’s that simple. Now can we just be here
and enjoy the flight?”
"
“We can, but I have a few more questions. May I?”
Maggie asked, giving me an endearing look.
"
“Why not?” I smiled at her, enjoying her positive
questioning and passion. She was as sharp as any tribe leader. I
always encouraged this sort of intense questioning, and now
coming from her moved me in a surprising way. She wanted
clarity and was receiving love, though I wasn’t quite ready to
show signs of romantic interest.
"
“So, besides the baths and food, we went to Mt. Kurama
because it has a similar vibration to where we’re going?”
"
“Yes, that’s true. There is a vibration there that is
approaching that of Shambala. It is one of the places on earth
where there is a thin veil between dimensions, which is why
people see the tengu; why we saw the master.” At that point we
had no idea that Maggie actually saw a tengu; she still felt
disinclined to talk about it.
"
“We’ve always heard about the nature creatures, the
fairies and gnomes and angels, and I think everyone knows they
live in a higher dimension, which is why we can’t see them.
260
You’re saying the people occasionally see them here?” Howard
asked.
"
“Yes, that’s right. Third dimensional beings are bound to
physical bodies. Higher dimensional beings can choose to
materialize, but like angels while here they, more often than not,
live in the astral, causal, mental, or atomic . . . bodies that vibrate
at frequencies humans can’t see, but sometimes actually do
sense or feel.”
"
“So the tengu could have appeared to us on Mt. Kurama,
whenever he felt like it,” Maggie offered in summation. “They
may be fourth dimensional, but that doesn’t mean they are all
good spirits, right?”
"
“That’s correct. But the tengu usually only appear when
matching frequencies--to scare people who are already afraid.”
"
“Oh . . . I see . . .” Maggie got an affirmation on the
conclusion she had already reached. “But since the angels and
fairies are sovereign and feel only love and compassion for
humans, there is no reason to materialize and be seen, or to do
anything. They don’t have to take workshop and try to be
something different.”
"
“That’s right, you got it,” I replied with a grin.
"
“And how do you know whether or not Sopi, Howard and
I will be able to see the people of Shambala? What if you take us
to this paradise and all we see is that dusty road because we
aren’t resonating correctly? What makes you so sure we’re as
ready for Shambala as you are?
"
“I’m not sure I’m ready, or that any of us will be by the
time we get there. You heard the young master. All we can do is
keep going and see what happens.”
"
“Well, that’s settled.” Howard joined in. “Whenever we
get there I’ll hang out with the yetis or fairies or the people of
Shambala . . . whoever . . . I don’t care . . . but right now I’m
ready for one of those fine Shambala Food meals. How about
you guys?”
And so it went into the afternoon on our way to Calcutta.
261
33
Flying monks
leave no footprints:
their way is priceless
The flight attendant brought a pot of jasmine tea and us four
grateful folks that we should be landing in Calcutta in about six
hours; somewhere around four in the afternoon. After an hour
layover twe would continue on to Kathmandu, where suites were
booked at the Thamel District Ambassador Hotel. Once in the air
we engaged in a spirited conversation and enjoyed a Shambala
Foods, while Tenzin sat alone in apparent meditation, eyes
closed the entire flight.
The time passed quickly and before we knew it our jet entered
the Calcutta landing corridor and commenced the descent.
"
The plane had slowed down and then sped up, banking
away from the runway, which was quite unusual. I pushed the
attendant button, she come back and informed us that the
landing had been aborted.
"
I walked forward to the cockpit. According to the co-pilot,
the Calcutta flight controller’s had politely informed them that a
couple of dozen cows had wandered onto the runways, and
since nobody was willing to chase the sacred animals off, planes
weren’t allowed to land. I told the pilot to inform the controller
that we intended to land, regardless. To which the controller
replied, “You cannot run over one of our sacred cows. This
airport is closed until they are ready to move. That is all.” Since I
knew from experience how infuriatingly stubborn Indian flight
controllers could be. The Indian culture was rife with irony--they
262
had freed themselves from English rule, but still touted the
Empire’s rules of conduct as if eternally mandated. “I am so
sorry, but we are not allowed to do that,” was a phrase Shambala
tribal leaders had heard again and again. We knew all too well
that formal rules usually take precedence over common sense in
this part of the world--especially when it comes to cows on the
runway. We were now in a quandary, especially since the co-pilot
told me that we would need to refuel before continuing on to
Kathmandu.
"
I suggested that we turn back and land in Dakka in
Bangladesh, but when the air traffic controllers there would not
grant permission to land without a pre-approved flight plan, we
realized we needed to find an alternate runway--and fast. Our
only choice was the Mandalay International Airport in Burma,
also known as Myanmar, which we had previously flown over.
The Mandalay authorities would do just about anything to
increase the airport’s “well-below-expectations” usage as an
international hub, and approval for landing was immediately
granted.
Burma, the name that I, and many of the democratic countries of
the world, continued to call the country long after the repressive
military government renamed it Myanmar, had been my pet
project for over two decades. Burma has the distinction of being
the largest country in mainland Southeast Asia, with rich soil and
a temperate climate, offering vast areas of prime agricultural
land.
"
In the mid 1980’s I began meeting with Burma’s prodemocracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi. At that time I was seeking
an Asian agricultural center to grow teas and spices and a large
variety of grains. Burma was the perfect location. Suu Kyi and I
agreed that her country could become an agricultural giant with
the help of Shambala Natural Food contracts, providing jobs and
prosperity for the entire country. But that all ended in 1989 when
Burma was seized by the military junta leaders and renamed
Myanmar, then handed back to the regional warlords, who had
other thoughts on how to use the land.
"
The following year the National League of Democracy,
263
with Aung San Suu Kyi as its leader, won the general election by
a landslide. But the military rulers refused to recognize the
victory, placing her under house arrest for years, even after she
won the Nobel Peace Prize. No effort, not even the
overwhelming opposition of the people of Burma, could break the
stronghold of the military rulers. Over the next twenty years prodemocracy movements rose and fell like the tide in Burma, and
their leader, Aung San Suu Ky, was either censored or put under
house arrest. I visited her often and we became the best of
friends. Because of that, and my undying efforts to secure both
economic and democratic freedom for the country and its people,
I had become somewhat of a champion to all of Burma’s prodemocracy leaders. The name Robert St. Clair was well known
and I was considered, even by the corrupt current leaders, to be
an ambassador of American capitalism.
"
Landing in Mandalay sparked his long-simmering
passion--the full democratic transition of Burma into the capable
leadership hands of his friend, Aung San Suu Kyi, who had once
again been released from house arrest. I wanted to see her
again, but knew that without prior notice, the likelihood of a
meeting was doubtful. However, I did call her, and her surprise
and relief that he was still alive precipitated an impromptu
meeting with one of her agricultural leaders, who lived in
Mandalay.
"
After we deplaned in Mandalay we were driven to the
Sedona Hotel. We relaxed in cozy lobby chairs as we waited for
our suites to be readied. My mind began to come up with a plan,
one I would never have conceived of if not for this happenstance.
“You probably know what I’m thinking, don’t you, Howard?”
"
“Of course I do, maybe not your plan and strategy . . . but
it must have something to do with farming.”
"
“Maggie, Sopi . . . may I have your permission to go off on
a tangent?”
"
“I have no idea what you are thinking, Archie. What next?
It would be hard to top cows on the runway of all things, though
I’m sure you had nothing to do with that. I always wondered how
cows could be sacred . . . . they just eat grass and poop. That’s
sacred? I think I’m too old to be a farmer, if that’s what you have
264
in mind. Do they have tengu here?”
"
I laughed. Maggie’s animated spirit was a good sign; she
was finally showing a sense of humor. Even though Burma had
never entered any conversation, she didn’t mind the diversion.
She knew it wasn’t my fault we were in Mandalay regardless, I
decided to proceed with caution; only with permission from my
friends. “Maggie, may I explain what I want to accomplish while
we are here?” Sopi snuggled next to Howard; everything was
just fine in her world.
"
“Please do,” Maggie answered with a smile. And so I told
them about my history in Burma, and we all agreed with my plan.
"
A five o’clock meeting was set up with Sao Nang Mya Nu Than,
a descendent of Shan State royalty, and a leader in the northern
pro-democracy movement. I invited Maggie, Sopi and Howard to
join the conference room meeting. After dimming the lights, I took
off my sunglasses.
"
I knew Mya well, and lovingly called her the Emerald
Princess. She was the unofficial, but recognized, protector of her
family’s Shan ancestral land, a vast territory that bordered China
on the north, Laos to the east and Thailand to the south. It was in
the Shan State where I had envisioned several hundred
thousand acres in Shambala agriculture production, with
Mandalay as the transportation hub. Mya was in favor of this,
and if it weren’t for the ruling military, and corrupt warlords who
controlled the land, my dream would have happened many years
before.
"
Mya, a lovely and elegant woman in her mid-forties,
arrived on time with a small entourage. After polite introductions
in English, which Mya spoke with ease, we all found seats
around the large conference table.
"
She began, “Robert . . . I am surprised to see you. Suu Kyi
had told me that you were on your death bed. Since we assumed
you had passed on, I had mourned your transition. Look at you
now. You are very healthy. I am pleased.”
"
“Thank you, my dear Emerald Princess,” I answered with a
smile and bow. “It’s good to be alive.”
"
“Are you here on behalf of your company?”
265
"
“Yes and no. We are on our way to Shambala.”
"
“Shambala?” Mya lit up with curiosity, not expecting the
‘no’ answer. “I do not know this place. What can you tell me
about it?”
"
“After I recovered from my near death, I realized it was
now time to tell a secret I had kept from everyone for forty-five
years.”
"
“A secret?”
"
“Yes. Would you like to hear it?”
"
“Of course.” Mya had never seen this side of me. I was
always passionate about farming and the correct use of
ancestral land, not only in the Shan State of Burma, but all over
the world, but not personal. We were friends in politics and
business, and now it was finally becoming personal, and this
pleased her.
"
“When I was five years old my parents left me in Tibet, and
for thirty years I was in training to be the next master of a sect of
Buddhism, in an ideal, but obscure, valley in the Himalayas,
called Shambala.”
"
“You were a Buddhist holy man?” Mya was shocked by the
revelation.
"
“I suppose you could call me that,” I answered with a wink
toward Maggie, who was as captivated as Mya with the story,
even though she had already heard it. “But I left that life in 1967
and joined my family business, which I renamed Shambala
Foods. To my surprise, nobody ever made the connection
between me as the head of Shambala Foods and me as the
teacher from Shambala. In all honesty, I believe I transformed
more lives through agriculture than I would have through religion,
so in that regard I am pleased with my life choice.”
"
“As you know, we Shans are Buddhists. Did that have
anything to do with your wanting to use our land for your
gardens?” Mya asked.
"
“Yes and no. No, regardless of your religion this land is
one of the best in the world for agriculture. That was a huge
factor, of course. And the location for distribution was ideal. Yes,
in that the Buddhist nature for farming played a big role . . . but
more so in something that most farmers in the world don’t
266
recognize . . .”
"
“The Rice Mother,” Mya answered before I could say it.
"
“Absolutely. Your belief in a fertility goddess, coupled with
the honoring of all life--human, animals and plants--helps
enormously, not only in the success of agricultural production,
but in the life energy of the food that is harvested. This is what
we had in Shambala, and it gives the people there unbelievably
long, healthy lives. From Burma, I wanted to give this gift to the
people of this earth.”
"
Maggie appeared to be in awe. She was now
understanding more who I was, and why we were there. “So
exactly why can’t you do your farming here in Burma?” she
interrupted.
"
“The truth?” Mya answered. "More than one million people
are now involved in opium poppy cultivation, most of them here
in Shan State, where 95% of Burma’s poppy is grown. We are
the second-largest grower, far behind Afghanistan, with 100,000
acres of opium poppies now in production. As you probably
know, most of the poppy cultivation in Southeast Asia occurs in
the Golden Triangle, centered right here. Shan was once a great
society, but is now a relatively lawless territory ruled by ethnic
armies, opium warlords, and drug cartels.”
"
“Why are the farmers growing poppies in the first place,”
Sopi asked.
"
“That has everything to do with the opium warlords,” Mya
answered. “This is why pro-democracy leaders like Suu Kyi and
I, even Robert here, have worked endlessly on ending their
disastrous rule. The prices of most agricultural products grown in
Burma, especially here in Shan, have fallen by more than fifty
percent in recent years. Because of this and the pressure of the
opium warlords, farmers are forced to grow poppy to survive.”
"
“While the market price for agricultural commodities
declines, the price of opium has more than doubled the last few
years, even though, fortunately, the demand for heroin in the
world is declining,” I added. “The greedy warlords don’t really get
the numbers game. They could actually make more money by
increasing legitimate agricultural production, selling to global
companies like Shambala Foods, than they now get for the
267
limited production of poppies. I’ve worked for years trying to get
this through their thick skulls, but it’s pretty hard to teach a
gangster to go straight. They love getting that black market cash,
which they can pass on to the local farmers. And it’s hard for
struggling local farmers, who are good people just wanting to
feed their families, to turn the money down.”
"
“So is there anything you can do about all this?” Maggie
wondered.
"
“There is,” I said with confidence, raising Mya’s eyebrows.
"
“There is?” she repeated. “Other than overthrowing the
corrupt government?”
"
“All governments are corrupt, one way or another,” I
answered. “And ignorant warlords in ethnic areas like the Shan
State will always abuse power to get what they want. They are
not about to give up their power and control to people who tell
them they are wrong and know better. This is why we create
democracies, so the people can vote and choose who governs
them . . . and of course this happened in Burma, but the military
rulers continue to refuse to let go of their control. Burma is
between a rock and a hard place, and has been for a very long
time. No . . . as simplistic as it sounds, love is always the
answer.”
"
“Love?” Sopi couldn’t help but ask, as Howard chuckled,
always impressed with my ability to come up with surprising
alternative solutions.
"
“Love?” Mya also asked, wondering what in the world I
was suggesting. Maggie shook her head in amusement.
"
“I spent almost half my life in a mountain monastery
studying the human mind, how to calm it and how to expand it.
After nearly thirty years I wrote my book, Many Gods, One Heart.
It was a book about love. So, believe it or not, I do know a few
things about love.” I paused, giving Maggie a wink. She giggled.
“Then, for the past forty-five years, I studied the ‘mind’ of
agriculture, using the same principles on how to calm it and how
to expand it. This resulted in the highest organic crop yields in
the world.”
"
“Is that how we did it?” Howard laughed.
"
“Well that, the biological research that Jane and her tribe
268
did . . . and a whole lot of love.”
"
“What does all of this have to do with Burma?” Mya asked.
"
“The Shan Buddhists, a great many of whom originally
came from Tibet, believe in Kachin, the creator goddess;
Changko, the mother of all humans; and Ponmakya, the goddess
of fertility. I’m sure you know of Ponmakya?”
"
“I know of Ponmakya, of course,” Mya confirmed.
"
“And what about the common people in Shan?” I asked.
“Do they know about her?”
"
“All of them know and in some way worship her . . . and
Changko.”
"
“Excuse me, sir,” the hotel hostess politely interrupted,
bowing to me. “There is a man at the door wishing to enter. He
says his name is Sao Yawd Serk.” As she said this a good
looking middle-aged soldier with three stars on his shoulders
and two tough-looking henchmen marched in.
"
“No!” Mya yelled, standing up in protest. “He can’t be
here!”
"
“It’s good to see you again, sister Mya,” General Serk
smiled, as he reached out to shake my hand. “And you too, Mr.
St. Clair.”
"
“You know each other?” Mya said in shock. “He’s the war
lord who keeps the opium fields going. Don’t you know this?
Serk is our enemy.”
"
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I have no enemies, only potential
allies . . . which both of you are.” I motioned for them to sit. Sewk
comfortably settled, followed by Mya, after some resistance.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice, General. Our flight
to Calcutta was unexpectedly rerouted here. Cows on the
runway.”
"
General Sewk, head of the 10,000-soldier Shan State
Army, who for years had been waging war against the ruling
junta’s 400,000-man army, laughed. “Those crazy Hindus . . . I
too bless the cows . . . right before I eat them. It’s good to see
you again, and you too, Mr. Howard. How can I help you
gentlemen?”
"
I looked at my watch. “It’s dinner time. We’re old, and we
have an early flight in the morning, so I’ll be brief. Let me get to
269
the point, and then we will leave you two alone.” Mya was about
to protest, but I prevented it with a simple raising of my palm.
“You are enemies fighting for the same cause . . . protecting the
Shan State from the corrupt junta government, your mutual
enemy.” I paused long enough to see this truth register in their
eyes. “It doesn’t matter to me what your arguments are. I only
wish to speak about what is truly important for all the people of
Shan.” I paused again, waiting to make sure Mya had dropped
her defense, before continuing. “This is sacred land you are both
protecting. It is your mother’s land . . . Changko . . . the mother
of all humans. Neither of you must forget this.” This struck a
chord in both their hearts. “I have told you before, General Sewk,
that you can make more money selling food to me than selling
opium to dangerous traders, people you can’t trust, men who will
take money from anyone, including your enemies. Don’t allow
these desperate humans on Changko’s land. Please. I implore
you and pray to Ponmakya, your fertility goddess, that she
protect us and give us all abundance--that you do the right thing.
”
"
“Excuse me, Mr. St. Clair,” General Sewk interrupted.
“This is not about prayers, this is about money. These desperate
humans you speak of are the ones who are feeding my soldiers.
Do you have a better solution?”
"
“I do, General. That is why I have invited you both to meet
with me tonight. As soon as those sacred cows made us turn
back, I knew why I had to return to Burma before I continued on
to Tibet. When both of you agreed to see me with only a few
hours notice, I had no doubt that Changko approved of what I
had in mind. If you both are willing, after dinner tonight, I will
phone my chief financial officer and arrange immediate funding.
I will invest one hundred million dollars of my personal money in
leasing land, buying seeds and subsidizing farmers, for at least
two full growing seasons. During that time Shambala will
purchase, at above fair market price, all the produce Shan
farmers harvest. We will bring in a team to supervise the farmers
as to what to plant, and how to have the highest organic yields.”
"
I opened a book that was sitting on the coffee table, and
took a bank check from it. Handing it to Mya I continued. “If you
270
accept this check, Mya, you will be paid $10,000 a month—U.S.
—to be a consultant for Shambala Foods.”
"
”$100,000?” Mya exclaimed, glued to all the zero’s on the
check. “Just for me?”
"
“No, $10,000 of it is just for you. I will want you to set up
an office here in Mandalay, which you will supervise. You will
oversee the conversion of poppy fields to legitimate cash crops;
interpret for your American staff; report to the Burma press; and
provide oversight for General Sewk.”
"
“General Sewk?”
"
“And you, General Sewk . . .” I handed the general the
second check, which he examined.
"
“One million dollars?” the usually reserved general
exclaimed.
"
“That won’t be available for at least two weeks, and a onemillion-dollar check will come once a month as long as you and
your army provide the service required.”
"
“And that is?”
"
“You are to burn all poppy fields and kick every drug trader
out of the Shan State, and make sure they never return. And
you’ll do it in the next two weeks.”
"
“And what if I don’t?”
"
“I will hire a small army of black-op mercenaries who will
do it for me. I think you and your rebel army will have a hard go
of it without either the drug money or my money. You have my
money in hand and it is guaranteed.”
"
“I see your point. Hmmm.”
"
“Mya,” I said, looking at the general, “if she accepts the
position, will oversee the transition. I would expect a local
newspaper report within a week that the poppy fields are being
burned and that all the drug cartels are mysteriously
disappearing from the Shan State. You and your army will guard
the fields, and hopefully many of your soldiers will return to their
villages as farmers, since in a peaceful state you won’t need an
army. In the meantime, with this money, I would expect that you
and every soldier will get a raise over what the opium dealers
now pay you. You will not be a strong-armed tax lord. As a
legitimate businessman, my dear General, your army corporation
271
will receive ten percent of the gross profit of every farm in the
Shan State, if the farm agrees to do business with you and
Shambala Foods. When that percentage exceeds $1,000,000 a
month, these payments will stop. But, you will continue to earn
more as production rises. And, you must agree to stop fighting
the junta army, unless they attack you.”
"
“And why are you doing this?” the General asked.
"
“It is time for you and Mya to bring your people together
again as one, and bring this wonderful land to full prosperity and
abundance. Trust me . . . once the Shan State begins making a
lot of money with legitimate farms, every state in Burma will want
to copy you. Please talk it over. And if you will excuse us . . . we
have a dinner reservation.”
"
With this said, Howard, Sopi, Maggie and I left the room,
leaving the two stunned adversaries alone to make the biggest
decision of their lives. At that moment the future of the State of
Shan was in their hands, and they knew it.
Nobody had any idea as to where Tenzin had disappeared.
272
34
The sage contemplates
all that is not here or there-most importantly.
Tuesday--Mandalay, Burma:
After an early breakfast I set up a make-shift office in one of the
hotel conference rooms. I considered Jane, but my first call was
to Jennifer White, my trusted ex-personal manager. I briefly
explained the complicated situation, leaving out details such as
dementia and cancer cures. My simple statement: I took my
friends with me on a vacation, we were in Burma and that is all
anyone should know. Jennifer told me about the detectives who
stopped by the day before, looking for us, and that she
recommended they speak to Jane. I asked that she not contact
these detectives or Jane--I had left enough clues on how to be
found if they decided to follow. I explained the Burma situation
and asked her to oversee the Shambala team formations.
"
Mya and General Sewk were briefed on strategy and
staff introductions were made--beginning with Jennifer on a
computer screen through Skype. I contacted my personal banker
and arranged the transfer of $100 million into a new division of
Shambala Foods, which I now called the Shan Burma Project.
Jennifer’s instructions were to assemble six tribe leaders, who
were asked to choose a competent authority in their field of
expertise, and transfer that person to Mandalay, to work with
Mya and General Sewk. Their overall goal was to make the
fertile Shan region a self-sustaining agricultural leader in
Southeast Asia, and a principal supplier of commodities to
273
Shambala Foods. Howard and I were scheduled to complete our
work by noon, in order to meet our scheduled one o’clock
departure for Kathmandu. Maggie rose early that morning and began reading Many Gods,
One Heart. She tried to put herself in Robert’s shoes, and
thought about how being taught in an apparently ecclesiastically
open-minded isolated monastery for thirty years would influence
his life decisions. He writes that we’re all divine. What does that
mean, to be divine? Maybe it’s humanly possible, but how is it
actualized? He writes that divinity has no direction. It’s just a
matter of being. Does that mean we have to go live our lives in a
monastery? I don’t know what it means to just be. Be what? I
never got that concept. Is Archie living in his divinity? The
immortal master is, I’m sure. Is Tenzin? Most likely. But they’re
not like me. How did the master disappear? How is Tenzin
aging? These things aren’t normal, that’s for sure.
"
Her psychologist father, a practicing existentialist
philosopher, taught her that she was solely responsible for
whatever meaning she gave her life, and to never blame either
good or bad happenings on an outside force, such as God, the
devil or some stupid person. Whenever upset he reminded her
that her misery was self-created, and that she was free to make
another choice--to create her own reality, and to take
responsibility for whatever decisions she made. Archie suggests
that we are all divine and that our at-one-ment is actuated in
personal self-realization. So it’s a choice. Just how am I going I
go about choosing it?
"
Her mind was filled with questions as she sat in a
comfortable lounge chair in her suite, lost in the words of one
Chogyal Da Rinpoche:
Sitting still in paradise is not enough, for me.
They say I’m blessed, that I should be grateful.
But I want to live, truly live, to feel alive.
I want to experience my raw divinity.
If there are a billion cells in my body,
274
I want them all to be alive, raging against death.
Maggie’s mind drifted to her childhood. She was an only child
and growing up with scholarly parents was an endless
educational journey. Every night at dinner she was spellbound by
her Psychologist father’s stories, his Freudian and Jungian
discourses and psychological analysis of classic or current
human behaviors. Mornings and weekends were spent with her
veterinarian mother and a revolving birth/death/lingering
menagerie of animals--dogs, cats, hamsters, chickens, goats,
horses, cows and her long-lived, almost too human to be a pig,
buddy and pal PJ, which stood for Piggy Jammies, the name she
gave him when she was two and a half. She smiled,
remembering how much she loved that pig. I was so alive back
then.
"
Robert’s book and the brief meeting with the immortal
master reminded Maggie of her innate knowing; the clairvoyance
she was born with. She thought about the day when she was
five, when Todo, whom she named after Dorothy’s dog, died.
She woke up knowing what was going to happen, didn’t want to
let Todo out, and when he slipped through her grip and bounded
toward that truck she knew, regardless of the forewarning. She
recalled being devastated when her touch, her concentrated
healing energy, couldn’t bring life back to her dog. Letting that
go, she thought about her ability to hear the inaudible. She could
hear around corners, the neighbors, her teachers whispering,
and even through walls - mostly things she didn’t want to hear,
wish she hadn’t heard, but now knew, and would pretend not to.
You couldn’t keep a secret from her, but she kept a secret from
everyone else - the secret of her hearing.
I have been pampered and cradled long after childhood.
Every day I am washed and dressed and set upon a throne.
Of expectation.
I am the one for them to see, to be their holy one,
The incarnation of their sacred past.
275
Maggie was never placed on a throne, but she had the uncanny
ability to make sense of just about anything, and could calm
anyone, no matter how distraught--knowing just the right words
to say, and they were all loving, or at least acceptably truthful.
Even as a child she realized that her touch had eyes and ears.
Her mother encouraged Maggie to listen--to put first her ear and
later her hand on a horses chest and “listen” to what its heart
said, or her hand on a lame dogs leg or a cat with cancer, to hear
what it was saying and how it wanted to be healed. Her father
encouraged her likewise--just listen, he would say, and sooner or
later they will give you the answer to the reason they’re in pain.
With a finger here or there she could discern an irregular
heartbeat, the painful cry of a joint, or the begging of a muscle
for release. A “whisperer” they called her by the time she was a
teenager. An original American Whisperer.
"
Since she had the morning to relax and no desire to walk
around the hotel grounds, Maggie indulged herself in
contemplation--she needed to finally heal her past before she
could fully embrace the wisdom of the words she was reading.
"
She remembered so many years ago when she
volunteered as a physical therapist for the Oregon State
University football team. It was there she met the football star
whom she married after his graduation. He introduced her to the
depressing life of a bored stay-at-home wife, one constantly
threatened by the anger of the abusive man she was supposed
to love. After two emotionally draining years she divorced and
returned home to Corvallis. Now juggling depressing, then happy
thoughts--she smiled, remembering the day she earned her
college degree in Physical Therapy. It was a month before her
twenty-forth birthday and she was excited to get on with her
career--listening to the bodies of those in pain. She read another
verse from the book on her lap:
My mind rebels against the denial of my body.
I am a man! A MAN! I am ALIVE!
Life flows in me like a raging river
276
Through every artery and vein in my body.
I feel the pounding of my heart, my loins,
The pumping of blood. Raging, raging, raging against a living death.
A serving girl entered the suite with a cup of hot chai. Maggie
appreciated the hotel’s attention to detail. After a few sips her
memory drifted to Kenya. After college she answered an ad for a
physical therapist in Nairobi--the perfect faraway place to re-start
her life. She became a vital part of the Red Cross mobile hospital
of doctors, nurses and therapists, who flew in small planes all
over the country, dealing mostly with survivors of regional
conflicts and hunger related problems. It was there that she
started hearing at a higher level. The dear sweet native people
couldn’t communicate what ailed them--sometimes it was
obvious, and sometimes it wasn’t, and when it wasn’t, she
listened. Their bodies spoke to her. The arm, a leg, an organ or
even their blood told her a story, and she applied or
recommended to a doctor the appropriate remedy, which most
always worked, to everyone’s surprise. It was an elderly Kenyan
tribal shaman who first said the haunting words in Swahili, a
language she didn’t understand. “Mzuka sauti,” he said, looking
beyond her eyes and into her soul. “Ghost voice.” Remembering
those words gave her the chills. It verified that she was indeed a
whisperer.
"
She married her second husband, a doctor, after they
had spent three years working side-by-side in Africa. Back at his
home in England she noticed how happy he was around other
men; the camaraderie, the looks, the touches. She heard around
corners without prying--saw what wasn’t meant to be seen.
Maggie smiled as she recalled putting her hand on her dear
husband’s heart and saying, “Please. Go to him and live your life
as who you are.” Sitting there with these long ago thoughts, it
was hard for her to believe that she had been married twice
before she was twenty-eight years old. She thought about Robert
never having been married, and read:
277
The lamas tell me I can’t be this man.
That I can’t . . . rage. That I can’t feel my passion.
I must sit in stillness, in surrender to my office.
To exemplify man’s defeat of desire.
And yet, I am a man ALIVE!
Fully without shame, undeniably and gloriously alive.
After her second divorce she returned to Corvallis and opened a
physical therapy clinic, which she successfully ran for the next
forty-five years. At age forty she married her third husband--a
dysfunctional but convenient union. She was considered the
mother of his three children, but once they graduated from high
school and the convenience stopped, they amicably divorced. At
age forty-five she was through with men and marriage. Her life
was all about the people who found their way into her clinic, the
ones who, more often than not, were gratefully healed.
"
Three years later after her divorce she had expanded
her Corvallis business, opening clinics in Salem and Gresham,
which bordered Troutdale, where Robert worked and lived.
Several months before his fiftieth birthday Robert injured his
rotator cuff while exercising. His doctor recommended Maggie as
a sports therapist and they met at her Gresham office after
hours--he appreciating the results of her skills and knowledge of
muscular rehabilitation. The visits were entirely professional until
a sensitive issue concerning Maggie’s massage therapist forced
him to seek her counsel. This was the beginning of his intimate
trust.
I want to dance with the angels and gypsies with their drums.
I want to swirl and spin with a dervish ecstasy for life.
I want to soar with eagles and touch the stars and fill
Every cell and molecule in my body with their brilliance.
I am the dance of the gypsies and the brilliance of the stars.
278
After their third counseling session, always at a secluded
restaurant, he admitted that she was the first woman he had ever
dated--and that he was in every way attracted to her. Maggie
countered that such boldness with a woman indicated that he
was healing, and their meetings were effective. Although he was
serious in his attraction, she didn’t want to go there--thinking that
a relationship with this kind man was doomed to fail like the
others, even though her attraction to him was mutual. Her fear of
the negative consequences of romance caused her to turn away
from his advances. They remained friends. Maggie had no idea
that she was the first and only woman Robert had ever loved.
They say desire is not my fate, it is not my dharma.
I am not to express my rage, my manhood.
I cannot bring my divinity to Light.
With inner thoughts of contradiction, I boil. I sit in meditation. They think I’m still, but I’m not.
Inside I’m on fire. I give myself to life.
Maggie’s mind was now battling with her heart. Her inability to
express the love she had for Robert was beginning to seem
unnatural. He had healed her mind of dementia, but only she
could heal her mind that chose to close her heart to love. She
knew was time. She couldn’t deny the love she had for him, or
the truth of her fear to express it any longer. What was she to
do? Looking down at the book she read the next passage:
I will not surrender to a living death, even in paradise.
I am divine. I am one with all the gods who dare.
I am here to dance, to shout, to scream.
Is this also not my dharma?
To let go. To let go. To let go.
To let go of all that hinders me from being The god that I am. 279
The divine man that I am.
The alive lover of life that I am!
As Maggie read this, her mind wandered back to when Robert
first came for her advice and counsel, not long after he turned
fifty. In trust and confidence he spoke of how he had ended his
fifty years of virginity. Now, in compassion, she wondered how he
could have waited so long; how such a sensitive and passionate
man could live his life without sharing his rage, his passion and
love with a woman. At the time, she was confused as to why he
was admitting his affair to her, except that it involved her
employee. Now she felt honored he chose her to express his
most intimate surrender, his letting go to his aliveness, to his
core human desire. She thought back to when, as a naive coed,
she so easily surrendered to the charm of the football star. For
whatever reason, for fifty years Robert, then a multi-millionaire,
had held to a moral code of self-control that she could hardly
imagine. But hadn’t she been holding on to her own moral code
since she was forty-five? Maggie had to admit to thirty-three
years of celibacy.
Even though she was now a very old woman she couldn’t stop
her emotions--they were valid and the pressure to express them
was as intense as ever before. She didn’t know how or when she
would talk to him, but she knew she had to tell the truth, sooner
than later.
"
Maggie was interrupted by a knock on the door. Tenzin
stepped into the room."
"
“I see you are reading the book, Mrs. Maggie. I am
happy,” he said with a smile.
"
“Thank you, Tenzin. I was wondering where you went. I
hadn’t seen you since we landed in Mandalay.”
"
“I have many Tibetan ancestors here in Burma.”
"
“Ancestors or family?”
"
“Ancestors.”
"
“So, you have been honoring your dead Tibetan
ancestors?”
280
"
“They have been honoring me,” Tenzin answered,
seriously.
"
“OK . . .” Maggie said, totally confused by the rapidly
aging enigma standing in front of her. “How can I help you,
Tenzin?”
"
“Tulku is busy, so I will tell you. I will be staying here.”
"
“You’re staying in Mandalay? But . . . I want to talk more
about the tengu . . . about you aging . . . the immortal master . . .
how you know Robert . . . from before . . .” "
Tenzin nodded then put his palms together. “Namaste.
We will meet again.” He bowed and left the room.
After a short limo ride from the hotel to the airport, the
Gulfstream took off on time, and we were finally on our way to
Kathmandu. I was upset with Tenzin’s choice to stay behind. I
knew the rapidly aging young man had something to do with
Shambala. I had intended to talk with him, many questions
needed answers, but I got distracted by the whole Burma affair. I
felt that that once we were in Tibet, Tenzin would help with the
translations and open doors that would point in the direction of
Shambala--that was the reason why I agreed to bring him along.
After Mt. Kurama I had no doubt that the young man was
connected to fifth dimensional energy. But now he was gone. My
mind swirled in the confusion of so many unanswered questions.
Why would Tenzin decide not to continue on? How is he
connected to what I’m doing? In Shambala we could choose our
age. Is he from Shambala? He led us to the immortal master--did
they know each other from before? Are both of them from there,
and I just don’t recognize them? Why have I forgotten? I need to
remember . . . and now I can’t ask him. How am I going to
remember?
281
35
A raven observes-the morning worm remembers
nothing.
Saturday - the detectives arrive at Mt. Kurama, six days later:
Jimmy Meriweather always presented himself as the cool and
collected police captain, zen master and to those who knew,
Aikido sensei. He lived a structured life--one very early on set up
according to his well-thought-out logic. In spite of having a
dangerous job, or because of it, he did everything in his power to
avoid being in harm’s way, to raise above all fears, real or
imagined. In present time, even though he accepted an
investigation which would take him halfway around the world,
possibly to Tibet, he now faced a secret he refused to admit,
even to himself--his claustrophobic fear of flying. He had only
flown in an airplane once before; the fear began the moment he
boarded the plane for the disappointing trip to Atlanta to see his
estranged children, twenty years ago. He rode Amtrak back to
Portland. He considered it, but a two week ship cruise to Japan
was out of the question.
"
The Gulfstream G200 was a well-appointed luxury
business jet--the leather seats were spacious and comfortable-first class all the way. I loved the airplane and seriously wished I
owned it. While staring out the window in the early morning
hours I dreamed of being wealthy enough to fly all over the world
in my wonderful little jet, visiting a hundred different countries.
But as far as Jimmy was concerned it was a little box that
trapped him in the sky all the way to Hawaii. Every time the
282
plane bounced in an air pocket he was sure it was about to crash
into the Pacific Ocean. Neither one of us had talked to Jimmy on
our way across the Pacific, so we had no idea what as going on
in his mind. We thought his closed-eye solitude was zen
meditation; we never would have guessed fear of flying. After the
hour on his dojo mat, desperately trying to hit him with my stick, I
figured that Jimmy was one of the most fearless men I had ever
meet.
"
Nevertheless the man was stressed for five full hours.
After landing in Honolulu he led us around the terminal until he
found what he was looking for--a midnight Starbucks. He
proceeded to overdose on caffeine--which kept him buzzing and
on edge for the next seven hours, while Jane and I slept in the
fold-down seats. By the time the jet landed at Osaka’s Kansai
International Airport he was a splattered mess, doing his best to
conceal it.
"
Arriving at an international airport in a private jet was a
whole new experience for me. There were no guards, police,
security checks or officials stamping passports, no red tape; a
completely different protocol. Kansai was more often than not a
re-fueling stop for the Shambala planes. The airport usage taxes
were paid and the head of security received a nice yearly bonus
from one Robert St.Clair. Who got on or off the airplane was of
no consequence.
"
Jane had arrange for a shuttle to pick us up and take us to
the helipad for an hour flight to Mt. Kurama.
"
Jimmy objected. Although he hadn’t yet admitted to his
fear of flying, he was obviously stalling, as if there was no way
he wanted to get on another aircraft. First he insisted on a
ground toilet, where the plumbing was attached to the earth.
Then he wanted a cup of real coffee, specifically a venti vanilla
latte from Starbucks, which meant we had to repeat what we had
done in Honolulu; go into the terminal and find one.
"
Jimmy often used coffee as a means of avoidance. I was
quite familiar with his routine--either brewing his own while hiding
in his office or hanging out in Starbucks for long periods of time. I
too had become addicted to my morning coffee habit, especially
now with my double vanilla Bailey’s latte at The Bank, and before
283
that my venti Starbucks. I agreed with Jimmy that the transPacific in-flight brand was disgusting, so we went searching for a
Starbucks. Once there, as always, he took his time, ignoring
Jane’s suggestions that we move along.
"
Fortunately, both Jane and I had plenty of sleep on the
flight from Hawaii and were in good spirits. While we were
sipping our lattes we noted the close proximity of the train and
with Jimmy’s suggestion decided to take it to Kyoto, instead of
the helicopter. Jane joked about Jimmy being a scared-y-cat,
then instructed the limo driver to exchange money, buy tickets
and bring their luggage to the train, while we small talked over
our morning joe.
"
Although the train was extremely fast, Jane and I enjoyed
the passing scenery. Jimmy had returned to his normal self,
making up haiku’s, outwardly composed in his zen-being-self. By
now we figured out that he had a fear of flying, and decided he
would tell us about it sooner or later since there would be other
airplane trips in his near future.
"
Upon our arrival in Kyoto we hired a taxi for the eleven
mile drive to Mt. Kurama. By two o’clock in the afternoon-exactly
one week after Robert, Maggie, Howard and Sopi arrived at the
very same place--Jimmy, Jane and I entered the lobby of the
Ryokan Hirobun Hotel.
“Youkoso irasshai mashita, Jane-san,” the gentleman at the front
desk exclaimed as he rushed around the counter and greeted
Jane with a deep bow and then a less than formal hug. “Ogenki
desuka? Jane-san. Ahhh.”
"
“Watashi wa genki desu. Arigato, Kantarosan,” Jane
answered as she fell into his arms. She had answered ‘I am fine,
thank you’ in flawless Japanese. Jimmy understood the words
and translated for me, both of us waiting to be introduced. Jane
then moved back and asked, “Anatawa?”
"
“Genki desu.” The gentleman answered with a smile that
he was well, then offered, “Samishi katta desu.”
"
“I missed you a lot, too,” she switched over to English.
"
“We haven’t seen you in over a year, Jane-san. Robertsan was just here, you know . . . with his lovely friends. He tells
284
us you are still living at his house and doing fine. You’re part of
the family here. You know that? Aiko will be so happy to see you.
But so short a visit? Only one night? I’m sorry . . .” He stood in
front of Jimmy and then bowed. “My name is Kantaro, and I am
the proprietor of this humble inn.”
"
“Jimmy,” he answered with a bow back. “Jimmy
Meriweather. Onegai shimasu.”
"
“Ah so, you speak some Japanese?”
"
“Only a handful of words I learned in my Aikido training. I
understand much better than I speak.”
"
Kantaro immediately--and surprisingly--took a swing,
which Jimmy instinctively countered with a grab, bringing
Kantaro to his knees in a mock grimace of pain. They both
laughed, instantly feeling a friendship. “I am in your hands also,
Mr. Jimmy. And who is the lovely young lady?”
"
I bowed with a broad smile on my face, moved by the
unexpected greeting, feeling honored. “Taylor Banks, and I am in
your hands, kind sir.”
"
“Ah . . . anata wa totemo shinsetsu desu. Hajimemashite!”
"
“What?”
"
“He said that you are very kind and it is nice to meet you,”
Jane translated.
"
“Domo arigato,” I answered in thanks.
"
Kantaro personally led us, his special guests, to our
rooms; Jimmy to a single suite, Jane and I to Robert’s twobedroom apartment. After settling in we reconvened in the
restaurant for a late lunch, where Jane reunited with Kantao’s
wife Aiko and other staff members, all of whom chirped happily
with the Japanese-speaking Vietnamese woman. Jane’s
language fluency impressed both Jimmy and I, especially Jimmy,
who seemed to glow in her presence. Even though I couldn’t
understand a word, I was not in any way slighted by the
happiness-filled, sushi-abundant reunion. I was glad to see the
last remnants of Jimmy’s traveling grumpiness evaporating.
"
After stuffing ourselves with never-ending sushi, we retired
to our rooms for a short nap. Jimmy could have slept until the
next morning, and was well on his way if not for me. All he later
remembered was walking into his room, falling on the bed and
285
passing out. Since he didn’t lock the door, I walked in and started
shaking him awake. He barely opened one eye. “Go away,
Taylor. I’m asleep.”
"
“Come on, old man. The day is still young.” I looked at my
watch. “It’s not even four o’clock. We’re going to the mineral
spring baths. It’s what your body needs. Come on.” I grabbed an
arm and started pulling.
"
“OK . . . OK . . . I’m coming.” He stood up and then fell
back down. “I was really gone,” he mumbled. “I was in a dream,
a very familiar dream about Mt. Kurama. Like I had been here
before, but couldn’t remember when.” He then looked up at me.
“Well . . . are you going to help me up? Mineral hot springs?
Sounds good.” Once on his feet, Jimmy stared out into space. I
knew what was coming. “A raven observes.” He paused for
effect. “The morning worm remembers . . . nothing.”
"
As the three of us soaked in the spacious mineral hot
spring bath, Jimmy loudly ooh’d and ahh’d. Jane and I laughed
at his pleasure. A half-hour was all we could handle and as he
pulled himself out of the steamy hot water a young gal was there
to towel him off. It seemed a bit exotic erotic as he pleasantly
accepted it, but declined her offer of a full body massage. He
winked at Jane and said, “Tempting, but I’m hungry again. Let’s
go eat.”

After a light snack Jane invited us to explore the grounds and
suggested an easy trail up Mt. Kurama before dinner. She
wanted us to feel the energy of the sacred mountain and to get
some much needed exercise. She mentioned a traditional
meditation hut, which she thought Jimmy in particular would
appreciate.
"
The weather was partly cloudy--and although the signs of
evening were approaching, it seemed like the perfect time for a
leisurely stroll. The pine-needle strewn path cushioned a gentle
climb up the mountain, which was quite enjoyable. The greens of
the canopied foliage reminded me of my favorite jogging route
through the tall pines and surrounding dogwood flowers behind
286
Portland’s Rose Garden, something I did three or four times a
week. I had to force myself not to take off and sprint to the top of
the mountain--the urge was definitely there. Jane told me that
she often walked the quiet shaded mile from her Sandy River
home to Shambala headquarters--she appeared to be in good
shape. Jimmy maintained a three-day-a-week treadmill workout
and had no trouble keeping up with us. We all felt invigorated by
the mixture of thick humus and mountain air and before long we
came upon the ancient looking meditation hut, where we relaxed
on the inviting cushions.
Suddenly, like someone just flicked a switch, a hard rain-shower
came out of nowhere. We hadn’t even consider the possibility of
rain when we left the hotel, and now we were trapped within in
the confines of the open-sided structure. Jane looked at Jimmy
as if wanting an invitation to snuggle in his arms. I was loving the
moment--the pounding of rain on the tile roof and the wall of
water separating us from the darkening shadows of a Japanese
forest--was comforting and somewhat familiar. In no time I was
lost in pleasant thoughts of rainy Oregon days, surrendering to
the awesome timeless splendor before me.
"
As quickly as the rain came, there was a change in
energy. We all noticed it, felt it. It was as if the sun had peeked
through an all-gray sky, or the temperature drastically dropped-but that wasn’t what happened. Nothing happened, nothing
different was seen, and yet everything from that moment on was
not the same. It was if time decided to slow way down. Without
talking, we each sat up straight in expectant anticipation, even
though there was nothing to expect. We weren’t afraid, we were
alert and in wonder.
"
We didn’t notice his approach, even though we were
apparently looking in that direction. As if one with the rain, or
materializing from it, a young man walked through the curtain of
water and sat on a fourth cushioned mat two feet away, facing
us. His appearance was a most curious thing--it was as though
he was expected and the most natural next thing that was
supposed to happen. I was instantly mesmerized, and almost
started laughing, consciously containing my urge to express my
287
out-of-the-blue feelings of happiness. He was the most beautiful
man I had ever seen in my entire life. I only broke my gaze for a
split second, to look at Jimmy and Jane. Their eyes were as wide
open as humanly possible, as intrigued as I was.
"
His appearance out of nowhere was enough in itself to
wonder of the magic. His etherial beauty induced thoughts of
other heavenly realms. But what startled us most of all was that
he was as dry as can be, as if he had walked in, out of a hot
sunny day. The buckets of rain were still falling as hard as ever.
"
Staring at him, I noticed my thoughts. Though he was
more androgynous looking than me, we both had a handsome
beauty which both men and women are, in my experience, wildly
attracted to. Then I realized that those thoughts quickly faded,
with no new thoughts taking their place--as if I was losing my
ability to sustain coherent thinking. The following moments
seemed to disappear, as if the here and there and now and then
time no longer mattered. Unlike my lucid in-the-void dream of
action and adventure in Japan and the Himalayas, I had no
visions--only sensations. My body began buzzing, as if becoming
electric; I could almost feel every cell begin to vibrate, shiver and
shake. I hadn’t moved an inch, and yet a non-tactile exchange,
from this young man to me, was happening; something which I
had never before experienced; something that I was unprepared
for and welcomed without question. As this invisible wave of
energy increased inside me, it radiated out until the inside of the
mountain hut lit up, or so I imagined, until it was illuminated in a
near-blinding light. Almost instantly the whole world of my being
was permeated in light, and I wanted to whimper, scream, cry,
say something, do something, anything, but I couldn’t. I felt as
though I was the light--my electric me exaggerating the shivers
and shakes, which now turned into a full-body orgasm, one much
different than any human experience I had ever had. I was out of
control; out of my mind and there was nothing I could do but ride
the waves, with pleasure. I simply closed my eyes and
surrendered to a knowing ahhh of what I later realized was pure
light consciousness.
"
This bliss seemed to go forever until it was broken by a
sound. “Namaste,” the beautiful man finally spoke with a sweet,
288
yet powerful, voice. I wanted to lose myself in his voice, but felt a
change in energy.
"
As the waves subsided, I slowly opened my eyes and
looked at him. I now realized that the light that had illuminated
the hut emanated from him; he was the light source, and he had
shared his body electric with me. Now, like he had turned down
the dimmer switch, it was soft and inviting; contained within. He
smiled a knowing smile, and as our eyes met another orgasmic
wave rushed through me, which I was now able to contain. I
stole a glance at my friends and realized that Jimmy and Jane’s
attention was equally riveted--both obviously having experienced
the electric rushes of bliss. Returning to the beautiful man, I
wanted to respond to his greeting, to namaste back, but no
words could form in a mind that was paused--lost in the timeless
here and now; in the consciousness of oneness.
"
In what seemed like slow motion, the man put the palms
of his hands together as in prayer, thumbs touching his heart.
Then suddenly, he threw his arms out toward us, palms pointing
with a spray of intense life force energy. We bolted back and
almost fell over, but somehow remained seated. A new and
different wave of bliss engulfed us.
"
Now, as if being lifted up into the clouds, to somewhere
that was nowhere in space and time, I totally disconnected from
my body. I expanded into this bliss, which moved around me and
through me. In fact, I became the bliss. Without identifying with
the thought, I knew that this no-feeling feeling was communal,
universal and not individual; there was no separation between
my body and consciousness and that of all people, places and
things; the consciousness of all that is. I was totally immersed in
oneness and love. It wasn’t a dream I was having; a dream is
attached to thought. I was out of my body and out of my mind,
infused with the only thing that had ever been and will always be
true--love. I was drowned in love.
"
This forever moment went on and on until it was
shattered by the sound of hands clapping. In reality the clap
wasn’t loud, but to me it was as if someone had grabbed me
from out of the void and threw me back to earth. All of a sudden
my mind had thoughts and my body woke up--my throat opened
289
and I couldn’t help but let out a sound, “Auuhhh.” I felt as though
I had been holding my breath forever and had been slapped
back into a foreign alive reality. I sucked in a huge lung of air as I
looked over at Jane and Jimmy. They were having similar
reactions as we adjusted back into our physical bodies, and the
consciousness of just having experienced true bliss in the not-adream reality of universal love. We each instinctively closed our
eyes, drifted into om and only opened them when, as if of one
mind, wanting to make sure the young man was really there.
"
He was still there, in front of us with the same serene
smile.
"
I finally couldn’t help myself as I cleared my throat and
uttered, “Who are you?”
"
“I am Arjuna.” He bowed slightly.
"
“Arjuna?” Jimmy hardly whispered, remembering the
name of the prince in the Bhagavad Gita.
"
“Indeed.” The smile increased.
"
“I mean, who are you?” I asked again, wanting a
different answer to the same question.
"
“I am a very old friend of your father.”
"
“My father!” That definitely wasn’t the answer I expected.
My now grounded mind began racing. This beautiful man, who
appeared from who knows where, and my macho Army father,
were as different as night and day. There was no way, as far as I
could stretch the never-ever-could-be possibilities, that the two
would have met in this lifetime. It was utterly impossible. My
mind had flipped from peace and love into complete confusion.
"
“Do not worry your mind, Taylor. You will be with him
soon.”
"
All three of our mouths opened in shock. How would he
know my name and what else did he know about us? I was too
stunned to speak as the man turned his attention to Jimmy,
locking eyes.
"
“And you, sensei.” Jimmy, who never cried, felt the tears
forming as the young man put his hands on his knees and
slightly bowed. “Onegaishimasu.” Tears began rolling down
Jimmy’s cheeks as the young man said, “You will soon be
reunited with your master.”
290
"
Jane looked at the shocked expression on Jimmy and
my faces, then felt the gaze of the young man turn to her. He
was smiling as their eyes met.
"
“Do not worry, Jane. Your mother is safe. Your protector
is taking her home. It is all good.” Tears were now streaming
down her face. “I am helping him, her and the others . . . as we
speak.”
"
“My protector?” Jane mutter. “Taking her home? What
home? How could you be helping them? You’re here, not there.
How do we find them?”
"
The man grinned and put his palms together once more,
then said in no more than a whisper, “Follow your heart. Love
one another and know, always and forever, that you are
blessed.” "
Jane wiped her tears and glanced over at Jimmy. My
attention went there as their eyes met. This happened in a split
second, and when we looked back the beautiful young man was
no longer there.
"
“Where did he go?” Jane said out loud. “He didn’t
answer my questions?”
"
“He knows my father?” I mumbled in shock, having
absolutely no idea why he would say such a thing. “There’s no
way.”
"
“I have no idea what he was talking about.” Jimmy was
obviously perplexed. “Was he referring to the same person?”
We sat under the ancient canopy until the rain stopped, silently
lost in what looked like meditation. We had each experienced
unparalleled bliss and agreed that we didn’t want to lose that
feeling to a bunch of puzzling questions. The mystery man posed
the questions for the answers to be found, and my detective self
would have been more concerned if I wasn’t so lost in the
lingering bliss. The sky was dark when we finally left the hut and
followed the trail down the mountain as if we had walked it a
hundred times. It all seemed too surreal to have been real, and
yet we had been the witness to each other. There was much to
discuss at another time.
291

Instead of going to our rooms, we went to dinner at the
appointed time, though none of us were hungry--we just wanted
to stay together. We sipped the tea which came without asking
and sat in silence for maybe ten minutes. My mind was mulling
over the impossible experience, one that seemed either too
sacred or too unbelievable for my sensible words to decipher.
Finally Jane broke the ice.
"
“OK. We need to talk about this.” She studied Jimmy
across from her, and then me to her right. “How about we skip
dinner and go somewhere more private?” We agreed and left the
restaurant.
"
Once in the living room of Robert’s suite Jane started in,
“The three of us have just witnessed the most perplexing
mystery of our lives. You two are detectives. It’s your job to figure
things out. What just happened?”
"
“You mean the bliss or who he was . . . the mystery he
posed . . . how he left?” Jimmy answered with more questions.
“Where do you want to start?”
"
“Anywhere,” she answered. “There’s no doubt he was
real . . . we all saw him, felt the bliss . . . saw how he glowed, felt
his energy. As a scientist I have no idea how to explain what
happened. It was way beyond my concept of normal human
behavior.” She paused and we waited. “How did he know our
names?” she continued and then paused again. “How could he
know my mother . . . that I have been worried about her? And he
said he was with her at that moment . . . the same moment he
was with us. Not possible, at least not in my realm of understand.
Where did he come from, coming in out of the rain and not be
wet? Honestly . . . I don’t know if my brain has a place for all
this.” Jane was almost rambling, which wasn’t like her at all. “He
has to be one of those realized beings I’ve heard about . . .
maybe an immortal. I mean, he just disappeared. Can you
believe that?”
"
“And?” Jimmy asked, beginning to fall in love with this
woman.
"
“And . . . if he is an immortal master, you know . . .”
292
"
“An all-knowing sort of guy,” I interrupted, hardly
containing my own excitement.
"
“Yes . . . this is out of my range of expertise,” Jane
continued, “but let’s just say he can totally tap into . . .” Her mind
excited with new concepts, she took a deep breath before
continuing, “this place of all-knowing then . . . he would know
were we would be . . . there at that hut at that particular time . . .
he would know our names, everything about us, and them . . .
the ones we’re looking for. I just don’t get how this is humanly
possible. I really don’t. How could a normal twenty something
guy off the street know everything about everything, things that
only we know? How could this possibly be?” Jane was
experiencing and expressing a blown scientific mind. Jimmy and
I knew it was best to listen and let her come to her own
conclusions. I was in total sympathy, since all of this was also
very new to me. If I hadn’t traveled into the void and seen
Shambala with my own eyes, had my mind opened with Jimmy’s
patient guidance or experienced the total bliss transferred from
the young master, I would be the one with all the excited
questions, not Jane. She had more to says, “I have to think that
an immortal master would never tell a lie. That’s what’s so
confusing to me. I just can’t imagine this amazing being
appearing out of nowhere, only to hand us a pile of bullshit. What
would be the point of that?”
"
“What do you think the point is?” Jimmy kindly asked her.
"
“I don’t know,” she spoke louder with a confused
questioning. “He wants us to find them? But why? I mean
really . . . why would he care? You’re a couple of . . . no offense,
random police detectives wanting to solve a case, and I’m a bit
of a recluse woman looking for my mother. Who would care
about us? Sorry . . . I can’t help being pragmatic . . . in relative
importance, who are we in the scheme of things? We find them
or don’t find them . . . why would that concern an immortal
master? Why would he send us into bliss and then tell us things
that don’t make sense? I don’t get it.”
"
“Maybe it’s not about getting it,” Jimmy offered. “Maybe it’s
about being in the flow of what is.” He stopped to consider the
words of the haiku forming in his mind. “The butterfly inhales. All
293
cells responds, in pleasure.” He winked at her and then asked,
“Who do you think he was talking about when he referred to your
protector?”
"
“It had to be Robert.”
"
I had to put my two cents into the conversation. “That
makes the most sense, but why would he be taking your mother
home? They aren’t going back to Happy Acres. I have to think
that home means the Shambala I saw in my vision. He also said
they . . . the young master and Robert? . . . were preparing the
way . . . For us to follow?”
"
“I don’t know,” Jane answered. “It’s overwhelming. What
about you Jimmy? It sounded like he is setting it up for you to be
reunited with your master. What do you think that means?”
"
“That’s what’s so strange. I’ve never had a master. I don’t
believe in following gurus or masters. I’m a sensei, some say an
Aikido master, but I’m also a student. Even in police work I never
liked the hierarchy. I know there has to be a chain of command,
but solving a case only works as a team, with everyone as
important as everyone else.”
"
“That’s the Shambala philosophy,” Jane interrupted. “Go
on.”
"
“I just don’t like the whole follower concept. All of us in a
physical body are here to learn something. We’re all students
and the encounters with enlightened beings, like we had today,
only illustrates how little we know. I’m always reminding students
how important it is to remain humble. There are exceptions . . .
like that young man . . . who are in a whole different league . . .
the league of our potential, I imagine.”
"
“You think we could be like him?” I asked.
"
“Absolutely,” Jimmy answered. “But don’t ask me how. But
back to my point . . . I can’t imagine him thinking of himself as a
master, or telling people that he’s a master, or having followers. I
think he’s beyond all that. Do you know what I mean?”
"
“That you really are striving to be like him, even though
you wouldn’t be a follower,” Jane answered.
"
“That’s right. A true master wouldn’t agree with the master
follower concept. I never have. And you’re right, Jane. An
immortal master would never tell a lie. I have to believe him . . .
294
and at the same time he said something that couldn’t possibly be
true.”
"
“Are you sure?” Jane questioned.
"
“What do you mean am I sure? I just explained. Sure I’m
sure.”
"
“One hundred percent positive? We may be talking about
someone you followed before this belief of yours. Maybe fifty
years ago.”
"
“I didn’t have a guru when I was fourteen.”
"
“You need to be a better detective than that,” Jane said
with a loving smile. “Now what about you, Taylor? Could Robert
St. Clair be your father?”
"
“What?! You have got to be kidding. No way. I’m almost
thirty years-old. Robert is eighty. My parents have been together
for thirty years, nine months before I was born. I’m my father’s
first-born child.”
"
“Yes, I’m sure you are,” Jane answered like a polished
prosecuting attorney, “but are you positive that that man is your
biological father?”
"
“It’s never crossed my mind,” I answered with some
emotion, though attempting to match Jane’s professional
questioning. “My father’s been there all my life. He’s my father,
no matter what. Anyway, my mother is fifty-years-old. Robert is
eighty. That would make her twenty when he was fifty. Come
on . . . the head of a major corporation and a twenty-year-old girl.
I don’t think so. When I was twenty I never would have chosen to
be with a fifty-year-old man.”
"
“Wouldn’t you? How about George Clooney or Johnny
Depp?” Jane pressed.
"
“Well . . . I’m sure there are exceptions.”
"
“You don’t think there’re a whole lot of twenty-year-old
women, maybe millions of them, who are attracted to any
number of handsome middle-aged multi-millionaires? Looking at
you, I bet your mother was quite beautiful back then.”
"
“OK, I get it,” I answered. “But what’s impossible is the
coincidence. I know you say there’s no such thing, Jimmy, but
come on. Like you were saying Jane, we’re just two Portland
detectives who showed up on what we thought was a stupid
295
case, one that wouldn’t take any time to solve. I didn’t even know
Happy Acres existed until last week. I bought some Shambala
Foods now and then, but had no idea who Robert St. Clair was.
Why would I? I don’t care who owns the sushi shop I go to three
times a week. And now, somehow out of the blue I’m supposed
to be the long lost daughter of the billionaire who quote unquote
abducted his best friends and is taking them to some mythical
land? And we know all this . . . because some beautiful dude
who appeared out of nowhere told us so? This is nuts . . . and
yes, my mother was very beautiful when she was twenty.”
"
“You’re right, Taylor,” Jimmy broke in, “it is nuts. But you
have to admit . . . all the things that happened in that hut were
true for us, you can’t start discounting what happened. We can’t
logically figure it out, but let’s try not to go there. OK?”
"
“OK,” I surrendered, feeling a shiver up my spine.
"
“So what do we have here?” Jimmy sounded like his old
detective self, talking to his protegee, me, like I always wanted
him to. “Last week you were spending your days playing
computer solitaire and I was dreaming about my retirement,
running my dojo. In your wildest imagination did you think we’d
be in Japan a week later? No way. Would you have ever
imagined that we’d climb up into some sacred mountain to meet
an immortal master? humm. It’s all real . . . I couldn’t make this
up . . . we can all agree. I couldn’t even imagine or make up you
being in my life, Jane.”
"
“You’re right, Jimmy,” Jane smiled with the compliment.
“This is far from normal. Something very strange is
happening . . . and we just can’t discount what the young Master
said, without deeper investigation . . . starting with you, Taylor.
Do you want to know who your real father is?”
"
“I know who my real father is,” I answered, feeling that old
defensiveness rising. “You want me to prove it? What do you
want me to do, call my mother?” I was curt, no longer liking this
part of me.
"
“Yes. I do,” Jane replied, handing me her cell phone. “Call
her.”
"
“You’re kidding?”
"
“No, I’m not. Call her right now. Go ahead. And put it on
296
speaker.”
"
I looked over at Jimmy, who shrugged and nodded. I
flashed back to Miyamoto Mushashi being ambushed by two
swordsmen. Would he run away or face the challenge? I dialed
the number and put it on speaker phone. “Mother?”
"
“Oh, hello Taylor. I was just thinking about you. How are
you, dear?”
"
“I’m doing fine. Listen Mom, I don’t have much time on this
call . . .”
"
“You never have time for your mother,” she interrupted. “I
can’t remember the last time you came for supper. What was it,
five months ago? After you graduated from your police academy
thing.”
"
“Mother, please . . . I don’t want to get into it now. I have a
really important question to ask, and I want you to tell me the
truth.”
"
“Taylor, that’s not nice. I always tell you the truth. When
have I ever lied to you?”
"
“I don’t know . . . maybe not consciously. Mother . . . tell
me the truth. Is daddy my real biological father?” There was a
long silence. “Mom? Are you still there?”
"
“I’m sorry, Taylor. I can’t answer that. You’ll have to ask
your father and you know what he’ll say.”
"
“I know. Mother, you’re the only one who has the answer.
Just tell me . . . is he or not?”
"
“It’s late, dear. I’m tired . . . asking me such a question is
very disturbing. Let’s have lunch soon . . . but no more silly
questions. I have to go. Good night.”
"
I sat back and crossed my arms, then looked up at the
ceiling. “Oh my God! She dodged the question, she couldn’t say
no. How will I ever really know . . . except with a DNA test.”
"
“We’re just going to have to find him,” Jimmy said.
“There’s no getting around it.”
"
Jane wasn’t through with me. “Tell me more about your
mother. What’s she like, where does she come from, what does
she do . . . things like that.”
"
“I was never close with my mother . . . Veronica . . .
everyone calls her Ronnie. Looks and image are more important
297
to her than anything. My grandfather on her side is African
American and my grandmother is full-blooded American Indian.
The blend made her very classy looking, sort of a mix of
Vanessa Williams and Eva Mendez, but she’s not all that
intelligent. I guess you call women like her trophy wives. She and
my father look good together. He’s the strong and powerful one,
and she’s submissive, always saying things like, ‘Whatever you’d
like, dear.’ She’d rather be shopping at Nordstrom than cooking
dinner. My father is very domineering, so she found her role as
the obedient wife and plays it well. I can’t say she was a good
mother. She often ignored me, and that’s been our problem since
I was a little girl . . . she acting like she didn’t want to raise a girl.
She liked my brothers more and I could never understand why.”
"
“How about college and work?”
"
“My mother never went to college. I don’t know what she
did before she married my father. I think she worked in an office.
She told me that she was a massage therapist for a little while. I
know he graduated from Reed College in Portland and had just
accepted his Army commission when they met . . .”
"
“Do you think there’s a possibility she worked for
Shambala Foods before your parents met?” Jimmy broke into
the conversation.
"
I leaned toward the table and put my head in my palms,
then looked up. “I’m a detective . . . and a behavioral scientist . . .
I have to look at this from an unemotional perspective, I know . . .
but we’re talking about the possibility of a huge cover-up that has
to do with me, and the father whom I adored while growing up.
You’re asking me to find out if my father isn’t really my father. So,
if it’s true, then my parents have been harboring a lie for thirty
years. It isn’t easy to sit here and not be effected.” I paused, took
a deep breath, then continued, “My parents always joked about
having a shotgun wedding. It all happened really quickly. They
met, he got his commission, and they married days before my
father was sent to Washington to work at the Pentagon. I was
born in Alexandria, Virginia. We were there three years, then
Germany for another three years . . . then Ft. Benning, Georgia,
then back to the Pentagon . . . then Ft. Lewis in Washington. We
finally got back to Portland when I was a sophomore in high
298
school.”
"
“We keep records,” Jane mused, adding things up in her
mind. “I can find out if your mother ever worked for Shambala
Foods. I just have to make a call.”
"
“And what if we find out she did?”
"
“Then we . . . you, Taylor, have a tough question to ask
this Robert St. Clair when the two of you meet,” Jimmy offered.
"
“We need to find him,” I said in confident conclusion. “I
have to solve this mystery.”
After dinner we returned to our suites. Jimmy was glad he had
his own room, alone to contemplate the strange afternoon
encounter. A pragmatic investigator and master detective, he
also used intuition as one of his tools. But the intuition always
had to make sense, had to fit into his parameter of logic. His
intuitive knowing could be over-ridden with solid evidence, but
not today. He knew that this young man was an evolved human,
was most likely an Immortal Master, and if so, Jimmy couldn’t
logically dismiss what he saw and what was said, even though
he didn’t understand it.
"
He was relieved that Jane hadn’t interrogated him the way
she’d done with Taylor. He didn’t have any answers. He’d never
had a guru, and his favorite spiritual book, Many Gods, One
Heart, lovingly encouraged readers to not have a guru, to be
your own guru. The book told him to listen to his own inner voice,
and act accordingly. In Jimmy’s mind, following the teachings of
a guru or any spiritual teacher, including Jesus or Buddha, had
little to do with finding one’s own inner truth. He only needed to
read one spiritual book to understand the personal commitment
required to expand his own self-love, inner knowing and personal
power. This commitment led to his five Aikido black belts and his
rise to the position of lead Detective Captain of the Portland
Police Bureau.
"
It was nine p.m. and dark out. Cicada chatter added to the
feeling of timelessness that surrounded the hillside hotel. The
summer air was warm and still, Jimmy’s mind was active and
would keep him awake all night. His detective logic told him the
answer to the guru puzzle was right in front of his eyes. He knew
299
he had to go the meditation hut and hope the master would
appear--he had to go now.
300
36
To illuminate,
The lantern invites the night-to wake up.
Saturday morning, Mt. Kurama:
Jane and Taylor couldn’t help but notice Jimmy’s eyes. They
were puffy, as if he hadn’t slept--a faraway dreamy look
separated him from present time as we sat in the restaurant
waiting for our breakfast.
"
“OK Jimmy,” Jane waved her hand in front of his eyes.
“What’s going on? Did you spend the night with a geisha, or
what?”
"
“A geisha?” Jimmy laughed. “What kind of guy do you
think I am? Anyway, I don’t think geisha was on the room service
menu.”
"
“So what, then?” I jumped in. “Something happened last
night. We know your body was exhausted from not sleeping on
the plane. You look like you haven’t slept a wink. Are you gonna
tell us, or what?”
"
“Did you figure out who your guru is?” Jane added before
he could answer.
"
“Actually I did,” he answered to our surprise.
"
“You did?” we said simultaneously. “How?” Jane asked.
“Who?”
"
Jimmy studied me and then Jane, realizing that we were
quickly becoming his best friends. We had both given up our
safe and secure lives--it didn’t matter for how long--and traveled
to Japan with him only because it was the right thing to do. Who
301
else did he know who would have done that? Jimmy the
detective had always been interested in the case, and those who
worked with him were interested in the case, but not each other.
How long had it been, prior to Jane, before any woman, or
anyone for that matter, was interested in his deeper feelings?
While displaying competence and control, by achieving an
honorable level of success in his career, and choosing to live
alone, friends and co-workers saw in him a stone fortress with a
psychological and emotional “not welcome” sign. Although his
aloofness was self-created and sustained, Jimmy really wanted
people to care about him, and finally these two women did. He
felt movement in his heart and in the corners of his eyes. “You’re
right. I couldn’t sleep last night,” he finally said.
"
“And?” I made hand gestures for him to continue.
"
“I needed to find out what this guru thing was all about.
I’ve been anti-guru my whole life, and I just couldn’t leave Japan
without knowing what he meant.”
"
“So I went back up the mountain.”
"
“You went up the mountain alone last night?” Jane said in
surprise.
"
“I’m not afraid of the dark, you know. I’m a big boy . . . and
I had a lantern.” He paused--I knew what was coming, saw how
his eyes searched for it. “Alone in confusion. A lantern transforms
the night. Illuminating. No, that’s not it . . . to illuminate, the
lantern invites the night . . . to wake up.”
"
“Let’s see,” I thought about his haiku, “the young master is
the lantern inviting you, the night, to wake up. So you had to
wake up and go see him. Makes sense. You weren’t afraid of the
tengu?” I blurted out, unsure why.
"
“Tengu?” Jimmy couldn’t help but laugh. “On the wall in my
room there’s an old silk painting of this long-nosed tengu with a
staff, ready to whack someone over the head. Do you have any
idea how many hours I‘ve spent mastering the bokken?” In the
pause I remembered how easily he avoided all my swings. “I
could probably dodge his staff all night long . . . but I would just
put someone like that down, and continue on. No . . . I wanted to
get back to that hut . . .”
"
“And you thought the young master would be there waiting
302
for you,” Jane completed his sentence with excitement. “Why
didn’t you come get us? How could you even imagine that he
would show up in the middle of the night?”
"
“Why did he show up in the middle of the afternoon?”
Jimmy answered with the unanswerable question. “Masters don’t
sleep, at least as far as I know they don’t . . . and they read
minds . . . and they are only here to serve . . .” He hesitated for a
few seconds. “And one time when the cicadas stopped their
chatter . . . OK . . . I’m not crazy . . . but I thought I heard him call
my name.”
"
“How could anything be more crazy than what happened
there yesterday,” I offered. “Can you imagine what the Chief
would say if either you or I told that story?” I laughed at the
vision. “I think you’re pretty safe here, boss. You’re not going to
blow our minds any more than they’ve already been blown.”
"
“It’s true, Jimmy,” Jane said while reaching over to hold his
hand. He didn’t resist. “Taylor and I also couldn’t sleep and had a
long conversation into the wee hours. My seventy-six-year-old
mother, who is in no physical condition to be traveling to the
Himalayas, could be dying as we speak. The protector reference
convinced me that we need to find Robert and my mother . . .
there’s no question about that. Taylor’s whole world is now
shaken, wondering if Robert really is her biological father. If that
is true, then the on-going implications are staggering. One step
at a time . . . I’m still dealing with how an immortal master
appears out of nowhere, send us all into some sort of super state
of bliss, and disappears right in front of our eyes. It shattered my
perception of reality. I’m a scientist. People don’t just appear and
disappear--they just don’t. You can’t think another person into
orgasmic bliss. It’s impossible.” She took my hand too. “We’re all
in this together. I can’t be doubting either one of you after what I
experienced . . . and I don’t want you to leave me out Jimmy . . .
I really wish you would have come and gotten me.”
"
“Well . . .” Jimmy lovingly squeezed Jane’s hand, and then
nodded to both of us, expressing his gratitude with a closedmouth smile, and then a deep breath. “I had to do this alone.”
Letting half a minute go by, pondering a lifetime of not being able
to communicate this openly, he continued, “I had no trouble
303
making it up the mountain, in fact it was a great walk . . . every
step was like moving into a past-life dream . . . like I had taken
this walk a hundred times before. I was in a walking meditation,
and all the while I called to the master in my mind, for him to
meet me at the hut.”
"
Jane and I were on the edge of our seats. The food server
came to the table and set down a carafe of hot sake and three
bowls of rice. I politely shooed her away. “And?”
"
“When I got to the hut I found two candles. I lit them and
set them in front of me, turned off the lantern, and then sat on a
cushion and waited.” Jimmy looked at the ceiling for several
seconds before continuing. “Then he appeared, silently out of the
dark, and sat on the other side of the candles.”
"
“You’re kidding?” I exclaimed too loud, then settled down.
“I mean, I know you’re not kidding. What happened next?”
"
“We stared at each other for the longest time. I didn’t dare
look away. I was waiting for him to speak first. Finally he said,
‘You listen well, my tenno.”
"
“My tenno?” Jane scanned her mind for the meaning of
the word.
"
“I didn’t have a clue what that word meant,” Jimmy
continued, shaking his head. “Then he said, ‘You have done well.
A master of the arts and a leader of men, are you not?’ This was
all too confusing. Master of arts? Martial arts? I guess with six
black belts . . . a police captain and sensei--leader of men? I am
that. Done well? How could he know? Could he be all knowing?
My mind was racing. It was so much, so fast. I’m a detective
trying to figure this out, so I answered, ‘Yes, I am a leader. How
do you know this? What lifetime are you referring to?
"
“‘Many,’ he answered. ‘Only one pertains to why you are
here. As the tenno, you came here weekly for misogi harai.’ I told
him that I understood misogi and had done the Shinto water
purification ritual many times in this lifetime, even in winter in the
icy Willamette River. He patiently listened and then said, ‘The life
I am referring to was during the life of a grand master Shinto
priest who lived on this mountain. He was a holy man who did
misogi harai every single day of his life, mostly under a waterfall
not far from where we are sitting. He was your teacher.’
304
"
“I knew he was setting me up for the punch line, and I
couldn’t wait. So I asked, ‘What does this have to do with my
guru?’
"
“He just stared at me, like I should already know the
answer, but I didn’t. Finally he said, ‘Your master teacher in that
lifetime and this, are one and the same.’ I couldn’t think of what
he could mean, so I guessed, ‘You? One of my Aikido sensei?
Morihei Ueshiba?’”
"
Jane and I were so enraptured by the story we appeared
to be not breathing. Jane let go of Jimmy’s hand and put both
palms up, getting her friend’s attention, before reaching for the
sake. “This is so rich. I just want to take a moment to honor this
moment with a toast.” She poured sake and we raised our cups.
“Kampai!” We downed the now-warm hot sake at the same time.
“Go on,” she said with a loving smile.
"
“The immortal master . . . I have to say that by this time I
had no doubt . . . smiled for the first time, and then he closed his
eyes. I took this as a hint, so I also closed mine, since I figured
he would be wanting to send some thought, maybe pictures, to
my mind. I was anticipating the vision of a recognizable face, but
all I could see was the cover of Many Gods, One Heart, the book
that influenced my anti-guru philosophy. That book was written
by a man named Chokyal Da Rinpoche back in the sixties. I
knew for sure that he wasn’t my guru, and at the same time my
mind was filled with the name Robert St. Clair. I tried to get his
name out of my mind, so I could see or hear the right name, or
whatever he intended for me to see and hear.”
"
“Do you think they are somehow related?” I innocently
asked.
"
“That seemed impossible, but then my mind wandered to
back when I was eighteen, living in New York City.”
"
“I never knew you were from New York,” I interrupted
again.
"
Jimmy thought for a long time. I didn’t expect the haiku.
“Black man city. A child in danger. Nowhere to go.” It was a
distraction to hide his welling emotions. “I came from Harlem. My
father was in prison and my mother was a drunk. It was
something I tried to erase from my consciousness. I ran away
305
from home when I was eighteen . . .” Jimmy stopped talking.
Tears were collecting in the corners of his eyes. Jane reached
over and held his hand again. I could hardly believe that this was
the same man who had shut me out of his life for the last four
months. “It was 1967 and I had a part-time job as a theater
stagehand. The Apollo Theater. One night I watched from the
wings, the lecture of this guru, the same Chogyal Da Rinpoche I
mentioned, the author of the book. As I listened to his talk I was
blown away by what he was saying . . . it was actually the first
time I was inspired with some hope for my miserable life . . . so
after his talk I slipped into his dressing room.”
"
“He let you in?” I asked, thinking I would have done the
same.
"
“Actually I was surprised the door was open, and more
surprised with what he wanted.”
"
“This guru wanted something from you?” Jane asked.
"
“He wanted to run away. He told me that he was done with
that life, that everyone wanted him to be a guru when he was
teaching them to be their own guru. That night proved to him that
he would forever have devotee’s who wanted him to be
something he didn’t want to be.”
"
“What did he want to be?” Jane questioned.
"
“He wanted to be an ordinary man. He wanted to find his
parents, and he thought they might be in Oregon. He had no
American clothes or money, so he asked me to help him
escape . . . the next morning.”
"
“The next morning?” we said at the same time. “You just
up and ran away with a guru?” I asked, impressed, though the
story was a bit surreal.
"
“We took a bus to Philadelphia at six the next morning,
and then hitchhiked across the U.S. to Portland. Once there we
said goodbye. That was it. He gave me a copy of his book and I
never saw or heard from him again. A couple years later I joined
the police department, and here we are.
"
“When I opened my eyes . . . back in front of the immortal
master, his eyes were glued to mine. All he said was, ‘Robert.’”
"
“Robert St. Clair?” Jane asked me, and then we both
stared at Jimmy with eyes wide open.
306
"
“Robert St. Clair was my guru.” Jimmy broke down in
tears. His crying moved me deeply and I joined in to my surprise,
since I hardly ever cried. While the three of us were choking up,
Jane poured three more cups of sake, which we all downed in
the midst of tears.
"
“My father is your guru,” I finally said through my tears,
attempting to bring some levity to the heavy revelations. “I
imagine at this point the immortal master disappeared.”
"
“Actually, he didn’t. He said it was time for me to find my
teacher, and then he bowed to me saying, ‘We will meet again,
tenno.’”
"
“Do you know what tenno means?” I asked Jane.
"
“It means ‘heavenly sovereign,’” Jane answered, looking
at one Jimmy Meriweather from an entirely different perspective.
“It is the name that was given only to the Emperor of Japan.”
307
37
The teacher sighed.
His passion to consider
Ignited Saturday--Hong Kong:
“Emperor of Japan? Me?” Jimmy remarked as he gobbled some
sushi rolls, which had quietly appeared during his story. “I’m
supposed to believe that the Emperor of Japan is reborn as a
black ghetto kid from Harlem who becomes a Oregon police
detective? Pretty hard to swallow.”
"
“Come on Jimmy, look at your bureau office,” I
responded. “The four hundred year old samurai sword and that
elegant kimono . . . not to mention your dojo, the bonsai gardens
and koi fish . . . and your totally Japanese home . . . Not too hard
for me to swallow . . . just don’t expect me to be kissing your
toes, your highness.”
"
“Where’re we going next, Jane?” Jimmy ignored my
comments, obviously exhausted from two nights with little sleep.
“I imagine a refueling stopover before we get to Kathmandu.”
"
“We’ll stop in Saigon . . . for at least one night,” she
replied.
"
“Why there?” I asked, pulling out my map of southeast
Asia. “Saigon is way down here, out of the way. Wouldn’t it make
more sense to refuel in Hong Kong or better yet, Hanoi?”
"
“I told you the story about my father. I want to do a more
thorough check of public records. I need to find him.”
"
“Not now,” Jimmy interrupted. “We can do it on the way
back, but not now.” 308
"
“There are some mysteries one never stops trying to
solve, “ Jane sighed. “My father disappeared when I was ten . . .
he was such a big influence in my life . . . why I became a
scientist. He was there one day and the next he was gone. We
had to leave Vietnam not knowing what happened to him. I’ve
looked for him for years, wondering if he’s still alive. I keep
getting closer . . .”
"
“I’ll help you find him . . . on our way back . . . Ever since
I was almost drafted in the sixties I’ve thought about going to
Vietnam. I'd love to go there with you,” Jimmy added with
sincerity.
"
“Maybe we can solve my father mystery first,” I offered
with a little chuckle, then looked at my watch. “We’d better go.
Don’t want to keep our pilots waiting. Won’t they need to submit
a new flight plan if we’re not going to Saigon?”
"
“You’re right, I’d better call,” Jane said, picking up her
phone. “But where?”
"
“I vote for a layover in Hong Kong. I heard it was a great
place to shop. I need to get a better camera and a few more
things for the higher altitude. More woman stuff . . . you never
know . . . I might meet Mr. Right in the Himalayas.” I was feeling
good.
"
““I can see it now. Taylor falls in love with a toothless old
sherpa,” Jimmy joked. "
"
“I was thinking more along the lines of a big old hairy
yeti . . . with good teeth. You know . . . a real man's man.”
"
“OK, you two,” Jane said with a laugh. “Let’s go. I know
Hong Kong . . . one of my favorite cities. I’ll make the call on the
way to the heliport.”
"
Jane checked out of the hotel with no fanfare. The
owners loved her, but except for the brief greeting the day
before, we had kept to ourselves. The owners and staff adjusted
to our privacy and worked behind the scenes in quiet service.
While Jane did the customary bows, Jimmy and I waved
goodbye and quietly slipped into the waiting taxi for the short ride
to the heliport. Jimmy wanted to take the train, but decided to
309
face his fear--and to his surprise actually enjoyed the flight to the
Kansai Airport.
*
We arrived in Hong Kong at four in the afternoon. Instead of
booking rooms in an expensive downtown hotel, Jane decided
we’d spend the night in one of the two Shambala apartments in
Kowloon. The modest three-bedroom units were called “Pilots”
and “Tribe” and were located on a side street near the bustling
shops and restaurants. After choosing our rooms, Jimmy took off
alone to roam the Nathan Road back alleys. It wasn’t long before
he found a funky police hang-out bar, where he enjoyed a couple
of beers with an older Chinese detective. Jane and I went
shopping. I bought a camera and some mountain thermal
underwear and we had our faces made up at a Hollywood-style
glamour salon. Jane had given us international roaming cell
phones--Jimmy called suggesting we meet for dinner at a localfavorite noodle house, one the old detective recommended.
“Wow! Jimmy exclaimed upon seeing us. “What’s the occasion?
You look like two movie stars.” Even though I thought I actually
did look like a glamorous movie star, he barely even noticed me.
His attention zoomed in on Jane. “You . . . look . . . terrific,” he
gushed as his whole face lit up.
"
“Taylor made me do it.” Jane blushed, affected. “I can’t
remember the last time I wore makeup. We were in some very
modern mall . . . and it was one of those glitzy glamour girlie
shops. You know . . . hmmm, maybe not . . . anyway, it was fun.”
She stepped back to show off her new dress, one that revealed
just enough cleavage. “You like, mister?”
"
“I like indeed,” Jimmy continued gushing, hardly
attempting to contain his sexual attraction. “My god, woman . . .
you look fantastic.” Jane feigned another blush. I had to force
myself not to use the “get a room” line. 310
After we were seated, Jimmy continued staring at Jane, ignoring
me. “You really are a knockout. Wow. I guess that’s how it’s
going to be from now on. One surprise after the other.”
"
“No doubt,” I answered, winking at Jane as we scanned
the Chinese menu. “Do either of you read Cantonese?”
"
“Don’t worry, they understand the word noodle,” Jane
offered. We were again impressed with her linguistic skills as she
translated the Cantonese menu and then ordered for us with
fluent ease. "
“OK,” Jimmy started back in, totally impressed with her
brilliance, “you speak fluent English, Vietnamese, Japanese,
Cantonese and what else, Swahili? You probably speak
French?” "
“Oui, bien sur, ma cherie . . . und ich spreche ein
bischen Deutsch. Oh, yo hablo Espanol . . . muy bien . . . y não
falo bem Português, só um pouco. We have some big farms in
Brazil.”
"
“Russian?” He was trying to add them up in his head. At
least seven.
"
“Yah nee gah-vah-ruh pah roos-kee,” Jane laughed. “So
I’m good at languages. But I don’t speak Nepalese or Tibetan.
Pom pood pasa Thai nit-noi, some Korean, Balinese . . . I’ve had
to for my job. Robert wanted me to learn Burmese for some pipe
dream he had for the Shan State, but that will never happen. We
get calls from farmers all over the world and they’re always
asking me to translate. It’s fun . . . everything changes when you
know the local language.”
"
“Well, it’s good to have you here,” Jimmy understated
the obvious.
We started drinking San Miguel’s and got lost again in a
conversation about gurus. Jimmy explained how he valued the
teachings of Morihei Ueshiba, the father of Aikido. He lived
Ueshiba’s Aikido philosophy and considered him an enlightened
master, but not his guru. Jane talked about being raised as a
Buddhist and how it was in her nature to strive to uphold the
teachings of compassion. She saw Buddha as a figurehead, an
ideal to strive for, a point of reference to seek peace within. But
311
she wasn’t a nun and didn’t consider the Buddha to be her guru,
though she admitted to the value of a serious believer having an
enlightened teacher as a helpful guide. I felt a bit like a schoolgirl
in a college graduate conversation. I never went to church or
bought into all the religious mumbo-jumbo. I could care less
about the whole spiritual guru thing--before I met the immortal
master on the mountain. My mother was vain and my father was
macho military. I wanted to be like him. Maybe he was my guru,
the man who had taught me to be tough and competent in a
man’s world. "
“So, I guess we can all agree,” Jimmy offered, “that a
guru is a teacher . . . and that teachers can appear in a variety of
ways.”
"
I agreed, but I still wanted to ground the conversation, to
make it work for me. “I think anybody . . . or maybe anything that
happens in life, can be your teacher, as long as it gets you
thinking . . . gets you to change your mind from one thing to
another,” I offered.
"
“Well, I think there’s a big difference between an ordinary
life experience, like being dumped by your boyfriend, and the
teachings of an enlightened master,” Jane replied with a slight bit
of arrogance.
"
“I don’t know,” I said without feeling intimidated, “that last
jerk certainly made me wise up.”
"
“Did Robert ever seem like an enlightened master to
you?” Jimmy asked Jane, diverting our attention.
"
“Not like the man we encountered in Japan,” she
answered, giving me a loving ‘I agree with you’ grin. “He was
more like a feng shui master.”
"
“How so?” Jimmy asked.
"
“He had a unique ability to organize his work like a zen
master raking his garden . . . in perfect harmony and balance. He
was always calm . . . like he was running a corner 7-11 and not a
multi-billion dollar company. Robert was a master of business, no
doubt, but without the ego attachment.” Jane paused, obviously
in fond remembrance. “Did you notice the lobby of the
headquarters in Portland? That was his design . . . he wanted
your first impression of Shambala Foods to be calm and
312
serene . . . like you were entering a modern zen garden, not a
corporate headquarters.”
"
“It was pretty cool,” I admitted. “Made me forget I was
walking into a ten story building. I liked the outside and inside
waterfalls . . . and the bamboo wallpaper.”
"
“That’s it. He put his mark on everything, making sure
each little thing up and down the line was appealing. The labels
on the packaging to the lobby of our building . . . everything gave
you a sense of peace . . . a comfortable familiarity . . . like you
wanted to have it, experience it, be there with it. He was
brilliant . . . designing the formula to our incredible success.” She
thought for a moment before continuing, “It was all his creation
and he did it from a distance . . . without showing up to be the
teacher. He had no need to display ego . . . and . . . I think that is
a sign of true mastery.” Jane paused again, her respect and
admiration for the man was obvious. “And, what impressed me
the most . . . he always choose to expand life. I’m talking about
the life of living things, like plants. He encouraged us to discover
the highest natural potential of every edible plant, to protect its
nutrients, its life energy, in order to expand the good health and
life of the people who ate our food. He was remarkable . . . his
vision was huge, almost beyond measure. Even when everyone
thought he was dying, he chose to expand life, his own. That
was actually, now that I think about it, the first miracle of this
journey we’re on . . . the man we thought would be dead in a few
hours, coming fully back to life . . . Was he an enlightened
master? Maybe. But in a whole different sort of way.”
"
“What about that beautiful man . . . the immortal master?
Would you call him a guru?” I asked.
"
“Not a guru, but more like Jane described Robert,”
Jimmy answered, surprising himself with this new revelation. “He
didn’t need to say anything. His mere presence changed us.
Look at you two. Tonight you both did something you don’t
normally do . . . you enhanced your natural beauty. For the last
two days the three of us have been happier than ever before, I
know I have. I’m feeling better than ever . . . almost fearless. I
rode a helicopter for the first time. Can you believe that? The
flight across the Pacific scared the shit out of me. Now look. All
313
better. This is what happens being in the presence of an
immortal master. He radiated this incredibly powerful ki energy,
and I really think . . . well, I know . . . after my second visit with
him . . . it rubbed off on me. That’s what enlightened masters do.
I don’t think Robert really understood his natural power when he
first came to the United States. Everyone in the Apollo saw it, felt
it . . . he was radiating his light, without even trying. Everyone
there, including the guards, felt his love. It was like they were
standing in the sun and couldn’t help but feel the warmth and
bright rays.”
"
“It’s hard to believe you’re talking about the same man
who's supposedly my father,” I remarked. “Go on.”
"
“When I was with him in the dressing room, he seemed
quite normal. Like his love was a natural thing. When he
suggested that we run away together I felt at ease . . . I had no
doubts about him . . . no I can’t or I shouldn’t . . . I had no
negative thoughts or feelings at all. That’s how it was with the
immortal master in the hut, right?” We both nodded. It was great
for me to see Jimmy so animated. “From that moment on back in
1967 nothing was in our way. It was subtle, but somehow he
included me in the oneness he spoke about on stage. What was
the question, Taylor? Oh . . . was the immortal master we met a
guru? Yes in that he taught us in a way that changed our lives,
and more in his ability to take us to realms of consciousness we
never before conceived of . . . no ordinary teacher can do that.”
"
“I agree,” Jane broke in. “Robert is a powerful man, but
nowhere near as powerful as . . . what did he say his name
was . . ?”
"
“Arjuna,” Jimmy answered, surprised she could have
forgotten.
"
“Yes, Arjuna was beyond my concept of teacher or guru.
And he was the same as Robert in that he had nothing to prove;
no need for ego gratification . . . no reason to bring worldly
attention to himself, wear robes and fill concert halls with
devotees. But unlike Robert, Arjuna somehow can transcend all
earthly laws, the laws of science and physics. That’s why it was
so confusing to me, a pragmatic scientist. I trusted the laws of
science. I’ve had to let go of more than you can imagine in the
314
last few days . . . and I get it. In his place of omni this and omni
that he has the ability to appear wherever he wants, whenever
he wants, always in the right place at the right time . . . for the
right reason.”
"
“And you think he’s still human?” I wondered out loud.
"
“Absolutely, though he greatly expanded my view of
human potential.”
"
“If that’s true,” I was inspired by what was being said,
“then you’re sort of implying that I have this same potential?”
"
“As a scientist I have to follow the logic of a theorem. If
one human is born and he never dies, how then can I not apply
this fact to every human, to at least consider the potential for
immortality?”
"
“OK, I can’t argue with you, since I witnessed it too,” I
continued the train of thought, “but a I still don’t understand the
timing of events. If he is all these omni’s and has the ability to
show up wherever he wants, whenever he wants, always at the
right time and the right place as you said . . . then why didn’t he
just show up in Portland when we were all there, and bring us all
together then? Why drag us half way around the world? The
charges against Howard would have been dropped. Robert could
then have arranged a trip with his friends, with doctors and
nurses to come along for your mother and the others. Sure that
didn’t happen . . . but he still could have brought us all together
at Mt. Kurama. If he can do anything, then why is he stalling . . .
why is he setting us up to follow them to who knows where? This
is way more confusing than I’d ever imagined.”
"
“Good question,” Jimmy said, smiling at me. "
“I don’t have the answer,” Jane conceded. “I personally
thought they were in the right place before. I really don’t
understand why Robert needed to take them out of Happy Acres.
For what purpose? My mother is dying, Howard and Maggie
have dementia. They were living in a safe and serene park-like
setting, eating great food, having fun and playing games . . .
being the best of friends. I thought that was the right place for
them . . . even though my mother didn’t have dementia. I know
that Robert would never have taken them away against their will
but . . . maybe he did something to them like the immortal master
315
did to us, showed them the light or something. Maybe, like us,
they had the good sense to agree to go with him.” "
“To where he came from, I imagine,” Jimmy offered. “But
having good sense? Dementia is terminal . . . at least last time I
checked. Regardless, I don’t know how or why he would have or
could have enticed three eighty-year-olds to go climbing into the
Himalayas in search of this Shambala he wrote about in his
book. Or why the immortal master appeared and up’d our
reasons to find him and them. There’s a lot of unanswered
questions.” "
“I guess that’s why we’re here, Jimmy,” I said. “You and I
are detectives and Jane’s a scientist. It’s our job to solve
mysteries, to prove theories. You say that I have the potential to
be an immortal master, Jane. Sure I’m a long ways from time
travel and such . . . but we surely can be masterful in solving
these mysteries. Don’t you think, Jimmy?” He smiled.
"
“In science you can’t just do one test and form a
conclusion,” Jane offered. ”You have to do lab work, somehow
prove the theory in the field. This is our time to do the field work.
We need to connect the dots . . .”
"
“For sure,” I agreed with enthusiasm. “It’s just . . . there
are so many dots . . . confusing dots. Where do we start? What's
Robert up to and why is this all happening? Why are we being
led to Nepal . . . and maybe Tibet? Wow! . . . there’s so much I
don’t know.”
"
Jimmy raised his beer. “Here’s to our not knowing.”
"
“I’m so lost,” I admitted as we clinked together, “Arjuna
really messed with my mind. It’s obvious that we’re all changing.
I wonder if it’s too much, to fast. It doesn't make sense.”
"
“Does it have to make sense?” Jane asked me.
"
“I’m programmed to make things make sense . . .
quickly. But . . . everything is all so different now. There’s no
sense to the sense of it . . . almost like nonsense, but not. Does
what I just said make any sense? You're right Jane . . . does it
have to make sense? I guess not. . . . I can’t believe I just said
that.” Jimmy chuckled knowingly and I continued, "Robert St.
Clair fascinates me. I’m excited to meet him, father or not. If I
316
knew where he was I’d get on that plane right now. If there ever
was something that ignited my passion, this is it. I’m on it.”
"
“Me too,” Jimmy said as he downed the rest of his beer
and then calmly made up a haiku. “The teacher sighed. His
passion to consider. Ignited. What's tomorrow's itinerary, Jane?”
"
“We have to leave the apartment at eight . . . the plane
takes off at nine-thirty. We'll have an hour layover in Mandalay
and arrive in Kathmandu sometime in the late afternoon. I’ve
booked suites at the Shangri-La Hotel. Seemed appropriate.
Then we have our work cut out. I’ve never been to Nepal, and
Kathmandu is a huge city . . . a million people. Finding them will
be like finding a needle in a haystack.”
"
“I think we’ll have help,” I said with a cocky grin,
suddenly realizing that I had one beer too many. “You hearing
me, Arjuna?”
317
38
He manifests;
Blends in motions.
She never knew.
After a fun night in Hong Kong, Jane and I were becoming best
of friends. She had a youthful spirit and although older, she acted
many years younger than my mother. Jane had always been
engaged in life, lived it to the fullest, and after four years of semiseclusion she was ready to play. Now in the company of a
handsome man and a daring young woman, me, on a flight into
adventure and the unknown, and she was raring to go.
"
The captain confirmed the itinerary, and a little before
ten we took off for Kathmandu.
"
Leaning back in my seat, I reminisced about the night
before. The three of us had polishing off quite a few bottles of
San Miguel, sharing lots of laughter. Jimmy had gone on about
regretted having acquiesced with the Chief for all those months,
never really giving me a chance, and how before the Happy
Acres case he focused on his retirement; running his dojo. For
him, the thought about taking a trip to Japan, let alone Hong
Kong or Burma was out of the question. Tibet? I’m sure the idea
of going anywhere with me beside Starbucks hadn’t crossed his
mind.
"
All night long Jimmy was subtly courting Jane. After quite
a few beers he recited an haiku. “She comes to me, without
hesitation. Most hesitantly.” I can’t remember the context, but it
spoke volumes of what was going on between the two of them.
Their mutual attraction was obvious, but a whole lot of push/pull
confused prolonged an inevitable mutual surrender. I figured they
318
were both plum scared. Jimmy told me that he liked how she
was different and unpredictable; so unlike any woman he had
ever known. He said, “Who else, on a moment’s notice, would
take me on an all-expense paid trip halfway around the world,
and turn a serious man-hunt into an exciting, fun, mysterious . . .
and even miraculous adventure?” Her response to that was
safely calculated, like a scientist still wanting to gather data
before making a conclusion. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who
would do such a thing.” Jimmy shrugged it off, but I knew that
both of them were more than ready to fall in love.
"
Earlier in the evening we talked about why we came on
this trip--to solve the alleged kidnapping and murder case. We
agreed we didn’t believe either story, but now that a whole new
something-or-other was forming Jimmy wanted to know more.
“Jane, I don’t want to lose sight of the mission. There’s so much
about Robert and Howard we don’t know--especially their
personal and business relationship. What more can you tell us
about them.”
"
“I’m not sure where to start. Robert did his business in the
shadows, as I mentioned. They’d make a decision and then
Howard would communicate it publicly; he’d address the Board
of Directors and the head of each tribe. Robert took Howard
along on most of his worldly trips, where they would gather
information and make deals.The two of them were an odd couple
no doubt, enigmas in their own ways, both incredibly private
individuals who considered themselves practical global utopians,
not U.S. citizens.”
"
"
“Well, you have to remember that Howard came from poor
black struggle-to-survive roots. When Robert invited him in, to
help transform the world to one without poverty and hunger--a
world where people took care of one another--Howard embraced
the opportunity whole-heartedly. From then on the two men
shared the same passion. They became like Supermen of the
world, fighting injustice on farms everywhere, mostly in
developing countries where there was a long history of
corruption. Our Tribe of Attorney’s proved to have much more
clout than any local thug or city or county governing authority, be
319
it in Mexico, China, Kenya or Israel. The mere threat of closing
the factory and leaving the country would get the attention of the
President and the backing of the military if necessary.”
"
“Did Robert make himself visible to these heads of state?”
"
“He did. When he appeared with Howard they were a sight
to behold. Short white man, dressed in white, with a white pony
tail to his waist, always wearing sunglasses, and a big powerful
looking black man, dressed entirely in black.”
"
“Sounds intimidating,” I entered the conversation.
"
“Yes and no. Intimidating isn’t the right word . . . more like
intrigued at first sight, but once they sat down and talked about
how to best utilize the land, grow the best crops and feed the
people, their hosts listened. They were there to solve an
economic problem for the region, and often the whole country.
Matters of costs and money were handled by a separate
economy tribe, followed by the attorneys.”
"
“What was so special about Shambala Foods?” I asked. “I
mean, what did they have to offer that was more appealing than
what the local growers or food factories offered? I know it’s
organic. But did the local people even care?”
"
“People always care when it looks like they’ll make a lot of
money. We gathered the farmers and showed them how it would
happen. A much superior yield using our method of organic
farming, at a greatly reduced cost. Their increase in income
would be significant. The deal was easy to close when we
offered to subsidize their first year, supplying new equipment and
plenty of our seeds, to guarantee their success. How could they
refuse? When enough acreage of organic farming justified a
processing factory, we’d partner with local business people,
convincing them that higher wages, employee benefits and a
much better working environment would mean happy workers
and more profits than the traditional sweat shops. It was really
quite simple.” Jane stopped and laughed at the memory. “The
sweat shops demanded we lower our wages, but it never
worked . . . they always had to raise theirs to keep their workers,
which then improved the standard of living for everyone in the
community.”
"
“Did you double the going wage?” I wondered.
320
"
“Not usually, but sometimes yes and sometimes even
more. We couldn’t justify paying someone three dollars a day for
ten hours work. Ten dollars for the same days work was three
times as much, but still a ridiculously low one dollar an hour. We
slowly built it up, but you just can’t go into some village and do
too much too soon--or do it all at once. We were building
community goodwill, not wanting to piss all the other business
owners off. We simply set a new standard with reasonable work
hours, free meals, free medical, three weeks paid vacation,
maternity leave, day care center, no discrimination, and a
retirement plan. OK. We pissed a few people off, but they got
over it. Our food factories are the opposite of a sweat shop, in
fact every country in the world would welcome ten Shambala
processing plants, if that were possible. A Shambala factory
worker in Mexico, for instance, doing the same job under better
working conditions, with health benefits, without having to leave
his home, family and friends, would never risk his life to seek a
better life in the U.S. The best life was right where they were.”
"
Jimmy was intrigued. “Pretty amazing. Thanks for clearing
that up. Now I’m curious to hear Howard’s story. We’re talking
about a black man from a poor broken southern family, on his
own since he was what? seventeen? . . . who somehow became
the leading executive of one of the largest grocery companies in
the world. How did that happen?”
"
“Yes, it’s a fascinating story. Of course it starts with Robert,
who was a prolific reader. In the early 1980’s he started in on the
American classics: Faulkner, Steinbeck, Twain, Hemingway,
Roth and Whitman, to name a few. Of all the books he read, one
stirred his soul and affected his life as no other. It was a book
written by Harriet Beecher Stowe called Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”
!
“Uncle Tom’s Cabin?” Jimmy interrupted. “I read it a
couple years ago myself. It’s a long fictional narrative depicted
the life of a slave named Tom, and other slaves, owners and
related characters in the mid-19th century southern United
States. She wrote about and illustrated what it meant at that time
to be “sold down the river.”
"
“That’s right,” Jane continued. “Robert was so thoroughly
disgusted by thoughts of modern day slavery, we’re still talking
321
about the early eighties, that he traveled the world inspecting his
six existing facilities, looking for any signs of it. The subsequent
upgrades were substantial. In the long run the choice proved to
be a brilliant investment. Shambala not only greatly improved the
working environment, we were able to raise and set the price
standard for natural foods--an increase of price per item more
than compensated for the increased third world country wages
and benefits.”
"
“A book about American slavery effected the way he ran
his business, and the entire whole foods industry?” I said,
somewhat astounded.
"
“Absolutely. From that point on Shambala towns thrived,
and our increase in business revenue skyrocketed.”
"
“So where does Howard come into the picture?” I too was
suddenly very interested in his story.
"
“After Robert read Uncle Tom’s Cabin he remembered
stories his father told about his genealogy; the St. Clair’s who
came from France after the French Revolution and settled in
Louisiana, and operated a huge cotton farm. That meant one
thing to him . . . his ancestors were slave owners.
He
researched his genealogy and found that the St. Clair’s
Louisiana plantation fell into hard times in the late 1860‘s and
they sold it.”
"
“That would be after the enactment of the 13th
Amendment of the Constitution in 1865, freeing slaves,” Jimmy
offered. “So this is why Robert and Howard have the same last
name?”
"
“Many of the slaves took on the surnames of their
owners,” Jane continued with a agreeing nod to Jimmy. “Robert
wondered if he could find black St. Clair’s, the ancestors of
slaves who worked on his family’s plantation in the 1800’s. The
research became a side project that eventually led him to
Jackson, Mississippi and the ramshackle home of one Reginald
St. Clair, a poor black farm worker.”
"
“A dirt farmer?” I asked, surprised. “Howard?”
"
“That’s right. When they first met in 1985 Robert didn’t act
like, seem like or appear in any way to be the multi-millionaire he
had become. It was summer and he wore white drawn-string
322
pants and T-shirt when he drove his $20-a-day Dodge Neon up
Reginald’s dirt driveway, about fifteen miles west of Jackson. He
was unexpected. Reginald was sitting alone on the porch and
was perplexed by the long-haired, sun-glassed man--he didn’t
know what to think. He was more than surprised when Robert
introduced himself, with the same last name. Howard always
thought it was rare and regal, Robert told me. He admitted often
dreaming of being a French king with a vast empire, and even
though he was as far as anyone could be from being that, he
believed that one day his dream would come true. He told Robert
that anyone who heard his royalty story thought he had gone
mad. Apparently at that time he was close to it.”
"
“In the mid-eighties he must have been around fifty years
old . . . fifty years as a poor Mississippi farmer. No wonder,”
Jimmy offered.
"
“Robert said that the man was more depressed than could
be imagined. His great-great grandparents were slaves-Louisiana St. Clair plantation slaves who settled in Jackson,
worked hard and bought the two acres of land that every
generation worked for the last one-hundred and twenty-five
years. No one in each new generation wanted to lose the farm,
and that motivation kept them slaves to the land. They lived and
died there, generation after generation. The only difference was
that Reginald was an only child who had never married--all the
St. Clair family was dead, except him. He was a bright and
intelligent, but depressed because there was nothing he could do
with it. You’re right, Jimmy . . . he was fifty-one and his
hopelessness was almost beyond repair.
"
“Robert told me that he pulled up a plastic chair and told
Reginald about their genealogy--of other lifetimes of masters and
slaves. They talked for hours about equality and all sorts of
injustices. Robert invited him to dinner, and the farmer’s cloud of
despondency was put on pause. Robert could relate to, at least
sympathize with, everything Reginald told him about his life of
entrapment, and it wasn’t long before the pause, and then the
long eye connection, and the realization that two brothers, one
black and one white, had just found each other.”
"
“So Robert hired him on the spot?” I asked.
323
"
“You’re getting ahead of the story . . . there’s more to it
than that. Robert paid for two suites at a local motel, and spent
the next three days with Reginald talking about farming and
everything else they could think of. On the last day, only hours
before Robert was to leave, Reginald told him of a hidden part of
his past, an event that had happened thirty-one years before,
that he had dared not tell anyone. Robert wouldn’t tell me what it
was.”
"
“Now we know,” Jimmy added.
"
“We do. Anyway, Reginald confessed it to be the main
reason why he had never held a job outside of his farm
neighborhood. Robert also confessed his wealth and what he did
for a living. Because of Reginald’s story Robert stayed another
day and paid him $200,000 cash for the farm, and then turned
around and signed the deed, giving it right back to the original
owner, almost totally blowing the now not-so-poor farmer’s mind.
Howard used the opportunity to do something he had dreamed
of doing for years. After removing a few prized treasures, he
burnt his house down. Having nowhere else to go, Robert invited
Reginald to return to Oregon with him on his private jet, which
was gratefully and immediately accepted, to begin a new life,
with a good paying job as a farm supervisor . . . and with a new
self-given name: Howard Johnson.”
"
“Why Howard Johnson?” I was confused.
"
“Would you believe that was the name of the motel they
spent the four days in? Those four days changed Howard’s life
forever and gave him the freedom for which every generation of
the black St. Clair’s had prayed. So that’s how Reginald St. Clair,
now Howard Johnson, was from that day and forever a resident
of Portland, Oregon, and a dear friend and brother of one Robert
St. Clair.”
"
“I don’t get it,” I broke in. “Why didn’t he just keep his
real name?”
"
“Probably because of the old murder case. I don’t know.
”
"
“Fair enough, but if Howard was just some dirt farmer,
then how did he become one of the leading organic farmers in
the U.S . . . maybe the world?”
324
"
“Maybe it was a past life thing,” Jimmy offered."
"
“Yeah, maybe he was the gardener for the Emperor of
Japan,” Jane
answered with a chuckle. “Actually, Howard
answered that question for me. He’d been working those two
acres his whole life, never able to afford pesticides. So he came
to the table with a thorough understanding and comprehension
of organic farming, field and crop rotation, moon and planting
cycles and all things that had to do with growing food. Robert
recognized him as a natural born horticulturalist.
"
“What he had learned to do on a micro farm could be
applied to macro farming. After several years of increased
domestic production, the two began traveling together, opening
new farms around the world, inspecting fields and yields,
designing production facilities . . . and most important to me,
since it set up my hire, implementing their studies of holistic
cohabitation--working to organically control the ‘invasive
species’ of insects. After I came on board we accelerated our
field experiments, successfully directing insects to feast on the
selected weeds, which we planted between rows of soy beans,
corn, cabbage, potatoes and so on, leaving our cash crops
alone. It was actually quite simple.”
"
“I’m sure they really appreciated the work you did.” I
interjected, impressed, but since I’m far from being a farmer I
was ready to change the subject.
"
“Thanks . . . they did. It was an honor to have worked
hand in hand with these two remarkable men.”
"
“So what happened next?” I asked. “How do we go from
there to here?”
"
“You know what happened next, Taylor,” Jane patiently
answered. “Howard began to forget, more like he became
distracted. He’d launch into implausible and delusional tales of
times and events in his life that we knew, or at least surmised,
just weren’t true. Sometimes he was fine, dialoging a knowledge
of organic planting and crop yields equal or superior in intellect to
any university horticulture professor, and then he’d switch to
some tall tale. This went on for several months until we realized
that he had dementia. Robert had to do something. There was
no way he would allow this remarkable man to be the subject of
325
gossip and ridicule. He went to a high-end realtor to find the
perfect place for his best friend. Happy Acres.”
"
A half hour went by without a word--all three of us were
lost in thought. Both Jimmy and I now had a great deal of respect
for both Robert and Howard, and neither of us could imagine
them in a criminal context. His traveling with two dementia
patients and a dying woman still made no sense to me, but I now
realized that there must have been a good reason--I as curious
as ever to find out.
"
I finally broke the silence. “Do you think it’s possible that
Robert used his fortune to finance cutting-edge research in
medical technology to heal Howard and Maggie of dementia?
And cure your mother of cancer? Who knows, he could have
hired the best doctors in the world and for whatever reason put
them in a clinic in Kathmandu. That could be where the head
brain surgeon lives. Maybe that’s what this is really all about?”
"
“It’s possible, but I don’t know how or why he wouldn’t
have told me, and worked with me in this regards. We would’ve
talked about putting my mother in this cancer clinic if he thought
she could be healed. No . . . I can’t imagine . . . it doesn’t make
sense . . . but neither does taking a trip with them in their
condition.”
"
We tossed that around for awhile, realizing again that
none of our theories made any difference. Jimmy still had
questions about Happy Acres. “Robert bought an old mansion for
Howard. I got that. But how did it turn into a dementia facility?”
"
“Can you imagine it being your home? Just for you? I
hired two gardeners, two cooks, a housekeeper and a nurse . . .
to serve one man. He got bored. It used to be a retreat center,
with twenty-six individual suites that had been refurbished. All
empty. Then there was Maggie . . . so he decided to open it to
other dementia patients. We created a web page, placed it at the
top of the executive care facility Goggle list and within a few
weeks twenty-four well-to-do families, from places as far away as
New York, happily paid the $100,000 yearly fee. Howard was
happy . . . he had an audience to tell his stories to.”
"
“And Mildred Rice?”
"
“With all those people we needed a director. I’m hardly an
326
inn keeper, so I hired the first qualified person to show up. The
longer Mildred was there the stranger she got. Robert was going
to fire her but it never happened. I wonder what she’s up to now.”
"
“Probably looking for another murder to pin on Howard,” I
chuckled. “Poor Carlson . . . he walked into a viper’s pit. I
wonder how he’s doing?”
"
“I thought you didn’t like him,” Jimmy remarked, changing
the subject. “I know he’s married . . . but it seemed like the two of
you played the flirting game with each other.”
"
“You thought that?” I questioned. “I didn’t think you noticed
anything about me, except that I played computer solitaire and
drank venti vanilla lattes. But yes . . . I was always attracted to
the muscular iron-man type . . . Carlson certainly fit the bill. But
none of those men had what I was really looking for.”
"
“And what’s that?” Jane asked.
"
“Friendship. Play and fun. Sure, mutually physical
attraction . . . great sex . . . but I want a best friend. Someone
who stimulates me intellectually without pretext. I want a friend
who blends with my friends, who would get along with you Jane
and you Jimmy. I only had part of the package before. Now I’m
ready for the whole package. I don’t imagine meeting that man
on this trip . . . but you never know.”
"
“That’s right,” Jimmy answered with a loving look at Jane.
“You never know.” He paused, and went to that haiku place I’m
so familiar with, and finally it came, “He manifests; Blends in
motions. She never knew.”
For the rest of the flight we continued playing with our cosmetics.
Jimmy smiled as he watched us fussing over eyeliner and the
right way to apply blush. I wouldn’t have been caught dead at a
cosmetics counter with my mother, but now I was applying
makeup with a teenage girl’s delight. Neither of us were vain--we
were just passing the time, having fun, and before we knew it the
captain announced our arrival in Mandalay, Burma.
327
39
A coyote howl.
Blackfeet on green grass
unexpected.
Sunday--Mandalay:
It was around two in the afternoon when the Gulfstream landed
in Mandalay. Once on the tarmac Jimmy offered his elbows to
his two beautiful women, Jane and I. Walking arm-in-arm toward
the terminal, he had a big smile on his face--as happy as he
could remember being.
"
We found a booth in the well-appointed, nearly empty,
Mandalay Airport VIP lounge and ordered, on the English
speaking bartender’s recommendation, three Beer Myanmar’s--a
national treasure which could only be purchased in Burma. Jane
had bought a Nepal travel guide and was soon in a lively
discussion with Jimmy about Kathmandu, a city she had never
visited. I was distracted by the only other customer, a man
seated across the bar. He was also drinking a Beer Myanmar,
talking with the bartender. After about five minutes of my not so
discretely checking him out, our eyes met. He didn’t hesitate.
With beer in hand he walked over and stood in front of me.
"
“American?” the handsome man asked, his eyes glued
on my mine, still very glamorous looking from a second day-in-arow of liner and makeup.
"
“Sioux?” I answered with a question and bright smile,
impressed with the man’s lack of shyness.
"
“No, but close. Blackfoot. I come from Seattle. Your
tribe?” He was in his mid-thirties, clean shaven with shoulderlength black hair. He had a ruggedly handsome face and hard
body--perfectly packaged in a solid six-foot one-inch frame.
"
“You think I have a tribe?” I said with a grin. “OK. I’m a
Comanche.”
328
"
“No you’re not.”
"
“You’re right. I’m not that vicious. Not usually. Though I
have been known to have a bit of the bobcat in me. I’m a quarter
Chinook, mother’s side. Coyote?”
"
He nodded with a knowing smile, his eyes still locked
with mine. He was confident, and at the same time had the look
of never before having encountered a more beautiful woman,
one so brazen from the get-go. I didn’t back down from his
intense and penetrating stare, nor he as he answered, “I see . . .
a quarter . . . hmmm . . . and your name?” At this point Jimmy
and Jane watched with interest--he was quite aware of their
presence behind me.
"
“Taylor . . . Taylor Banks,” I answered, accepting his
strong grip, which we both held for a comfortably long moment.
He realized that his distraction was becoming impolite, and
letting go he looked over at Jimmy and Jane and said, “Hello, I’m
Lucky Two Crows.”
"
Jane said hello back as she extended her hand to his.
Jimmy came around and stood face to face, “Two Crows . . . glad
to meet you.”
"
“You, too. So what brings you fine people to these
parts?” His bright toothed smile was charming.
"
“Just an hour stop-over on our way to Kathmandu,” Jane
said. “Why don’t we move to that booth? It’ll be more comfortable
for visiting.” We all shifted without hesitation, Lucky sitting next to
me.
"
“Kathmandu?” he asked, making a motion to the
bartender for another round, as we settled in. “Why, may I ask,
are you going there? American movie stars I presume, doing a
film?”
"
“No,” Jimmy chuckled, reflecting on how people would
often liken him to Morgan Freeman, not realizing the man was
referring to the women. “Do you know Kathmandu? This will be
our first time there . . . we have a tourist guidebook . . . can’t tell
if it’ll be helpful or not.”
"
“I know Kathmandu pretty well. In fact, this is just a stopover for me. I am on my way there now.”
329
"
“Really?” I liked the idea of going to the same place,
even though I had just met the man. “What’s your business?”
"
“You really want to know?”
"
“Sure . . . maybe you’re the movie star . . . or an
astronaut . . . maybe a gun runner . . . a renegade?” I was being
silly, not knowing why.
"
“Close. I’m into counter-intelligence, covert ops, Shoalin
stick fighting, anti-government espionage, computer hacking,
down-hill bike racing, archery, forgery . . . you know . . . all the
typical James Bond stuff,” Lucky said with a grin.
"
“How about basket weaving?” I said while laughing,
engaged. “Come on, what’s your story?”
"
“You asked me . . . and I told you the truth. You want the
boring part?“
"
“Sure, bore me,” I answered, wondering if anything this
man said would ever bore me.
"
“You asked for it. I was born on the Blackfoot
Reservation in northern Montana. My father went to prison and
my mother turned to alcohol . . .”
"
“Hey, that’s my story . . . but my reservation was
Harlem,” Jimmy interrupted, then he paused while everyone
waited. “A coyote howl. Blackfeet on green grass,
unexpected . . . sorry, go on.”
"
“See . . . not so unique . . . and I didn’t expect a haiku.
Anyway, I went into the foster care system, going from home to
home all over the northwest. The only common thread I had from
one miserable house to the other was a computer.”
"
“So you really do know about computers?”
"
“Totally. By the time I was eleven I could disassemble
and rebuild a computer . . . I scavenged parts from repair shops
to boost the power. I probably could have gotten a job at
Microsoft before I started high school.”
"
“Shoalin fighting? Jimmy knows a few things about
Aikido,” I was becoming more fascinated.
"
“Sounds good, doesn’t it? Shoalin fighting. Maybe I’m a
ninja!” He ducked under the table for a second, to my
amusement, his hand feeling good on my knee. “When I was
thirteen I decided to become a warrior . . . you know, a real
330
American Indian. By sixteen I earned a black belt in Aikido, and
by eighteen I was skilled with a bow and arrow, could ride a
horse with the best of them, and just to piss the social workers
off, since it was my fifth high school, I graduated with honors. “
"
“Jimmy’s an Aikido sensei,” Jane offered, knowing he
wouldn’t.
"
“Onegaishimasu, sensei-san,” Lucky said with a bow to
Jimmy. “I look forward to sparing with you.”
"
“It will be my pleasure,” he smiled. “Although our plane
leaves in about a half hour. But go on . . . after high school?”
"
“By then I was disgusted with the bureaucracy which had
forever tried to strip me of my American Indian culture--so I
disappeared. Went underground . . . You’re not CIA, are you?”
"
“Underground? Why? No we’re not CIA . . . but I wouldn’t
tell you if I was . . . I would just kill you,” I answered and he
laughed.
"
“I’d like to see you try,” he rifled back. “Even if you were,
what could you do? Arrest me?”
"
“Then what?” I went along. “Handcuff you to me and
drag you through the streets of Kathmandu. Don’t think so.
Anyway, we’re in the middle of nowhere . . . in a half hour we’ll
get back on our plane and we’ll never see you again, so what the
hell? Spill the beans.”
"
“OK . . . I became a part of a secret underground hacker
group. Mostly young nerds pushing the envelope . . . trying to
break into schools and local businesses--no big deal. We didn’t
steal anything. No one knew. Underground was really back
offices where I made money as a legitimate computer repairman.
Got paid in cash. Stayed in an inner-city area, near the dojo,
honed my skills.
"
“How long did you do that?” I asked.
"
“Until I was twenty-five. I didn’t just fix computers, I build
powerful machines which I could use to break codes. I was good.
"
“What about the Aikido?”
"
“I earned three black belts in Aikido by twenty five . . . I
have five now . . . and mastered Shoalin stick fighting.”
"
“So what happened?”
"
“I was arrested as a suspected cyber terrorist.”
331
"
“No!” I was shocked. “A cyber terrorist? You?” He looked
so innocent and easy going, like he could do no wrong. I didn’t
know which part of me was suddenly upset--the policewoman
who was talking to a fugitive of the law, or the woman who was
attracted to a man who may be a criminal, therefore not
available.
"
“Now don’t go making things up. That’s what they did.
I’m not a cyber terrorist yet,” he said with a grin, then gave me a
wink. “I said they suspected me.”
"
“Where there’s smoke there’s fire,” I shot back.
"
“I suspect that you’re a lesbian who hates men,” he
countered.
"
“That’s not true at all. I’m definitely not a lesbian.”
"
“See. A customer thought I charged too much. His bother
worked for the FBI and he made up some story, told him that I
was a hacker doing what I was actually capable of doing, but
hadn’t actually done. They showed up without a shred of
evidence. Regardless, they threw me in jail since I didn’t have a
social security card, no address, no bank account, nothing. They
didn’t know what to do with me. My story got around until I was
rescued by a Seattle Municipal judge by the name of William
Jones--BJ. He took me to his home, let me stay there . . . and I
guess because of me he quit the bench and became an Indian
Rights advocate.”
"
“What happen then?” I was intrigued.
"
“I became his protegee. I spent five years studying law in
his home library and became quite knowledgable of Indian rights,
without ever stepping into a college classroom. At that time I
think I could have passed the bar.”
"
“Why didn’t you take the test?” Jane asked.
"
“I really didn’t want that career. BJ’s home was on five
acres. He paid me to do research while I was studying law. Free
room and board . . . so I used the money to buy sports
equipment. I learned how to race my dual sport bike, perfected
my archery skills . . . and I bought a stallion, kept studying
martial arts. I was spending a lot of my time outdoors.”
"
“What did you do with all your law knowledge?” Jane
asked.
332
"
“I wanted to help BJ, but more actively, away from the
office. So I got my PI license, became a private detective, his
man in the field, working directly with American Indians.”
"
I was almost blown away with his story. Like me, he was
a dedicated athlete and a detective. It was hard to believe, and
yet his story was entirely believable. “You’re a detective?” I
asked. “And a off-road bike racer and all that? An Indian rights
advocate?”
"
“All that. It was great being on the reservations, gaining
their trust . . . It helped that I was full-blooded . . . through me
they trusted BJ and his business began to thrive. If some
company was screwing the Indians, between my computer and
detective skills and BJ’s forty years of law, we won lots of cases.
Also during that time I hung out with shamans and medicine men
and women--studied under them and learned many of their
skills.”
"
“So why are you here?” I was more than impressed.
"
“In the middle of all that I stayed in contact with my
computer hacker friends. We were all getting older and wiser and
better at hacking. I decided to put together a top-notch hacker
team, for reasons I won’t reveal. Years went by . . . we went in
cyber doors and got out quickly, pushing our abilities, finding
ways into so-called unhackable domains. Last year one of my
team made a traceable mistake. It really wasn’t a big deal,
probably never would have come back to me, but BJ was
concerned. So he suggested I take six months off and go to Asia,
work on my mountain racing skills in the Himalayas. It was a
good idea, so I moved to Kathmandu and bought another dual
sport bike. I’m five months into my false alarm exile. Can you see
the Kathmandu front page . . . cyber-terrorist hacks into Buddhist
monastery computers.”
"
“Yeah, right,” I said with a laugh, drawn to the handsome
man’s sense of humor. “James Bond on a mountain bike? Like in
Skyfall. Yours is probably turbo charged. What else . . . archery?”
"
“I’m pretty good at that, too,” he answered with a wink.
“You interested in an Indian power racing, arrow shooting,
computer hacking, ninja spy?”
333
"
“Maybe,” Jimmy answered for me. “What brings you to
Mandalay?”
"
“I went to Chiang Mai . . . got my teeth fixed,” he
answered with a broad smile, showing off his perfect set, gold
caps in all four corners. “I traveled overland . . . it’s not that
far . . . and was hoping to hitch a ride on a private jet back to
Kathmandu.”
"
“Well,” Jane answered. She appreciated Lucky’s candor
and honesty, and like Jimmy and I, felt comfortable in his
presence. “It may be your lucky day.”
"
“Every day is my lucky day,” Lucky grinned, eliciting
laughs. “How so?”
"
“We just happen to have room on my private jet. It’ll cost
you some information, and maybe a day or two of tour guiding in
Kathmandu. Do you know Lhasa?”
"
“I’ve been there. The Nepal visa is no problem. China’s
not so easy. I take it you already have your China visas and
permits?”
"
“Permits?” Jimmy inquired. “What permits?”
"
“To get into Tibet, which is China, you’ll need a China
visa, a TTB entry permit, and a PBS alien travel permit. It usually
takes a week to get these . . . unless you know the right
person . . . which I happen to be. I’ve become friendly with some
officials on line. What normally would take a week, can be done
in hours. Just costs about three times more. Are you interested?”
"
“Absolutely,” Jane answered. “We may have to go to
Lhasa, if we don’t find them in Kathmandu.”
"
“Them?”
"
“We’re following my mother--who is seventy-six, two
older men and an older woman. I had figured it would take us a
day in Kathmandu to buy the permits in the black market--if we
were to continue on to Tibet. Seems to be our good fortune
bumping into you, Lucky Two Crows. I didn’t think it would be this
easy.”
"
“No problem.” Lucky smiled. “So . . . maybe I revealed
too much . . . since I’m getting on your plane. Don’t call the FBI,
OK?” We all shook our heads, indicating we would never do
334
such a thing. “I supposed I should know more about the three of
you. What do you do for a living, Taylor?”
"
“I’m a police detective.”
"
“Oh shit.” He laughed and blushed, sinking into my
brown eyes once more. “You didn’t say FBI or CIA or Interpol, so
that’s good.” I nodded and he forced himself from my eyes and
asked Jimmy. “You’re probably the chief of police?”
"
“No, just a captain.”
"
“And an Aikido sensei?”
"
“I’m that too.”
"
“And you, Jane?”
"
“I’m a biologist . . . doctor of biology . . . semi-retired . . .”
"
“Who apparently owns a million dollar jet,” he
interrupted. “Looks like this may be an auspicious encounter for
all of us. When do we leave?”
As soon as Lucky said this a local man walked up to our booth.
He studied us for an awkward several moments and then spoke,
“Please, Mrs. Jane. You would be kind to let me join you?”
"
“Excuse me, Lucky,” she said, diverting her attention
from him to the stranger. “Do I know you?”
"
“You do, indeed,” he answered. “My name is Tenzin. Do
you not recognize me?”
"
“No, I don’t,” Jane answered as she seriously studied his
features. “Tenzin is a twenty year old Tibetan exchange student.
What are you? A thirty-five year-old man? Maybe his older
brother? How do you know my name?”
"
“Please, may I?” He gestured to a chair at the
neighboring table, which he moved and set in front of the booth,
facing us. Sitting, he began, “I was hired as a care-giver when
Tulku was recovering from his coma. I lived with you in the big
house off Marine Drive in Troutdale. I left Portland on the big
Shambala jet with Tulku, Mr. Howard, Mrs. Maggie, and Mrs.
Sopi. The master on Mt. Kurama told me you would be here, so I
have waited these four days for your arrival.”
"
Lucky had no idea what this strange man was talking
about, while we sat with our mouths wide open, in total disbelief
335
and confusion. “Tenzin?” Jimmy muttered. “The getaway driver
we’re looking for?”
"
“Yes, it is true,” Tenzin said in a soft voice. “I am he.”
"
“But you’re not,” Jane remarked, searching for a
reasonable explanation. “How could you be?”
"
“I am rapidly aging.” He waited while Jane leaned back,
folding her arms in a that’s-totally-impossible stance. “This I will
not attempt to explain, Mrs. Jane. I have come here to serve you.
It is only I who knows the way to where you are going. I am
telling you that where I come from is where you wish to go.”
"
Lucky bowed to the man and said, “Namaste. My name’s
Lucky.” Tenzin bowed back. “I just met these good people and
don’t have a clue what this is all about. They say they’re going to
Kathmandu. Is that where you come from?”
"
“Not Kathmandu. I come from Shambala,” Tenzin said
with authority. “The others are on their way. Arjuna is there to
help them. You will not be able to find them, or Shambala,
without me.”
"
Lucky scanned the faces of his new friends. Each was
lost in shock, their minds tilting in disbelief, speechless. “Where
exactly is this Shambala?” He took over since the three of us
were dumbfounded into silence.
"
“I cannot tell you. It is not a place on your maps. Do you
know of the Meili mountain region of Tibet?”
"
“I’ve never heard of it,” Lucky answered. I hadn’t heard
of it either.
"
“It’s highest peak, Khawa Karpo, is one of Tibet’s most
sacred mountains. It is directly north from where we are.”
"
“I’m sorry,” Jane was apparently racing to shake off the
barrage of impossibilities. He strong logic took over. “They
couldn’t possibly be north of here. Their itinerary goes from
Kansai to Calcutta to Kathmandu, possibly Lhasa. None of those
places are anywhere near here. As far as I can imagine, your
sacred mountain north of here isn’t remotely close to where they
are. Burma certainly wasn’t on their itinerary.”
"
“Nor was it in yours,” Tenzin calmly answered. “And here
you are, in this place at this time . . . with me telling you the
truth.”
336
"
“So you know who these three people are, and the one’s
they are trying to find. Fair enough. I’ve known many shaman
who have the ability to see what others don’t. Are you a
shaman?” Lucky asked.
"
“A humble teacher, and now a guide,” Tenzin answered,
then added, “There is no accident that you are here, Mr. Lucky.
These people will appreciate your assistance . . . especially this
young lady.”
"
I was still lost in confusion. I had just met this stranger in
a bar in an airport in the middle of Burma, a very handsome and
attractive man, and now another stranger, who claims to know
Jane, says he’s the Tenzin we’re looking for, walks up and tries
to match-make us. It was as though I walked into a very strange
dream.
"
“You didn’t answer my questions,” Jane pressed.
“Starting with you being who you say you are. Who are you
really? I’m a scientist and last time I checked humans don’t
rapidly age . . . not fifteen years in one week. Impossible. Then
again, Arjuna . . . you mentioned Arjuna. How do you know
Arjuna? How could you?”
"
‘Yes, I know the Arjuna you have met. Do not concern
yourself with the how and why questions. You only need to know
that we are working together to assist you. On our kora around
Khawa Karpo I can answer your questions about the multidimensions if you would like. But right now you must believe me.
I know where to find those who you are looking for. I have waited
here to take you to them.”
"
“What’s a kora?” I finally found the words to speak.
"
“It’s the same as a pilgrimage . . . a walk around a holy
mountain. We will only go half way . . .”
"
“I still don’t understand why we’re going there in the first
place,” Jane interrupted. “Are you positive they’re not in
Kathmandu?”
"
“Today I can answer yes to that question . . . but I must
say this to you . . . where they are and where you are at the
moment does not matter. It only matters where they will be and
where you will be at the same time.”
"
“Who are they?” Lucky asked me.
337
"
“Jane’s mother and the three other old folks we are
looking for.”
"
“OK . . . and you know how to find them?” he asked
Tenzin.
"
‘I do.”
"
“And everyone agrees that it’s extremely important that
these good people here are reunited with them as soon as
possible/”
"
“Indeed.”
"
“And you say that you know how to find them and that I,
a complete stranger to them, will be helpful to you, to them,
especially to her,” he pointed at me, “if I come along?”
"
“Precisely.”
"
“OK.” Lucky’s easy logic with soothing. “But I’m not sure
I’m invited to come along. Where do you suggest they go first?”
"
“Putao,” Tenzin answered.
"
Lucky pulled out a map of northern Burma and stretched
it on the table in front of us. “Here we are. Here’s Putao here.
Look here--the Meili Mountain range. It’s in China . . . or Tibet.
From Putao I see no roads. I suppose you would take a
helicopter to . . . here. Dechen. Looks like the bigger town. From
there you’d have to ask Tenzin for directions.”
"
“I’d like to hire you,” Jane said in surrender. “You’re
invited.
"
“I’m not looking for a job.” Lucky answered.
"
“Then I will pay your expenses. I’m asking, will you come
to Putao with us? And would you be able to get our China
permits here in Burma?”
"
Lucky looked back at me. I offered him an encouraging
grin. “No problem. I have time . . .” He thought about it for
several seconds. “I will be honored to serve you. I’ll need your
passports. Give me ten, fifteen minutes to get into my Burma
network . . . see if I can connect with someone in Putao.
Hopefully we’ll have our permits when we arrive. Is there any
problem with your pilot changing his route, taking on two more
passengers?”
"
“We have room. He’ll go wherever I ask,” Jane
answered, catching Tenzin’s smile.
338
"
“OK,” Lucky said, standing up, looking down at us. “Then
it‘s all set. I’ll get online and we should be ready in no time. Do
you have food aboard?”
"
“Plenty” I answered with a chuckle. “Does James Bond
have a special request?”
"
“Hmmm,” he answered with a grin. “Indeed I do.”
339
40
The detective bakes.
A fresh haiku
Delights her
Sunday Afternoon - Northern Burma:
It was late-afternoon when our Gulfstream 220 landed in Putao,
a village in the very northern region of Burma. During the twohour flight Lucky insisted that I tell him everything about why we
were there; the story that led to our meeting. He was glued to my
every word. His eyes opened wide as I talked about the recluse
billionaire, the alleged double murderer suffering from dementia,
Jane’s dying illegal alien mother, and the physical therapist, also
with dementia, all over seventy-six years old and apparently off
on a journey to the mythical land of Shambala. He loved the
story, thought it was quite romantic and was anxious to find out
what would happen next.
"
“You know . . . Taylor . . . I’m a pretty good detective.”
"
“Really?” I sat back and studied him. “James Bond or
Sherlock Holmes good? I’m fascinated.” Looking into his dark
brown eyes, I told myself not to be distracted by his handsome
charm, even though my heart was already beating in a
dangerous way. I had reasons to hold men at arms length, to not
get attached. But Lucky was different--it was extremely difficult to
stop myself from reaching out and pulling him into my embrace.
After landing in Putao, Jane booked four rooms at the
surprisingly sophisticated Makikha Lodge Resort. Tenzin
informed us that he had ancestors to visit and would be back in
340
the morning. Lucky had made the connection with a local man
named Nik, who could stamp our passports. Jane asked Lucky
to invite Nik to dinner in the lodge restaurant, which overlooked
the Nam Lang River, and he headed off to find him. She then
requested that her pilot charter a helicopter for ten o’clock the
next morning for our flight to Deqin, China.
Our individual bungalows were tucked under towering bamboo
clusters, which squeaked as they swayed in the gentle breeze.
Each studio was ethnically decorated with tribal art and colorful
tapestries--an open fireplace, teak bathtub and a wrap-around
balcony perched above the river. The serene view beyond the
river was of rice paddy fields, more bamboo forests and not so
distant mountains. Once settled, we headed to the high ceilinged
lodge restaurant for dinner.
"
Lucky and Nik arrived on time. The local man apparently
knew everyone, except us and four other travelers from
Germany. Once the introductions were complete, we settled in
our places--Nik sat next to Lucky and they faced Jane, Jimmy
and me. He was quite pleasant looking and appeared to be in his
mid-fifties--slim, not very tall, and had a perpetual smile on his
face.
"
“I found out that Nik is a bit of a legend in northern
Burma,” Lucky began. “Of all the tour guides in this area, they
say there isn’t anyone as well informed or connected as he is.”
As he said this Nik handed the stamped passports back to
Jimmy, Jane and I. He was not in the least bit shy being
acknowledged for who he was. “He agreed to trade a good meal
for information, so have at it. Ask the man all the questions you’d
like . . . while I scan the menu . . . unless you’d like to go
somewhere else. I saw a Denny’s down the road.”
"
“A Denny’s?” I laughed.
"
“Seriously. It was spelled D-h-e-n-e-s, but maybe they’ll
have burgers and fries.” He took in the stares and grinned. “How
‘bout I order a couple of bottles of wine.”
"
“Wine sounds good, Tonto.” After our long in-flight
conversation, I was quite relaxed in his company. “Check out the
menu. Maybe they serve water buffalo, unless you’d rather have
341
monkey.”
"
“Monkey?” Lucky chuckled, looking up from the wine list. “I
imagine you’d would like some king cobra for dinner. Or maybe
barbecued flying squirrel. I hear it comes whole on a bed of
saffron rice, with a mild viper aioli sauce. Ummm. Seriously . . .
the panda is to die for. I suggest that. Try the panda.”
"
“No! They don’t eat panda. Do they?”
"
“Red panda. Tastes a bit like teddy bear.”
"
“No . . . !” I laughed, beginning to like the Indian more than
any eligible bachelor I had ever met.
"
During casual conversation over wine Jimmy decided it
was time to ask Nik some serious questions. He had seen
pictures of the sun setting--shining brilliant light on the massive
mountain range, and wondered how it was even possible for
anyone to walk around it. A second conflicting voice in his head
had him wondering if being here really was his dream come true.
Then he looked over at Jane and imagined cuddling with her in
one of the bungalows surrounding this paradise in northern
Burma. His mind drifted back to Nik. “So Nik, what can you tell
us of this Khawa Karpo?”
"
Nik was happy to be asked, his English excellent. “Khawa
Karpo, the main peak, is twenty-two thousand feet in elevation
and it is called the White Snow Protector. It is one of the most
sacred mountains in the world. Khawa Karpo is the highest peak
of the Meili mountain range, which includes thirteen other
mountain peaks over nineteen thousand feet high. Meili has
several names, but we call it White Snow Mountain.”
"
“Is this is the area that James Hilton wrote about in his
story . . . the region know as Shangri-La?” Jimmy asked.
"
“Yes it is,” Nik answered. “And you must remember that it
was a fictional story. People will come here to look for this
Shangri-La, but it does not exist.”
"
“I don’t understand,” I interjected. “You said that the
mountain is sacred. How can a mountain be sacred?”
"
Lucky bent forward and touched my hand. His eyes
wondered deeply into mine. He took a deep breath. Later he told
me that he didn’t know whether it was the sweet shampoo of my
just washed hair, the sleeveless low-cut dress I was wearing
342
which revealed my well-formed breasts, or my startling beauty,
he wasn’t sure, but he was intoxicated by everything about me,
and it was quickly becoming impossible to lie about his feelings.
“You are so damn beautiful, Taylor. Can I say something about
what’s sacred.”
"
“Yes?” I said with a smile, impulsively giving his hand a
loving squeeze. Nik looked uncomfortable, Jimmy and Jane
somewhat please, but I didn’t really care about anyone except
Lucky at that moment.
"
“Sacred is something that is beyond comprehension-something there is only one of in the whole universe. What I’m
seeing is sacred,” Lucky began, gazing deeper into my eyes. “A
beautiful woman, such as you, is like a sacred mountain. A pure
white peak that dazzles. Intoxicates. Beckons a man, such as
me, to conquer her. To be worthy of her.” I listened without
breathing, accepting his sincerity, as he continued, “A mountain
like this Khawa Karpo has a personality. Beauty and personality
mixed . . . now that’s something.” He paused, not wavering from
my eyes. “In you I see power and humor and strength mixed with
beauty. I see a unique personality. It is something sacred,
beyond definition. I have this feeling. It’s like God is speaking to
me . . . and the voice says . . . I have to climb or walk around or
someway be one with this mountain, this beauty.”
"
I reached over and put a finger on his lips. I got it and
suddenly felt like a high school girl and the football star had just
asked me to the prom. My heart was beginning to noticeably
pound, at least to me. I maintained my composure, but the girl in
me could hardly be contained--a million body brakes kept any
and all parts from diving across the table and into his arms.
“Ah . . . OK,” was all I could say, caught in a most unusual fluster.
I didn’t know what to do or say.
"
Jimmy raised his wine glass. “Let’s drink to love,” he
proposed. Jane and his eyes embraced in a long stare, as if
Lucky was speaking for them too.
"
After the toast I desperately wanted to change the energy.
He was a polished romantic, with an outgoing personality that
matched his big, strong handsome body. I figured that he could
talk his way out of anything, so I half-jokingly challenged him.
343
“What’s it going to be? Climb on me or walk around?”
"
“Ah . . . ” he stammered “It wasn’t literal . . . I don’t often
speak so boldly . . . I got carried away. Sorry. I’m sure Nik has
more to say about his sacred mountains. What do you say, Nik?”
"
“Before you say anything,” Jimmy interrupted, impressed
by Lucky’s words. “I want to tell you, Lucky . . . what you said
really hit a cord. Back when I was a Harlem street kid, the older
guys used to liken their women to a big shiny Cadillac. Every
woman knew that every man wanted that car. So if a man made
that connection with her, he was implying that every man wanted
her, but he wanted her more. To compare a woman to a sacred
mountain . . . now that’s something.”
"
“What would you compare me to?” Jane asked to his
surprise.
"
“That’s a tough one . . . I didn’t think you’d put me on the
spot . . . give me a second. Lucky set a pretty high mountain
standard . . . and I can’t use my Cadillac line . . . humm,” Jimmy
paused for a long moment, he too now wanting to change the
energy. “Give me a rain check. OK . . . Jane?” Taking in her
satisfied smile, I’m sure deciding against a haiku, he continued,
“Let’s hear what Nik has to say.”
"
Over the course of many years Nik had listened to the
banter of countless foreign groups, and because his bio referred
to him as a naturalist guide, a local spiritual leader and religious
historian, most people afforded him his well due respect. This
sort of table chatter was extremely uncomfortable for him, and he
felt completely out of place in the midst of obviously intense
sexual energy. Looking at the two couples was sharing space
with, he politely spoke, ”I believe this may be the wrong time for
me to be here. Maybe I should go and we can talk about sacred
things another time.” He stood up.
"
“Please, Nik. I am sorry. We were just having some fun. Sit
down,” Lucky said in a kind way. “This is the only time we have
with you and I think it’s important these good people hear about
your mountain. Please . . . I apologize . . . we all apologize. I
believe Taylor had a question that doesn’t require a romantic
answer. Why are these mountains sacred? Please tell us.”
"
Nik looked at his now receptive audience, and then sat
344
down. “The energy I feel here with you two couples is a very
minor aspect of Vajrayana or Tantric Buddhism. You Western
people glamorize it as sexual tantra. In this regard, I wish not to
interfere with your fun.” His serious look put us all in a sobering
position.
"
“Please.” Jimmy leaned forward, looking directly at Nik. “I
personally apologize.” As a highly skilled professional police
detective Jimmy could relate to the man, but more so as an
Aikido sensei. Whenever people would joke around in the middle
of a dojo session he would demand it stop. This humble religious
scholar didn’t need to hear about women being compared to
mountains and Cadillacs. Jimmy was experiencing a rare
moment of embarrassment.
"
“Your apology accepted,” Nik said with a slight bow. “I will
continue. The tantras are our scriptures, do you understand?
They are very ancient, and there is quite a bit of ritual. These
scriptures tell us that enlightenment is possible in this very
lifetime, when we adhere to traditional rituals and beliefs. So
please know that to a devoted follower of the religions we have
in this . . . what you call . . . neck-of-the-woods . . . everything
you see . . . out there . . . is there to help us to achieve this
enlightenment. Many religious teachings, including Tibetan
Buddhism, Hinduism, Jainism, and the local Bon all believe that
the things of nature can and do acquire a sacred stature.”
"
“Animism?” Jane asked.
"
“That is one name for it. You are correct. For instance in
the Bon religion we believe that spirits inhabit rocks and forests
and mountains and rivers. The Shinto in Japan believe the same.
In Vajrayana Buddhism it becomes more refined. Certain places
take on more significance, more power.”
"
“Why is that?” I asked, now completely engaged.
"
“Buddhism came north from India. Over the centuries
Tibetans became adept Buddhist practitioners. Saints like the
great Milarepa, who wrote many of his 100,000 poems in Tibetan
caves, had the ability to fly over these mountains and became
famously well known. As more-and-more Tibetans became
enlightened masters, the places where they meditated became
sacred spots in and of themselves. The Hindus also had stories
345
and legends of enlightened masters and saints living on these
mountains. The Buddhist, Hindu, Jain and Bonpo religions all
place their saints on these mountains, which only makes their
sacred nature more real to all the people. The more one prays to
something, the more it is sanctified. Of all the mountains of Tibet,
none is more holy than Mt. Kailash in western Tibet, where the
Hindu Lord Shiva resides with his consort Pravati. And of the
holy mountains, the one you will be going to tomorrow, many
believe is of equal importance. In fact, the Buddhist refer to Mt.
Kailash as the body of Buddha, and Meili, the Great Snow
Mountain, the Precious Jewel, with its highest peak Khawa
Karpo, as the mind of Buddha. They are spread many, many
miles away from each other, almost from one end of Tibet to the
other . . . it is as if the great Buddha has his head resting on
these white mountains, and his body stretches across the whole
country of Tibet. Now you might understand why the Tibetan
people resisted the Chinese invasion. The whole country is
sacred, and their mountains, and all the temples, especially so.”
"
“I had no idea,” I finally said, fascinated. “Do people climb
to the tops of these two sacred mountains?”
"
“Absolutely not,” Nik answered in all seriousness. “No one
has ever climbed to the top of either Mt. Kailash or Khawa
Karpo. They say that when man reaches the top of these
mountains God will leave the earth, and never come back. Every
mountain climber in the world knows of the sanctity of these
mountains, and it is not even a consideration.”
"
“So what exactly do you two have planned for tomorrow?”
Jimmy asked Lucky.
"
“Well, with Jane’s generous permission, Nik and I have
made some calls, and the wheels are in motion for your kora
around Khawa Karpo. According to Nik it normally takes at least
two weeks to circumnavigate the mountain. If and when you find
the trail that heads off to Shambala, who knows how long that
trek will take. Once you run out of food you’ll have to turn
around.”
"
“What are our chances of finding the trail?” Jane asked.
"
“Well, your man Tenzin says he knows the way to
Shambala,” Lucky answered, and then paused. “I’m skeptical . . .
346
I admit, since all I’ve ever heard is that it’s a myth . . . but I do
know enough about Indian lore and shamanism to know there
are hidden dimensions of reality, which the normal person can’t
see. All of us, except maybe Tenzin, seem to be pretty
normal . . . well sort of. Anyway, I’m a bit of a mountain man . . . I
been training in the Himalayas. I might not have my bike and
bow, but my legs and lungs are strong. I appreciate you flying me
up here Jane, and getting me a room . . . This is quite an
adventure. I’d like to continue on with you . . . if I’m invited.”
"
“I’ll invite you,” I didn’t hesitate. “We might not need a spy
or computer hacker or another detective on the trail, but a
mountain man? Hmmm. I vote for the mountain man. What do
you think, Jane?”
"
“Why not?” she said with a smile and Jimmy nodded.
"
“Thanks.” Lucky seemed satisfied, although I imagined he
was partially wondering what he had gotten himself into. From
my point of view, his only true reason for wanting to go had
everything to do with me, and I hoped that proved to be a good
enough reason. “Nik says that he’s walked around this mountain
at least twenty times, but has always stayed on the trail. Once
we’re off the trail there is no telling where it will lead. Possibly a
dead end. He arranged for enough food and supplies for at least
a month on the trail . . . ”
"
“And all that planning happened in one day?” Jane asked.
"
“Nik made calls this afternoon,” Lucky offered. “Now
including me there are five of us. We will need, Nik thinks, eight
donkeys to carry food, tents and supplies, four porters and two
cooks. That will make us a caravan of eleven. We will walk. The
porters carry packs, pitch and take down tents and find
firewood . . . it’s what they do for their living, and they are very
good at it according to Nik. His trusted man in Deqin found some
good people and they will be ready to go tomorrow. They have
tents and supplies, and the two women cooks are busy gathering
food. A month is a very long time away from stores, but they
know what we’re up against.”
"
“It only takes eight donkeys to carry all those supplies?”
Jane wondered if she was strong enough for a strenuous
mountain trek. “Can you come up with a couple more riding
347
donkeys . . . in case our feet give out?” she asked Nik, and then
Lucky, “Are you keeping tract of what this all will cost?”
"
““The passports will cost you four hundred dollars U.S.
And three hundred dollars for the helicopter to Tibet and another
eight hundred dollars for everything else. One thousand five
hundred dollars, plus additional expenses, and everyone will be
very happy.”
"
“Two more donkeys, no problem. Two hundred dollars.
The porters will pack them. If you need twenty donkeys . . . I can
do that,” Nik offered.
"
Jane confided in me that seventeen hundred dollars was
an incredible bargain. If she could replace the donkeys with a
fleet of off-road ATV’s, she would. The price was of no concern-she was more determined than ever to find her mother. To her
Tenzin was a surprise blessing, as was Lucky, though she didn’t
know how his talents would help us in the mountains. Everything
was falling into place. She was Jimmy’s Cadillac, and if for no
other reason, she was happy.
"
We talked about our physical conditions for the journey
ahead. Jimmy wondered if he was prepared for the high altitude.
He was healthy, his legs were strong from daily Aikido workouts,
he wasn’t overweight, was up for the adventure, but was
concerned about his lungs, as was Jane. I was in great physical
shape, strong enough to run a marathon, though all of my
training was at low altitude. Deqin’s altitude of nearly twelve
thousand feet would be an interesting obstacle to overcome.
More than anything, I was excited about trekking with a man who
likened me to the most sacred peaks. After four months of
training in the Himalayas, Lucky was in the best shape, no doubt.
His presence offered me a physical challenge, adding a most
interesting perplexity to the adventure. Like Jimmy and Jane, I
was happier than I ever remembered, and more than ready to
begin a trek into the unknown.
"
Following a dinner of tender deer meet, local rice,
vegetables and several bottles of fine wine, we retired to our
bungalows--where I was soon lost in a sweet dream of the man I
was wanting to love. The bamboo above tweaked, monkeys
squealed in the far distance, the Nam Lang River gurgled as it
348
passed below; a lone bird here or there sang its sweet song. The
fragrant smell of rhododendrons filled the crisp mountain air, and
an almost full moon made it hard to sleep. With a pull of a cord, a
lovely young bungalow attendants filled my teak tub with hot
water for a late night bath--a luxury beyond measure--on the day
before my journey to Shambala.
END OF PART TWO
349
Shambala
Part Three
- The Way -
350
Smooth sailing is good.
It’s the ideal situation, until it’s not.
I welcome the squalls. They hone my skills.They help me to learn
and grow.They move me closer to the edge. Squalls define
smooth.
Storms define squalls.
Storms take me to my edge.
In the most dangerous storm . . . at the moment I may lose my
boat . . . lose my life . . . all that I have learned in all my moments Is
tested. In mortal danger I am most alive. I am most aware. I am
most in tune with Who I Am.
Smooth sailing is good. I always pray for smooth sailing. I pray for
peaceful resting. I pray for secure anchorage. I pray for gentle
rocking . . . as I drift off in sweet dreamland.
Ahhhhh . . .
I wish I sailed smoothly forever. Or do I?
Having weathered countless squalls,
Having lived through numerous storms . . . I remember the
feelings, the emotions . . . the exhilaration, the excitement of
danger . . .the Moment . . . of Being Fully Alive in Present Time.
Ahhhhh . . . .
351
I welcome the squalls. They come out of nowhere.
I remember the hatches.
I drop the sails. I may change direction.
I decide whether or not to head home.
Suddenly – as suddenly as I wish I would have chosen not to be
there –The squall turns into a raging storm. Thinking turns into
doing. Doing turns into Being Who I am to Be at that moment.
The hatches are closed. The sails are dropped.
There is no direction. There is no home.
In times of smooth sailing I rest and dream.
I study the teachings. In squalls I wake up and pay attention. I
remember and review the teachings. During storms I am thrown
into the teachings. I live the teachings. I am the teachings.
Storms are good. Squalls are good.
Smooth sailing is good. It’s all good.
And I Am a happy sailor
Being Present with what is.
Always. Grateful. For the Gift. Of Being Alive.
Robert St. Clair

352
41
Shiny new wings-a butterfly eyes the sky
wondering.
Tuesday evening, the old folks in Kathmandu:
Upon entering the foyer of the Hyatt Regency, a line of waiting
greeters draped us with long silk scarves, and placed kisses on
both cheeks. The costumed girls put their palms together and
bowed their heads. “Namaste,” they each said in the custom of
this Hindu country, acknowledging the divinity of their guests.
"
Because of my cleanliness eccentricities and ample
means, I prefer five star hotels--and since I imagined this to be
the last before Shambala, I rented a royal suite for Howard and
Sopi, and four equally elegant ones--for Maggie, the two pilots,
the two flight attendants and myself.
"
Once we settled into our fashionable quarters--having
chosen from a room service spa menu--pretty young girls
arrived. Maggie went to Sopi’s suite where they both received
foot and neck massages with fragrant-oils. An hour later, in their
own suites, they relaxed in huge jacuzzi bathtubs--hot water
laced with healing salts and minerals, petals of lavender orchids
on top.
"
After their baths, tailors arrived and their clothing was
sized, to be replaced the next day with the traditional mountain
wardrobe I requested. The tailors then dressed Howard and I in
comfortable black suits, with white shirts and ties. In their rooms,
the women were dressed in lovely cheongsam silks.
"
Having surrendered to my request for a night of decadent
353
luxury, we gathered at the hotel restaurant. Maggie looked
elegant in a light green peony, Sopi in peacock red. Maggie
swore we all appeared several years younger, and wondered if it
could possibly be true.
"
During dinner I thought back to my initial trip from the
Portola in Lhasa, across Tibet and then onto Shambala--when I
was ten years old--the first and only time I had traveled from
Lhasa to Mt. Kailash. Recalling the week-long truck drive, and
the three days of trekking to the valley, I doubted if we were
physically fit for such a demanding journey. I needed to come up
with an alternative plan, one that would begin right there in
Kathmandu. Flying was still the best option, though I realized
that the large jet wouldn’t be able to land anywhere near Mt.
Kailash.
"
After dinner we relaxed in Howard and Sopi’s cozy living
room suite. I informed the others of my thoughts, “These
mountains are over twenty thousand feet high. Of course flying
over them is possible, but there isn’t an airport big enough to
land the Gulfstream anywhere between here and where we’re
going . . . so continuing on with our big airplane is out of the
question. How do we get there?”
"
“How did you get there before?” Maggie asked.
"
“Overland. It will take a week and it’s rugged. I’m not
willing to subject myself and you to such hardship.”
"
“How about a smaller plane. We can land it on a road
anywhere.”
"
“Charter a plane?”
"
“Why don’t you just buy one?” she suggested.
"
After we all agreed to buy a plane and fly out of
Kathmandu, Howard called room service and ordered a bottle of
wine.
Their first night together--Howard and Sopi’s snuggling seemed
as natural as breathing and they wondered what had kept them
apart for all these years. Maggie sunk into her feather bed and
dreamt about being treated like a queen, which was indeed the
case at hand. She also dreamed of me, and what it would have
been like if she were as willing as Sopi, to give herself to the
354
man she loved. I think I had the same dream, about her.
After breakfast the next morning we were led to a hotel
conference room. The plan was to locate a small airplane which I
would purchase. The manager provided us with computers,
telephones and a secretary for translations, as requested. I laid
out maps of Tibet and Nepal, and pointing at Kathmandu began,
“This is where we are . . . and this where we are going.” I moved
my finger up to two lakes, about three hundred miles away from
where we were, on the other side of the Himalayas.
"
“If Mt. Kailash is a sacred mountain, they must have tours
from here to there. Maybe we could hire a company to take us,”
Howard offered.
"
“That’s an option, but I’d rather not engage other people. I
can certainly afford to buy a small plane . . . and the chances of
finding one here in Kathmandu are much greater than anywhere
else . . . unless we go to New Dehli.”
"
“Might as well see what they have here,” Maggie agreed.
“How about a twin engine something or other. When I was in
Africa the bush pilots would land their planes just about
anywhere. I’m sure we wouldn’t be the first to fly from here to
there.”
"
“There must be a small plane highway . . . a valley
between the peaks somewhere,” Howard responded, looking for
that place on the map.
"
“That’s exactly what we need to find out,” I answered. “I
agree with Maggie. Let’s look for a twin engine airplane that’s big
enough for the four of us, a six-seater.”
"
“I’m ready to Google and make calls . . .” Sopi said. “Did
everyone meet Alisha here?” Introductions were made.
"
“Namaste,” she said with a bow. “Please. If you need me I
will translate for you. Whatever you need, I am at your service.”
"
“Thank you Alisha,” I said. “This is the room number of my
pilot. Will you call him and ask that he and the crew meet me
here within the hour?” I then turned back to the map. “The area
around Mt. Kailash is flat and desolate . . . no trees. A good pilot
should have no trouble landing, at least that would be my guess.
Finding a plane that will get us over the mountains is our biggest
355
problem. Let’s see what’s out there.”
"
When the captain arrived I offered the crew two days rest
at the Hyatt, total carte blanche at my expense, and a very hefty
bonus for their exemplary service and, more importantly, their
silence. They were to head back to Portland and prepare for an
immediate return flight to Mandalay with the new Shan State
Shambala Tribe. There would be no talk of the disappearance of
Robert St. Clair, or the former residents of Happy Acres. As
always, the official company statement only revealed that the
retired owner of Shambala Foods was vacationing at an
undisclosed location somewhere in Asia. The flight crew agreed
to know nothing about Happy Acres.

Two hours later we stood in front of an old hanger at the far end
of Tribhuvan Airport, with an overly friendly, snake-charming
slick, turbaned Sikh salesman, someone Maggie had found while
Googling airplanes for sale. Alone in its stall, covered in years of
dust, was a sleek looking 1979 twin engine, six passenger
Beechcraft Baron. The salesman had no idea how, why or when
this plane ended up in Kathmandu. All he knew was that we
could buy it today for $300,000US . . . cash. The price was
ridiculous--fortunately Howard and I were experts in so-called
third world negotiating, and before any business could be
conducted we needed to see the title and proof that this man had
any right to sell it. After much insistence and several phone calls,
a Nepalese Army General appeared--the confiscated property’s
legal owner, with proper paperwork. After ten minutes of
haggling, right after I said the deal was off and turned, walking
back to the waiting limo, a reasonable price of $150,000 cash
was settled upon. I was now the owner of a 1979 Beechcraft
Baron in remarkably good condition. Buying an airplane in
Kathmandu was easier than any of us imagined.
"
I hired a cleaning crew and they spent the afternoon
detailing the plane inside and out, before mechanics were called
in to make it flight ready. Even though the proffered hourly fee for
a pilot was tripled, it took ten interviews before a qualified pilot
356
agreed to fly us to Mt. Kailash, early the next morning.
"
After a quick tour of the Boudhanath Stupa, the most
holy of Tibetan Buddhist shrines outside of Tibet, we returned to
the Hyatt and again surrendered to the pampering’s of the hotel
staff. Ayurvedic therapeutic detoxifying and re-energizing
massages at the Club Oasis sent each of us into profound states
of relaxation and well-being. Another fantastic dinner and a
comfortable night’s sleep prepared us for the journey ahead, or
so we imagined.
357
42
A meadow lark-smiling wings,
reveal no riddles.
Thursday - Kathmandu:
It was the perfect morning for flying--not a cloud in the Nepali
sky. The driver parked the limo on the tarmac, fifty feet from the
white, newly polished, Beechcraft Baron. The plane looked like it
was ready for it’s very first flight, grateful to be out of the hanger,
smiling with wings wide ready to fly.
"
“My goodness, she’s looks brand new,” Sopi said after
rolling down the tinted window for a better look. “I hope she flies
like new.”
"
“That was part of the deal,” I answered. “They have a
check list, which includes test flying. Look. There’s one of the
mechanics, probably giving it the last minute inspection before
the pilot arrives.”
"
“Where is the pilot?” Howard asked.
"
“Don’t know. He was supposed to be here half an hour
ago?”
"
“I’m excited,” Maggie offered. “I love small planes. One
of my regrets was never getting my pilot’s license. Maybe you’ll
let me fly it one day, Robert. What do you think? I’m not too old
to fly a plane.”
"
“There’s no landing strip where we’re going. Maybe you
can learn to fly without a plane.”
"
“Yeah, right.”
358
"
The young mechanic slowly walked up to the plane,
opened the pilot-side door and hoisted himself in, as if he owned
the Baron. The man busied himself flicking switches and in no
time the two engines roared into life. He then hopped out, pulled
down the passenger ladder and waved for the occupants in the
limo, us, to come.
"
“Om namah shivaya,” the young man said in a Hindi
accent as we approached him. He bowed to everyone, then
turned and bowed to me. “Namaste, Master. I have prepared
your royal chariot.”
"
“Namaste,” I answered. “Looks more like an airplane to
me, but thanks.”
"
“She is very beautiful, do you not agree?” He bowed to
Sopi. “I know you do, Mother.” Then back to me, “We have
shined her inside and out, and the engine runs like new. She flies
like a young meadow lark, this I can personally guarantee. Are
we ready to go now?”
"
“We are,” I answered while studying the handsome clean
shaven young man, with neatly trimmed short hair--who looked a
lot like the immortal master, though I quickly dismissed the
thought. It couldn’t possibly be him. “As soon as the pilot
arrives.”
"
“He has arrived, Master, and I am he.”
"
“No. I hired another man. Where is he?”
"
“I am sorry, but that man was not your pilot. He was an
impostor. Only I can be your pilot. It is written.”
"
“What? Written? Who are you?”
"
“My name is Arjuna.” The young man made a dramatic
bow. “I am forever in your service.”
"
“Forever is a long time . . . Arjuna.” I took a deep breath,
attempting to be diplomatic. “Listen, I appreciate your Hindu
generosity, but I did hire another man to fly this plane to Mt.
Kailash, in Tibet. You’re not that man.”
"
“Yes, this is true. I am not him. You are fortunate it is me,
doing my dharma, and not this other man who would only be
doing his job. I am here to serve the Lord Krishna.”
"
“OK . . . well, he must have taken another flight.”
359
"
“There is no mistake. This is who you are. I am here to
take you home.”
"
“Is this some kind of joke?”
"
“I can assure you that this is no joke. You have only
forgotten. You drove the chariot for me before, and now it is my
turn to be your charioteer. Lord Shiva welcomes us. And Lord
Vishnu is pleased. All is well I can assure you. The gods rejoice
that we are together again.”
"
“Together again?”
"
“Yes, Master, indeed. Like the mani wheel, all must come
around again, always. You know what I am saying . . .”
"
“No,” I interrupted.
"
“That was not a question. We have simply changed
places. Now You think you can teach me what I already know.”
"
While I stood dumbfounded, Arjuna turned to Maggie
and gave a formal bow. “Most beautiful Radha. I have waited a
thousand of your lifetimes to serve you . . . it is my greatest
honor to do so now.”
"
“You know me?”
"
“Indeed. You have aged one way, and soon another . . .
but always you are the most beautiful of all.”
"
He then studied Howard before speaking, “To be in the
presence of four saints is a high honor indeed, and I bow to you
with humility and respect, great sadhu Sudama.” He bowed and
then motioned to the stairs, “Please, Sudama, you and your
soon-to-be most beautiful bride must enter the airplane. Mother
first.”
"
While this was going on I phoned the pilot I had hired,
who informed me that he was now unavailable.
"
“OK, Arjuna,” I stepped forward as Howard and Sopi
climbed up and took the two back front-facing seats. “I’m
impressed with your knowledge of Hindu lore. But understand,
I’m not hiring a tour guide, especially one who wishes to preach
his religion. I’ve studied Hinduism for more years than you’ve
been alive. I have memorized scripture, know the Mahabharata
and the Ramayana backwards and forwards, and I’m sure that
there isn’t one Hindu thing you know that I don’t.”
"
“Maybe one thing,” Arjuna said with a smile.
360
"
“The point being . . . a pilot is a taxi cab driver who
knows how to fly a plane. You’re an airplane wala, nothing more.
I am hiring you to fly this plane and instead of the hourly fee I
offered the other pilot, I’m paying you one hundred thousand
rupees.”
"
Arjuna gave me a perplexed look.
"
“OK, one hundred and fifty thousand rupees. But let’s be
clear. I’m not paying for entertainment. Do you understand? You
can call me Robert, this is Maggie, and in the plane we have
Howard and Sopi. Now, do you have a pilot’s license? Are you
qualified to fly this plane?”
"
“I am certified and qualified to fly an airplane . . . and to
drive a chariot. It is not a problem.” Arjuna winked at Maggie as
he handed me what appeared to be an official pilot’s license.
“Please for you to know, Master. I am not pretending to be
someone I am not. I will take you to Mt. Kailash, and then I will
assist you on our way to Shambala. If you would be so kind,
Master . . . it is time to go.”
"
“How would you know we’re going to Shambala?”
"
“I know one thing, maybe two . . . and many things you
know, but have forgotten. You must trust me.” Arjuna looked
deep into my eyes. “I am not here to entertain as you say, only to
remind you of what you already know. I am here to bring you
home. Is that not what you want? So, please, Master.” He
pointed to the stairs.
"
He called me Rahda, Maggie thought. The immortal
master also called me Radha. They look similar. Could he be
him?
"
I watched as Maggie entered the plane, and then I
walked around to the other side, climbed on the wing, opened
the door and settled into the co-pilot’s seat.
"
Once the doors were closed, Arjuna put on his headset,
flicked switches, communicated with the flight tower like a wellseasoned pilot, and soon lifted the Baron off the ground and into
the Nepali sky, heading due west. The take-off was perfect, and
as Arjuna made the necessary flap adjustments and final
communication with the controller, I had no doubt the young man
361
was a qualified pilot. “Do you know exactly where we’re going?” I
asked over the engine noise.
"
“I do. I am here in case you have forgotten.”
"
“Please,” I said, somewhat annoyed, “don’t talk in
riddles. I just want to know how you intend to get us to Mt.
Kailash.”
"
“I calculate it is around two hundred and twenty miles to
Nepalganj. This is the region where I come from, you know, but
not that town.”
"
“You’re from India? I thought you were Nepalese.”
"
“Originally I came from Kurukshetra, north of Delhi.”
"
“Kurukshetra?” I was quite familiar with that name, but
chose not to take the conversation there. “Where is this
Nepalganj? Are we stopping there?”
"
“It is in Nepal south of the Himalayas, on the India
border. I will stop there to refuel, and for you to have some lunch.
Then I will fly to the Karnali River, and follow it between the
mountains for one hundred and fifty miles, to Simikot. From there
it is another seventy-five miles until we reach the road in front of
Darchen, at Mt. Kailash.”
"
“Sounds like a good plan,” I replied. “You’ve done your
homework.”
"
“Indeed.”

For the next hour I remained silent, my mind lost in
remembrance of the Bhagavad Gita, the sacred Hindu scripture I
knew intimately from my Shambala studies--the story of a
conversation between Lord Krishna, the chariot driver, and the
Pandava Prince Arjuna was forever etched in his mind. The
discourse took place on a battlefield before the start of a war
between the Pandavas and the Kauravas, two families of royal
cousins who were about to fight each other, on the planes of
Kurukshetra. It astounded me that this pilot named Arjuna
claimed to be from that very place. I recalled being taught that
the Bhagavad Gita was an allegory--the soul’s struggling to
overcome evil on the battlefield of life. I thought about my forty362
five years of business battles and my recovery from physical
death--wondering if I had addressed my fears, and if I was fully
prepared for the journey ahead. Have I killed all my fears? I hope
so. Have I killed my ego? Hmmm . . . or added to it? Will I be
able to find the path to Shambala? “I am here in case you have
forgotten.” Arjuna’s words stuck in my mind, and I wondered
what the young pilot meant by them.
"
As soon as I thought that very thought, Arjuna reached
over and gently tapped me on my third eye. It was then that the
path came into view. Suddenly I remembered a place on the Mt.
Kailash kora I had walked in and out of, no less than twenty-five
times before. Although it had been forty-five years, I could now
see it in my mind’s eye as clear as day.

We landed in Nepalganj for lunch as scheduled, and Arjuna led
the four of us to a nearby outdoor cafe. After asking the cooks
and servers to end their prostrating, he ordered food in Hindi,
before leaving to attend to the plane. We sat under a rustic
sheet-metal lean-to, and an electric fan appeared with a smiling
young boy, who plugged it in. Within minutes platters of
traditional vegetarian food--spinach dal, punjab eggplant and
palak paneer, with freshly baked chapatis, were set before us,
with more considerable bowing. Although mild, the food, to our
palettes, was hot and spicy, but the creamy goat milk yogurt and
sweet plum chutney calmed the delicious food to our western
taste. A server kept our cups filled with chai as we relaxed with
full tummies.
"
“I didn’t understand half the things he was saying,”
Howard offered. “Talking about Krishna and all that. I guess it
comes with the territory. But what I don’t understand is why he
called me that name. What was it? Suddam or something like
that?”
"
“Sudama,” I corrected him.
"
“Who was he?”
"
“Sudama was sort of like a friend to Krishna. He was so
poor he didn’t have anything to give his Lord. But he was willing
363
to give him all of nothing. Krishna was so moved he didn’t know
what of equal value he could give in return to this most humble
and devoted man.”
"
“Sounds a bit like our story,” Howard admitted.
"
“True. You started with nothing and were willing to give
me all you had. It paid off for both of us . . .”
"
“He said that Sopi was to be my bride. Well . . .” He
paused looking over at her. “If she’ll take me, but how would he
know that we weren’t already married?” I shrugged my
shoulders.
"
“He called me Radha. The immortal master also called
me Radha,” Maggie chimed in. “Wasn’t she a cow herding
maiden in Hindu lore?”
"
“A gopi girl, yes, that’s true,” I replied. “But she was also
the consort of Krishna.”
"
“I guess that means she was his girlfriend,” Sopi offered.
"
“His beloved,” I injected, “though not one of his wives.”
"
“He also said that I aged one way and will age another
way. What did he mean by that?” Maggie asked me.
"
“I have no idea.”
"
“What did he mean that you were trading places, that
you were going to teach him what he already knows?” Howard
asked. “That’s a pretty confusing riddle. Do you know what he
was talking about?”
"
“In the Bhagavad Gita Krishna was Arjuna’s charioteer.
The prince was facing his possible death, was about to kill
members of his own family, and so all these considerations were
discussed, concepts of right and wrong, good and bad and all
that--a beautifully written life teaching and spiritual guide book.
Our pilot was suggesting that I’m Krishna, and he’s Arjuna like in
the Bhagavad Gita, but instead of Krishna driving the chariot, the
roles are now reversed. I don’t think it’s meant to be taken
literally.”
"
“Of course, it’s metaphor . . . Arjuna’s saying that you’re
the one who is now facing your fears and so on, right?” Maggie
said excitingly. “Now he’s the one giving you the advice, or
wisdom, but it’s sort of a joke, since he knows that you know that
you already have all the answers.”
364
"
“I don’t have all the answers and I’m not Krishna. And I
hardly see myself in a battle. I’m not afraid.” Or am I? I thought.
"
“Are you sure?” she asked.

Arjuna finally returned and sat at the table. He accepted a cup of
chai. “Everything is settled, Master,” he said to me. “They will be
ready for our arrival.”
"
“Who? What? What is settled?”
"
“We will arrive in Darchen tomorrow.”
"
“Tomorrow? I thought we would be there today.” I was
confused and had no idea what the young man was talking
about.
"
“You must acclimatize yourselves to the high altitude.
Breathing is very different once you are in the Himalayas. You
have gone from five thousand feet in Kathmandu, down to five
hundred here in Napelganj, and then up to ten thousand in
Simikot and fifteen thousand at Mt. Kailash. Do you not think
your bodies need to adjust?”
"
“I would think so,” Maggie answered. “So how is this
going to happen?”
"
“I have rented you rooms in Simikot for the night. There
will be meals. That is not a problem. It is important that you are
all well rested and have oxygen before we leave in the morning.”
"
“I appreciate you wanting to help, but I had already
made reservations in Darchen,” I spoke up. “I called yesterday
and set everything up for our arrival today. You should have
asked. I told you that I hired you as a pilot, not our tour guide.
We’ll proceed on to Darchen.”
"
“The people you spoke with there do not know who you
are, Master. If they would have known they would have
suggested oxygen, a night or two in Simikot and given you much
better lodging in Darchen. I have been to Darchen many times,
and where you made your reservation would not have been a
good place for you, or your friends.”
"
“But I made reservations.”
365
"
“They have been cancelled. What you rented did not
have a decent bed, or a toilet. It is extremely important for people
your age to sleep in comfort, and have indoor plumbing. Do you
wish to poop in a bucket?”
"
“Well . . . I thought . . .”
"
“I assure you, Master, that what I have arranged will be
much more comfortable, though there is nothing in Darchen
close to what you are imagining.”
"
“You have no idea what I’m imagining.”
"
“But I do. You have forgotten how it is to be so far away
from all your conveniences. There is not a big supermarket in
Darchen, just a very small store. You have seen the map. It is in
the middle of . . . nowhere. Most tourists walk around . . . do their
kora . . . in no more than four days. Mostly they come in a
caravan with trucks, with their own supplies, their own tents and
food. So when you call and say that you want food and supplies
for two weeks . . . it is not normal. I will tell you that they did not
believe you.”
"
“They didn’t believe me? Why should I believe you? I did
my homework. I saw photo’s of the rooms. I talked to a bright
man and arranged for a small caravan with tents and two week’s
supply of food and he assured me that everything would be the
best quality, and ready tomorrow. They have a website.”
"
“Please, Master. I am here to serve you. I am telling you
that those photos were not of your hotel. There was no way that
man could help you with such short notice. It is impossible he
would be able to get all your food and supplies, the yaks and
porters all together in one day. Do you not understand? These
are good people, but all they hear is another impossible demand
from a crazy foreigner. Also, did you arrange for oxygen? You will
have trouble breathing in this high altitude without it. Did you not
think of the high altitude?”
"
I shook my head. I could hardly believe what I was
hearing. Although it made perfect sense, I still didn’t like hearing
it. My authority was being undermined, and I was appearing
foolish in front of my friends. I had to somehow save face.
“You’re right. The person on the other end of the phone was all
too accommodating, agreeing to my every request with ‘no
366
problem.’ I should have been more cautious and less trusting.
Now you’re asking me to trust you, a young man I don’t even
know, who I never hired in the first place. You canceled our
reservations without my permission. That’s unacceptable, but
since it’s already been done we have no choice. I hope for your
sake you’re not out to scam a bunch of unsuspecting old
people.”
"
“Old people? Nothing is . . . as it appears, Master. I do
hope you have saved your face . . . and if so, I have put tanks in
your airplane for that face to breathe into. I do not have a
website, but I am telling you that when you do arrive in Darchen
there will be yaks and porters and the best tents, and cots, and
cooks and very good food . . . all waiting and ready to take us to
Shambala.”
"
Howard couldn’t help but enter the conversation. “I still
don’t see how you will be able to have those things ready in two
days. If it was impossible for them, people who live there, how is
it possible for you?”
"
“What is impossible for others, is possible for me. I have
promised you that we will have all that we will need, so you are
not to worry.”
"
“I don’t understand,” Sopi said.
"
“It is not for you to understand . . . Mother. It is for you to
simply be . . . here. You have earned the right to be served.
There is no question about it. How you got from there to here
was not your concern, and how you get from here to there is also
not your concern. Everyone is here to serve the mother . . . and
you are here to receive. It is that very simple. Do you know what
it is I am saying?”
"
Sopi was surprised that the young man took the time to
speak to her directly, without losing eye contact. She did hear
what he was saying, and was quite moved by it. “I do,” she finally
said, experiencing a rare stillness within her being.
"
“It is the same for you, Maggie. I am not making things
up. You are Radha. The same sacred goddess, and I am
honored to serve you. But you must be prepared, be ready to
take control. I am telling you who you are, so you will be in your
367
power when needed.” He stepped back. “Now it is time for us to
go. Please come.”
"
“I need to settle the bill here first,” I said.
"
“There is no need to consider money anymore, Master.
Everything has been taken care of. I assure you. Now, we must
go.”
"
“I can certainly afford to pay for lunch. What is it, twenty
dollars? These people need money, too.” I argued.
"
“So you have completely forgotten. Let me tell you this,
Master. Did you ever think about money or what things cost in
your first thirty-five years in this incarnation? Yes or no.”
"
I looked at the young man for minute without speaking.
Only a few people knew I had left Shambala at age thirty-five.
Those few people included my parents, who had died years
before, and my three travel companions. “No,” I answered.
"
“The Hindu people here, and the Buddhists we will soon
meet . . . they . . . well . . . look. You must see for yourself. Where
do you think the people who made and served your lunch went?
Look.” Arjuna pointed behind us.
"
Turning around we saw the five restaurant workers
prostrated on the ground, their prayer cupped hands pointing
directly at us. “These humble people would be insulted with your
money, you must understand. Now we must go.”
"
“Why are they doing that?” Maggie asked. “Arjuna, tell
me why these people are bowing like this to us. Please.”
"
“They know that everyone will one day return to
paradise. They are blessed to serve those who are on this final
path. By serving you, then they will be born to be like you so
much sooner.”
"
“They think we are on this path?”
"
“They do not think. There is no question who you are.
Please come. Come . . . you can serve these people by allowing
them to get off the ground. We must leave first.” With that said
he turned and walked toward the waiting Beechcraft Baron.
368
43
Before the mist-under a rainbow falls
entwined.
Monday - Putao, Burma:
I woke to the sounds of wood on wood tapping, and men
grunting. I had hoped to lounge in the luxury of my feather bed
bungalow a while longer--wishing the sounds that wouldn’t stop
would. Reluctantly, I got up, wrapped myself in a lodge guest
robe, opened the balcony door and looked down to the river bed.
"
Jimmy and Lucky maneuvered over the river rock with
ease and grace, engaged in intense sparing with bamboo poles-apparently a close match in skill. Both had their shirts off, and I
was particularly drawn to the younger man’s muscular physique.
Without losing his concentration he noticed me on my balcony.
"
Lucky stopped the sparing and bowed to Jimmy, he in
return. They both turned their heads up to me and Lucky
shouted, loud enough to wake the other guests, “Well, what are
you waiting for, Taylor. Let’s go,” He had a big smile on his face.
“There’s not much time left.”
"
“For what?”
"
“Play. Come down. A bathing suit is optional--if you’re up
for skinny dipping.” This was enough to illicit a hearty laugh from
Jimmy.
"
“Skinny dipping? Only if you’re ready to leave the
reservation, Tonto. Right now?”
"
“No better time,” he answered with a grin, not sure what I
meant.
369
"
I slipped my bikini on, wrapped myself in a sarong and
was soon following Lucky through a bamboo forest that
eventually led to a breathtaking fifty-foot waterfall. The pond
before the mist was an ideal swimming hole. Since Lucky was
already in his suit he wasted no time and dove in. I was right on
his tail. We swam and laughed and splashed and played like
kids, until it was time to go. Both of us had found the friend we
had been longing for.

After dinner, the night before, Lucky left with Nik, I went tomy
room, and Jimmy and Jane stayed in the cozy lounge, enjoying
each other’s company. Lucky returned half an hour later with a
story about Tenzin, which only added to the Tibetan man’s
mystique. Not wishing to interrupt what looked like a romantic
encounter, Lucky agreed to spar with Jimmy at seven the next
morning, and left.
"
“I’m still not sure how Lucky fits into all this,” Jane said.
“Taylor is bewitched, that’s for sure. They’ve really hit it off . . .
they make a good looking couple.”
"
“I’ve noticed,” Jimmy replied. “There’s a haiku
coming . . .
"
“They don’t live so far from each other,” she interrupted.
“Seattle and Portland are pretty close, and it sounds like he’s
about ready to go back. Did he tell you more about his detective
work?”
"
“No. He has five black belts in Aikido . . . that’s
impressive. I’ll see if that’s true in the morning.”
"
“And all this 007 stuff? Computer hacking and
espionage? Do you think it’s all a bunch of b.s?
"
“I don’t take him to be a liar. He bows . . . bokken in his
hand . . . Curious . . .”
"
“But not as curious as Tenzin.” Jane wasn’t interested in
the haiku, and after a sip of wine continued, “I swear he was only
twenty when I hired him, and now he’s at least thirty-five. That’s
just plain impossible . . .”
370
"
“I believe you . . . as a detective all you can do with odd
stuff like that is set it aside . . . until it becomes pertinent. We
know he left Portland with the others . . . so they must have
stopped in Mandalay . . . to drop him off for some reason or
another. Do they know we’re following them?”
"
“They are six days ahead of us. Did we even know each
other six days ago?”
"
“I don’t know,” Jimmy laughed. “Seems like I’ve always
known you.”
"
“That’s true.” She counted on her fingers. “Tenzin was in
Mandalay for four days before we arrived. We were still in
Portland then . . . and Mandalay wasn’t on our itinerary.”
"
“So why do you think they stopped in Mandalay?” Jimmy
asked.
"
“I have no idea. Except . . . I know Robert has been
wanting to find a way to use the lush Shan State region for
growing organic crops. He’s been there many times and now that
his friend Aung San Suu Kyi is in parliament . . . it’s possible he
was doing some business there.”
“I thought he was retired.”
"
‘He is, that’s the only reason he’d stop in Mandalay . . .
but why . . . when two of his friends have dementia and my
mother is dying? It wouldn’t be like him subject them to a
business stop-over. Even a re-fueling stop in Calcutta doesn’t
make sense. I was in charge of the company jets and itineraries.
Since the Gulfstream V is a private jet with a range of nearly four
thousand miles, I would have flown straight from Osaka to
Kathmandu. It’s only three thousand miles.”
"
“You’re sure Robert doesn’t know where we are?”
"
“Remember I wanted to go to Saigon, and we decided
on Hong Kong and then Mandalay and changed the itinerary?
We’re not supposed to be here. Nobody knows where we are.
How would Tenzin know? Another impossible thing. At least now
we have some direction . . . though I’m still not convinced it’s the
right one. I don’t know, Jimmy. You’re the detective. What do you
think?”
"
“They didn’t come here. Nik knows of every foreigner
who enters his little town, and he hasn’t seen or heard of the four
371
elderly travelers. Tenzin obviously possesses some sort of
miraculous power to make himself older, which is not only
pertinent in the demonstration of ability, it also establishes a
degree of trust . . . What is most pertinent is the fact that he was
with them, somehow knew we’d come to Mandalay, and insists
he knows how to find them. He’s our best resource.”
"
“But how does he know all this?”
"
"
“I don’t know, but I can’t dismiss what happened on Mt.
Kurama. The master knew who he wanted us to find, the ones
we are looking for . . . even though his referring to them as
master, father and protector didn’t make sense at the time.
Really, it was big for me . . . and trust me, if I hadn’t experienced
it myself I’d probably be turning around about now. Meeting the
master told me something that I normally would have scoffed
away.”
"
“And what’s that?” she asked in a respectful way.
"
“That we’re being guided.”
"
“So you’re suggesting Tenzin is part of that guidance . . .
that we just trust . . . keep going and see what happens?”
"
“That seems to be the best solution. If Tenzin says he
knows the way to Shambala. Who am I to argue?”
"
“OK . . . so how about a shot of whiskey?” Jane
concluded with a grin.
"
“A women after my own heart,” he replied. With that
night cap they returned to their bungalows, and the eventual
soak in the teak tub.

After dinner and before he met with Jimmy and Jane, Lucky
followed Nik to the historian’s small two bedroom home. Tenzin
stood waiting outside the door, to their surprise. Lucky’s mind
raced to connect the dots. He had no idea how Tenzin would
have known where Nik lived, and as far as he knew, the two men
had never met. Nik was gracious enough to let him in, and they
sat at the wooden kitchen table.
"
“How can I help you?” Nik asked Tenzin.
372
"
“As I have told Mr. Lucky here, I have come to show the
three people from Oregon the way to Shambala. I believe you
have made some arrangements.”
"
“Yes, I have arranged for a caravan to meet them at
Lamtsa at one tomorrow afternoon, to begin their kora around
Khawa Karpo. Is there a problem?”
"
“I believe so. The kora is unnecessary. They did not
come here for a religious circumambulation of the mountain, they
have come to find their people. They will presently be on the
path to Shambala.”
"
“So you’re saying that the path around Khawa Karpo
leads to the path to Shambala.” Lucky offered.
"
“That is correct,” the Tibetan man answered. “It leads to
the path. We will not go to Lamtsa. We will begin at the end,
which most definitely is not Lamtsa.”
"
“So you are saying that you want to start at Menrusho.
This is the wrong direction to begin with,” Nik replied. “Koras for
Hindus and Buddhists go clockwise, not counterclockwise. It is
not good merit to go in the wrong direction. I advise you not to
walk in the wrong direction.”
"
“You did not hear me. We are not doing a kora and this
is not a religious trek, although it is. I do not believe you are
coming with us.”
"
“I am not.”
"
“That is good. I will no longer require your service. I will
hire the porters and arrange for the supplies. We are no longer
your concern.”
"
“What? I have already hired the porters . . .”
"
“Tell them they are no longer hired.”
"
“But the porters are all in Deqin and there is no way for
you to get there tonight and hire a new crew.”
"
“It is no longer your business, or your concern.” He then
turned to Lucky. “Please tell Mrs. Jane that all has been
arranged and I will meet them at the village of Menrusho
tomorrow around noon. Good night.”
"
With that Tenzin walked out the door, leaving both Nik
and Lucky dumbfounded.
373

"
"
At breakfast Jimmy and Jane sat across from Lucky and I, and
listened to our excited talk about swimming in a turquoise pool.
Jimmy considered our fun, but wondered if I’d forgotten why I
was here. I missed what he considered an important
conversation the night before, although he really didn’t want me
there. Though there wasn’t much Jimmy could say without
sounding hypocritical--like Lucky and I, he also was thoroughly
enjoying his budding romance with Jane--he felt it appropriate to
check in, see where I was at.
"
“Taylor,” Jimmy carefully began. “Do you remember why
we’re here?”
"
“Of course I do,” I answered. “That’s a silly question.
We’re here to find the missing people, one who could very well
be my biological father. And Jane’s mother. And Howard, which
is really why we came in the first place. Why do you ask?”
"
“Well, did you ever consider that nobody has seen them
here in Putao?”
"
“Not really. I trust the immortal master. He certainly knew
things he should never have known. I trust Tenzin. He waited in
Mandalay for us to arrive. How did he know? He knows a lot of
things he shouldn’t. I trust having met Lucky who got all our
permits in hours instead of days. He knows a few things.” I
paused to smile at Lucky. “He knows how to show a girl a good
time. Having fun shouldn’t stop us from doing what we’re here to
do. I trust you and Jane. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. But think
about it. Everything has fallen into place, almost unbelievably . . .
well . . . unbelievably. Anyway, aren’t you the one who told me
there are no coincidences? To surrender to the void. I totally
believe we’re in the right place . . . and I’m more than ready to
see what happens next.”
"
“I suppose you should know, Taylor” Lucky joined in,
“that Tenzin showed up at Nik’s house after dinner last night and
fired Nik. He’ll get his own porters and cooks and we’ll start in
the north and walk in the opposite direction.” Lucky looked at
Jimmy and continued, “He wouldn’t be giving us this information
if he didn’t know where he was going. I’m beginning to trust him
374
too. I’m pretty excited to see exactly where he intends to take
us.”
"
“All right then,” Jane spoke up. “Let’s finish breakfast.
We’ll need trekking gear . . . we can buy everything here at the
hotel store. I’m paying . . . get good boots and anything else you
think you’ll need. Lucky, will you help make sure we have
everything?” He nodded.
"
When the shopping was complete we checked out of the
lodge and took a taxi to the helipad for our ten o’clock flight
across the mountain border to Deqin, Tibet, or China. Although
there was no possible way for Tenzin to get to there without a
helicopter on such short notice, wesomehow trusted he would.
Just in case, Jane arranged for the second helicopter to bring
him to Deqin, if he showed up.

The scenery became more spectacular by the minute as the
helicopter rose over the lush forests of Putao and headed
northeast. High green mountains, with rivers flowing through,
were an eye feast in themselves, but when Meili, the Great Snow
Mountain, came into view, with its miles of snow white peaks, our
jaws dropped. None of us had ever seen anything more
spectacular. We were awed to silence--Jane and I were moved
to tears. The row of fourteen 20,000 foot peaks were visually
magnificent, and now we could see why they were considered
sacred. When the pilot pointed out Khawa Karpo, the highest
peak, I couldn’t imagine how anyone would be able to climb it,
and now accepted why nobody had.
"
After an hour of unmatchable vistas, we accepted an
anti-climatic landing in Deqin. A waiting Land Rover picked us up
and we headed through the much larger than they expected
remote boring mountain city. Once through town we set off on a
curving twenty mile drive to Adong, and then along the Mekong
River to the tiny village, where we would begin our trek.
"
At twelve-thirty the Range Rover pulled into an open
area between a tiled pitch-roofed guest lodge and a similarly
styled restaurant. Tenzin was there with the porters, who after
375
loading mules with food and supplies, were having their lunch.
An old supply truck sat empty and eight of ten mules, burdened
with weight, paced in anxious readiness.
"
“How did you get here?” Jane asked Tenzin as soon as
she stepped out of the vehicle. “I was told it’s impossible to get
here overnight without a helicopter, and I know you didn’t charter
one. Tell me.”
"
“I am where I am supposed to be,” he vaguely answered
and then pointed at the neighboring restaurant, changing the
subject. “That is the last restaurant you will see. I have ordered
food you can eat while we tie your duffle-bags to the mules. We
should be ready to go in one half hour. Please. Enjoy the local
food. But do not linger too long. It will be a challenging climb to
our first camp.”
Our small caravan departed Menrusho not long past one in the
afternoon. The skies were partly cloudy, and the air temperature
was comfortably crisp. We headed down a dirt road, which soon
become a steep trail leading to our first camp site at Chu-ngu.
376
44
Gliding over the mountain
the sparrowhawk sees-everything.
Monday - Khawa Karpo
The trail from the village of Menrusho followed a tumbling creek
for a mile through a thick fir forest bordered in columbine.
Climbing out of the forest and into an open clearing, Jimmy and
Jane had to sit while Lucky and I and the porters continued on.
We had spent the previous night in Putao at an elevation of a
little over one thousand feet. The high mountain trek from seven
to eleven thousand feet, on the way to our first camp site at Chungu, was almost more than Jimmy and Jane’s lungs and legs
could handle. Tenzin stayed with the older couple, encouraging
them to continue on.
"
A mile further on, while resting under high leafy maples
beside the flowing stream, Jimmy requested and received
Tenzin’s undivided attention. “Jane tells me that a week ago you
were twenty years old,” he begin, “and now you look like you’re
in your mid-thirties. I believe her . . . but in my reality it isn’t
possible. Your getting from Putao to where we started today
wasn’t possible. You getting the porters, cooks and supplies
ready in one morning isn’t possible. What else?”
"
“Coming halfway around the world without a passport or
Visa card?” Tenzin joked.
"
“That, too. You paid for this caravan without money . . .”
"
“Wait a second,” Jane broke in. “I prepaid that guy Nik
for all this and you fired him. Did he give you my money back?”
377
"
“For me money is not necessary, and for you it is not a
concern.”
"
“That’s true for me now that you mentioned it, but the
porters and cooks aren’t working for free . . . there must be some
sort of incentive for them to spend days hiking in these
mountains, lugging all that stuff, cooking our meals . . .”
"
“Shambala.”
"
“So this really is the way to Shambala?” Jane asked the
obvious to which Tenzin didn’t respond. “How do you know the
way?” "
Almost a minute passed before Tenzin answered, “You
have questions that are not relative to what is. We are here and
going there. It is a matter of trust.”
"
“That sounds like something I’d say as a detective,”
Jimmy replied. “Yes, we’re trusting you. You’re leading us to
some mysterious place . . . somewhere off the map in the
mountains of Tibet. To tell you the truth . . . I’m wondering why
I’m trusting you. I don’t even know who you are. At the very least
Jane and I think we have the right to know something about the
person we’re trusting . . . with our lives. I’m serious. And so is
Jane.” She nodded in agreement, met with Tenzin’s nonplused
stare. “Listen, Tenzin,” Jimmy continued, “I was a Portland Police
officer for nearly forty-five years. I was . . . still am . . . a
Captain . . . the head detective. Jane here is an executive for
one of the largest food companies in the world. We’re not the
kind of people who would just go following anyone off into la-la
land. And we’re following you. We have the right to know who
you are.”
"
“Jimmy’s right,” Jane broke in. “I want to know . . . both
of us want to know why we’re here, walking this path . . . There
was no sign of the old folks ever being in Putao. They were
never there. So why are we here? Going this way? These are
simple questions that deserve simple answers . . . straight
answers . . . answers that the two very intelligent people sitting in
front of you can understand.” They waited for a response.
"
“Your questions are from your minds . . . this is a journey
of the heart,” he finally spoke.
378
"
“That may be true,” Jimmy responded, squeezing Jane’s
hand, “but . . . I’m a detective . . . looking for missing people.
You appeared out of nowhere two days ago and almost
immediately expect us to trust you unconditionally. By what
authority? We are asking simple questions and I see no reason
why you can’t give us simple answers?”
"
“Your questions are not simple, they are serious. Two
serious minds are wanting serious answers. I only have simple
answers for simple hearts. I do not have answers for your
minds,” Tenzin quietly answered. "
“It’s our minds that want the answers, of course,” Jimmy
admitted.
"
“You ask by what authority, that is, not who gives me the
authority to act, but who gives you the authority to trust? Of
course you know the answer to that question.” Jimmy looked
confused, as if he didn’t, so Tenzin continued, “I will remind you
that the only real authority is within you, in some place other than
your mind. You have accepted me as your guide to Shambala.
Without my guidance you would not accept the truth of its reality,
you would not be able to see Shambala, and you would be lost in
obedience to your false mind directives. In order to see who I
am, where we are and where we are going you must learn to see
in a new way. This is why I waited for you, why I am here . . . so
you can see what is in front of you.” "
“You’re telling us that our minds are seeing something
that is not real or true?” Jane asked.
"
“ Yo u r m i n d s e e s n o t h i n g . T h e m i n d h a s n o
consciousness. It is simply a storehouse, a library. You insist on
defining your life by what you remember is in your library . . .
what you believe is true. A computer is a library. It remembers
more than you do, but is all the information in it true? Do you ask
your computer to make conscious decisions for you, or give you
information that is not relevant to your human understanding? I
offer what you call a paradox . . . that your mind is bigger than
even the biggest computer. It has unlimited storage. At the same
time, your mind does not have access to this available library of
information. This is because the access is from a place outside
379
of your mind, and you do not remember where, or the password.
Do you understand?”
"
“Not really,” Jane responded. “The password?”
"
“Imagine a library with a million books, and you have
chosen ten books in that library to contain all your knowing and
beliefs. You do not need a password for those ten books
because it is all in your memory. You actually believe that those
ten books contain all of what is true. But actually they only
contain what you believe from what you were taught, read,
remember and accept as true . . . information that may not be
true at all. I will ask you, Mr. Jimmy and Mrs. Jane, if everything
you believe that is true is in those ten books, then what about the
other nine hundred thousand, nine hundred and ninety books?
All this knowledge and wisdom and truth is available to you, but
what your ten book mind believes make access impossible.
What if I could give you the password for you to access all those
other books . . . actually to all that is known and unknown?”
"
“That would be good . . . except my mind doesn’t believe
there’s a password to omniscience,” Jane answered. “It sounds
too simplistic. But you say there is?”
"
“Absolutely. For example, even though quantum physics
will tell you that the rock you are sitting on doesn’t really exist,
you still believe that it is solid . . . The truth is, the rock is multidimensional. It is both nothing and everything, and the
everything it is, is alive with life. Because of your limited beliefs
you think you are sitting on a rock, while there is a universe
below your fanny that your mind is refusing to embrace . . . the
password . . . ”
"
“Is it pertinent?” Jimmy interjected, his mind straining to
contain the paradoxes of information.
"
“Extremely. If you do not wish it to be pertinent then I
would suggest that you turn around right now and go home.”
"
“That’s not going to happen,” Jane offered. “You have to
understand where we’re coming from, Tenzin . . . that getting out
of our minds isn’t that easy. This is how we were taught . . . I
guess you would say programmed. If we don’t use our minds,
what do we use?”
380
"
“Your inner authority. Some would call it the god within.
We all have this god within . . .”
"
“Within where?” Jane asked.
"
“Within your heart, or your solar plexus, or your sacral
center or your spleen. Never your mind. Through this place of
inner authority we are all capable of accessing what you call
unlimited knowing and powers. If you had even a little of these
abilities you would see the universe of this rock, see precisely
who I am.”
"
“Who are you?” Jimmy insisted.
"
“I am the one who points to your hara, Mr. Jimmy. You
know of your hara. It is your place of authority. As a master of
Aikido you should know this without my explanation. I am also
your eye doctor. I can correct your vision so you will see
better . . . see into another world. Would you like this?” "
“Did you see me sparing with Lucky?”
"
“Of course I did. Would you like me to assist you in
seeing? And you Mrs. Jane?” They both nodded in surrender.
"
“This is good. I will now answer your question. Do you
still want to know who I am?”
"
“We do,” Jane answered.
"
“I am a god, acting as a humble teacher. That is all. I
have come to bring my student home, because that is his desire.
It is also the desire of everyone on this path, you both included.
That is my simple answer. You want to know why or how I am
getting old . . . the answer is very simple. I am already very old.
But for you to understand what I am actually saying, you must
first understand that time and space are but concepts that the
collective minds have agreed upon. The ten books of the
collective mind. Beyond those concepts I am free to be any age I
choose. Your mind’s want to define me, but I am not definable.
And you Mr. Jimmy . . . you think you know who you are, but it is
only what you remember of this life. There was a word that you
heard . . . Tenno . . . what the young master called you. Is this
not so?”
"
“How would you know that?”
381
"
“I have more than ten books in my library. I have a very
active library card. I am only offering you an opportunity to renew
yours. The master library card,” Tenzin said with a kind smile.
"
“I know you’re trying to make it simple, and most of it
makes sense, but I’m confused,” Jimmy responded, looking over
to Jane for support. “I guess I’m still stuck in my mind . . . in my
limited beliefs. Sure, I have mastered ki energy . . . I can
immobilize a strong man with one finger . . . but realizing the
ability to access unlimited power, unlimited knowing . . . is
beyond my comprehension. ”
"
“I understand,” Tenzin answered. “I have but opened a
door. Tell me, Mr. Jimmy, do you think that you are in the right
place, right now . . . doing the right thing . . . with the people you
want to be with?”
"
Jimmy thought about it for half a minute, while he looked
around at the stream and the high mountain jungle that
surrounded him, and then at Jane, the woman he was falling in
love with. He knew the truth, and couldn’t lie. “I’m in the right
place. I’m doing what I think is the right thing to do. I’m with the
woman . . . the people I want to be with. Yeah . . . I want to be
here.”
"
“So, you agree that you are here because you want to
be here, you asked to be here and so you are. Who I am, how I
age, or where I am leading you is immaterial to your happiness
at this moment. You are now getting, and you will continue to get,
exactly what you have come for. Let there be no mistake about
that.”
"
“I get it,” Jane responded. “Be in the here and now . . .
there is only the here and now, and in the here and now more
will be revealed. ”
"
“And everything else is an illusion,” Jimmy agreed and
paused to construct a haiku. “Over the mountain. The sparrowhawk sees. Everything.”
"
“Then we must to continue on, and get to the camp at
Chu-ngu before the sun gets lost over that mountain. Come . . .
let us go.”

382
When Jimmy, Jane, and Tenzin arrived at the first camp, the
tents were all up and the evening meal was ready to be served.
Lucky and I, who were seated by the fire lost in conversation, got
up and greeted our friends, offering the folding camp chairs next
to us. We were all relieved to be off the trail and in front of a
warm fire.
"
By the time we finished a dinner of hardy deer and
vegetable stew, stars had filled the Khawa Karpo sky, the porters
had added more wood to warming camp fire and retired to their
tents. Though extremely tired, we began a lively discussion,
mostly about the rugged four thousand foot trek up the mountain,
and the wonderland we had passed through.
"
Lucky went to his tent and returned to the fire with four
bottles of beer. “We worked hard for this Myanmar beer. I had to
smuggle it into the country, but I didn’t think you’d mind. And if
you do, all the better for me.” " We smiled and readily accepted
the gift.
"
After a few gulps, I settled back in my chair and changed
the subject. “You know, I can’t help myself. I confess . . . I’m an
incurable detective. There’re things I need to find out. So much
has been on my mind all day.”
"
“Like what?” Jane asked.
"
“Tenzin mostly . . . you spent the day with him. I’m sure
we had many of the same questions. What did you find out?”
"
“Quite a bit,” Jimmy answered. “He said he was a
god . . . I guess I could say that about myself.” We all chuckled.
“He told us he was a humble teacher, who was bringing his
student home.”
"
“His student?” Lucky wondered.
"
“I’m pretty positive that he was talking about Robert,”
Jane answered. "
“And he chose to be with us, not him. Why do you think
that is?” I asked.
"
“Not an easy answer. We sat down and had a long talk
with him. I’m too tired to try to report it all, but I have to admit that
he made sense, in a mind challenging way,” Jimmy answered.
“He wants to teach us how to see. In order to do that, we need to
383
get out of our minds, to open to the mystery of each moment . . .
to follow our inner guidance or authority . . . and not try to make
sense of why we’re here, but embrace that we are. He helped
me to realize how little I know, how blind I am.” "
“Tenzin is here to open our eyes so we can see where
we’re going,” Jane emphasized.
"
We took sips of our beer and stared at the fire for some
time before I broke the silence. “Lucky was telling me about
some of the medicine men he met on the reservations. They
have the ability to move in and out of other dimensions of reality.
He also met one in Kathmandu. They are all over the world,
these shaman. I accept that. Tenzin is a shaman, at least.”
"
“The rules don’t apply for these people,” Lucky added.
“Even our O’Sensei could dodge bullets, you know that,
Jimmy . . . he could change the reality of time and space on the
mat. We’ve both experienced a little of that.” Jimmy nodded in
agreement.
"
“So we decided to accept Tenzin as a master teacher,” I
offered, and then went on, “He’s a mysterious and magical man,
without a doubt. Whether we understand how it works or not,
everything he does and is doing, is magical. Just look at him. He
knows where we’re going. He knows why we’re here and what
we need to do to get there. We were checking out these porters
and cooks. He somehow transported himself over a hundred
miles, found the perfect porters and cooks and put all this
together in a few hours. It’s obvious that they’re a part of the
magic, too. If they are, then so are we. We’re a part of the magic.
Don’t you see?”
"
“I do now. He asked us where we wanted to be,” Jimmy
said, totally supporting what I was saying. “I could ask you two
the same question. Our answer was that we want to be here.
Here. With you. Doing whatever we’re doing. Sitting around the
fire, drinking Burma beer . . . talking about mystery and magic
and adventure. I’m tired from a long day out in nature . . . but I
was with the woman I used to dream about being with. This is
great!” He reached over and took Jane’s hand. “It’s the best.
None of us are being forced to be here. We can turn around in
the morning and go home. But I’m not going to. And neither is
384
Jane. And I don’t think you two are either. We’re on the
adventure of a lifetime, and who cares if that man ages twenty
years in a week? That has nothing to do with me. This . . . has
everything to do with me. This moment, right now, is the magic
you’re talking about.”
"
“This is juicy,” I agreed. “Our monkey minds want to
create these soap operas, make things up, when it is really all
about enjoying this moment. That’s actually the insight I got on
Mt. Kurama, and why Jane and I had so much fun after that, and
why you Jimmy have been thinking I haven’t been so serious
about the detective reason we’re here. I’ve been in the
moment . . I’ve had Jimmy moments, and Jane moments, and
Lucky moments and you’re all part of my great moment’s stew.
Our stew. Tenzin is part of the stew too . . . It’s one delicious
nonsense stew.”
"
“Hanta ho!” Lucky shouted. “Ah ho . . . to be lost in the
nonsense stew! It is the freedom we all have been seeking . . . I
agree with Jimmy, this is the best. As good as it gets.” He
paused to self-reflect, and took a deep breath. “I’ve gone into the
wilderness many times, on vision quests. I have wanted to see
what shaman see--to see the unseen. I have had may
visions . . . and this is my very favorite vision quest of all . . . not
because I have seen the unseen, but because I know that I am
about to.” He paused again. “What is so exciting . . . is that I
have no idea where I’m going, or if I’ll ever get back . . . but I feel
safe . . . I know that it’ll all work out even better than I can
imagine.” He glanced around to see the smiles on his new
friends' faces. “It already has . . . there has never been a more
beautiful woman walking the medicine way with me. Two
beautiful women.” He winked at Jane. “My legs are hurting, for
sure, like yours.” He looked squarely at me. “But today you,
Taylor Banks, inspired me on. You amaze me, and I’m not
kidding. It is a joy being here with you.”
"
“Does that mean you’re going to ask me out on a date?”
I asked with a mock blush. “Maybe the prom?”
"
“Ah, you silly woman. I think we’re already at the prom.
Maybe nature’s grand ball. Does everyone have some beer left
in your bottle?” We each looked and nodded. “I would like to
385
offer a toast.” He stood up, and we did too. He extended his arm,
so four bottles would click above the flames. “To Us!” he
shouted, as four beer bottles clicked. “To the mystery!” Another
click, and he started walking clockwise around the fire, we
followed keeping equal distance. “To the magic!” Click. “To the
adventure!” Click. “To the unknown.” Click, and now beginning a
dance around. “To the nonsense stew!” He shouted louder than
ever, to clicks and giggles. “To here.” Click. “To now.” Click. “To
Love!” He raised his bottle high, and we ours.
"
“To Love,” we shouted, and we all emptied our beers
down the hatch, then sat back laughing. "
“Now who’s ready to sing Old McDonald had a farm?” I
giggled.

And so we were all--happy and glad ‘to be’--somewhere on the
trail around Khawa Karpo, the White Snow Protector, sitting by
the campfire, closer to one another’s heart and the path that
would lead us--though we really didn’t care at the moment--to the
maybe mythical, but truly magical, mysterious valley we all know
as Shambala.
386
45
Shiny new wings-a butterfly eyes the sky
wondering.
Thursday--flying through the Himalayas:
The sight of the restaurant staff, prostrated on the dirty ground,
was disconcerting and confusing to Maggie--she wanted to help
them up and encouraged me to leave money on the table,
regardless of what the pilot had said. I insisted that Arjuna was
correct, it was the servers’ way to achieve merit, and not their
business to interfere. I led Maggie away, not wishing to prolong
their submission.
"
Waiting to board, my mind was disorientated by what
Arjuna had done in rescheduling, having erased his careful
planning. Though seldom embarrassed, I felt I had lost face in
front of my friends and was now uncomfortably confused. I
decided to sit in the back with them and leave the pilot alone-having made up my mind to ignore the young man until we
reached Simikot. I changed the subject when anyone asked
about Arjuna, and kept bringing up more mundane subjects to
talk about--like how I had studied the airplane manual while
sitting in the co-pilot’s seat--explaining to the others that the
plane could maintain an air speed of 230 miles per hour, with a
range of over 1,500 miles before refueling, and that the trip from
Kathmandu to Mt. Kailash should have been non-stop, taking
less than two hours, if the pilot were alone. When Maggie asked
why they had stopped in Napalganj for lunch, I said it was a
necessary refueling stop. I told them that weight effected fuel
387
consumption and with almost one thousand pounds of people
and luggage, we were almost on empty by the time we landed in
Nepalganj. Then I started talking about the future of organic
farming in the Shan State of Burma . . .

After fifteen minutes in the air we began heading north, flying two
hundred feet above the churning blue-green waters of the
Karnali River, between high mountain ridges of blue pine and
spruce, and bordering forests of fern and maples. Our moods
had changed. Instead of listening to me talk of farming, we
chatted about the beauty that surrounded us, and our good
fortune to have found the comfortable Beechcraft Baron, which
afforded us a spectacular view, unlike the high-flying Gulfstream
jet. I was sitting directly behind Arjuna, so I decided I would talk
to the pilot after-all. I stood up, bent forward and asked Arjuna if
he could tell us something about what we were seeing, then I sat
back down.
"
The young Hindu turned on the cabin intercom and
began speaking like a polished tour guide, “The Karnali river is
the longest river in Tibet. It begins near Mt. Kailash and
Mansarovar Lake, where we will be going tomorrow. Some call
Karnali the Peacock River, because it has so many colors.
People come to fish here, and it is one of the most remote places
in the world for white-water rafting. There are even dolphins in
this river. It’s true. The Karnali River is very sacred. As it pours
out of the Himalayas, it feeds into India’s Chaghara River, which
feeds into the great Ganges, the most sacred river in India,
which eventually drains into the Bay of Bengal. So it is very
auspicious that this river connects Mt. Kailash to the rest of the
world.”
"
Although Arjuna had previously said many things he
shouldn’t have known, had been too outspoken and assertive in
my opinion, I was more than pleased with the way the young
pilot flew the plane, his knowledge of the region, and even his
competence in rearranged our itinerary. I had to concede to
myself, that making arrangements for lodging in remote areas of
388
the world by phone was not my forte. Jane and others before her
always handled itineraries and accommodations, so this was
actually something I had never done before. Jane would have
interviewed and hired a reliable trekking company, and
considering my eccentricities and requirements, the best
accommodations, supplies and trekking guides would have been
awaiting our arrival. I was winging it, not admitting my
inadequacies, and therefore on shaky ground.
"
Arjuna insisted he wasn’t interested in money and had
freely offered his expert service as a trekking guide with no
pretext, other than it was supposedly his dharma. I was quite
aware of dharma since I believed I was living mine, but couldn’t
accept what I considered Arjuna’s preposterous use of Hindu
rhetoric to impress. Besides that, I wanted to assume full
responsibility and to do so it certainly didn’t require the help of
some young Hindu pilot with a fantastic Krishna story. The third
eye touch was intriguing, but once I saw the entrance that led to
his valley, I realized there was no good reason for Arjuna’s
continued service after Daschen. I was to be the one who would
lead my friends to Shambala, not Arjuna--so I made an impulsive
win-win, at least in my mind, decision. I would save face with my
friends, take control of the journey and show them my ability to
let go of material things in a act of unprecedented generosity.
"
“Once we’re on the path to Shambala, we won’t need
this airplane again,” I said to my friends. "
“Are you sure?” Maggie questioned.
"
“Shambala is a grand place . . . it’s everything you’ve
ever dreamed of . . . you’ll see. There is nothing left for us in
Oregon. Once you have entered the valley you'll never want to
leave.”
"
Maggie considered her seventy-eight year old body and
realized there was no going back, whether she liked Shambala
or not. “We trust you, Archie, or we wouldn’t be here. What are
you suggesting?”
"
“That we give the airplane to this young pilot.”
"
“What if we need it again, for some reason or another?”
Howard asked.
389
"
“We’d have to hike back out . . . which is most
unlikely . . . but if we do we can always call, and hire him to fly us
to wherever we want to go. It’s better that he have this plane,
than leaving it to rot in the high desert.”
"
“I think it’s a marvelous idea, ”Sopi agreed. “When are
you going to give it to him?”
"
“I guess I could do it now . . . why not?” They all nodded
in agreement. I stood and tapped Arjuna on the shoulder, then
spoke, “We’ve decided to give you a gift. You say you’re Arjuna,
the charioteer and that I am Krishna. Krishna wants Arjuna to
have the chariot.”
"
“I know what you are trying to do, Master. You do not
have to do this to save your face. Please, sit down.”
"
“After we arrive in Darchen,” I continued, ignoring the
request, “we will no longer need this airplane. You’re a young
pilot and it would be a great boon for you to own this beauty. So,
you can have it. Free and clear. No strings attached.”
"
“I am here to serve you, Master. You required a pilot and
I have become one, but I have no desire to own anything, not
even a bicycle.” "
“But I’m offering you this $150,000 airplane for free.
Every airplane wala in Asia would jump at the offer.
"
“I am not an airplane wala, Master. I am Arjuna. After I
land your airplane at Mt. Kailash, I will walk with you to
Shambala.”
"
“After you land this plane, we can continue on without
you. I know the way, and I will no longer need you.”
"
“Apparently you no longer need me now,” Arjuna stated
as he unbuckled his seat belt and quickly flicked a few switches.
He then hoisted himself out of the pilot’s seat. Being slight and
nimble, he scooted between the seats and into the back galley.
Then, in one smooth motion, he sank down on the floor in the
middle of his four passengers, assumed the lotus position, and
closed his eyes."
"
“Arjuna!” I screamed. “Get up! Go back! There’s nobody
flying the damn plane! Arjuna! Please! Go! Get up! Now!!” No
matter what I yelled, the young man sat calmly, lost in deep
trance with a slight Mona Lisa smile on his face.
390
"
“Do something!” Sopi shouted. “Someone has to fly the
plane. We’ll crash! Howard! Help!”
"
“I’ve never flown a plane. I don’t know the first thing,” he
said, grabbing Sopi in a hug, which was all he could really do.
"
“We just can’t sit here and do nothing,” Maggie said
loudly, trying not to panic. “Can you fly this thing, Archie?”
"
“I’ve never flown a plane, you?”
"
“I guess that leaves me,” Maggie answered as she
began climbing between the seats--her skinny seventy-eight
year-old body finding its way into the pilot’s seat. The panel wall
of gages and switches in front of her was overwhelming, and it
took all of her will-power to not panic. I pushed forward with an
awkward feet-first entrance, and joined her, in the co-pilot seat.
"
“Tell me you know how to fly this thing,” was the first
thing I said as soon as I was buckled in the co-pilot’s seat,
observing Maggie’s steel-eyed concentration as she scanned the
almost entire analog instrument panel.
"
“I don’t know how to fly this airplane . . . at least I’ve
never been formally trained,” she answered without losing focus.
“The good news for the moment is that Arjuna put it on auto pilot,
so we have some time. I just need to keep it going straight until I
can figure out how to actually fly it.”
"
“What informal training do you have?” I asked,
attempting to show some bit of confidence in her.
"
“After I graduated from college . . . oh my . . . it was over
fifty years ago . . . I went to work with a medical team out of
Nairobi. We flew to bush strips all over Kenya for three years. I
was pretty back then. The flirting pilots always tried to teach me
how to fly.” She pulled the joystick throttle back a bit and studied
the altimeter, indicating that the plane was rising, thus giving
them more air space.
"
“What can I do to help?” I asked.
"
“See if you can find a flight manual. You need to do
some speed reading. Thank god this cockpit was designed for
small people. I’m actually comfortable . . . just need to figure out
what it all means.” She studied the instrument panel. “Looks like
Arjuna locked in the coordinates for our destination . . . what’s
the name of the next landing place?”
391
"
“Simikot.” I fumbled through papers and found the flight
log.
"
“I’m going to proceed as if the yogi back there isn’t going
to help, so I need you to do some calculations. See here . . .
we’re heading almost due north. This is our current latitude.” She
pointed at a particular gauge. “And here is the latitude of Simikot.
Find a map, which will have a distance indicator, and you should
be able to figure out approximately how far away we are. All I
have to do is hold it steady and not crash into the mountains.”
"
“That’s not going to happen, is it?”
"
“I don’t see that as a possibility . . . I remember enough
to keep a plane steady . . . but that’s not a big deal. It’s another
thing landing it . . . which I’ve never done. There’s no need to
panic until we get to Simikot when I attempt to put it down. But
please, don’t panic then, OK?”
"
Five minutes later Howard and Sopi had relaxed. While
looking out the windows at the scenery below they almost forgot
they were in any sort of danger. Arjuna sat in the full lotus, not
moving a muscle. Maggie remained fully engaged as she
checked the gyro, moving up and down, left and right and back
to center.
"
I couldn’t help but notice a radiant glow on her face--as if
in her joy of flying the wrinkles were beginning to disappear. I
figured out how to follow our progress on the map, and found a
tutorial for emergency landing. Maggie listened as I read the
instructions and she practiced slowing down and speeding up,
opening and closing the flaps, and soon felt confident enough to
make a safe landing. Simikot was ten thousand feet above sea
level, and as the plane continued to rise in altitude we each
periodically gasped for breath.
"
Fifteen minutes later we entered into Nepal’s extremely
remote Humla Valley. Storm clouds were gathering and the blue
skies had disappeared to gray. Simikot was a larger village than
we expected, tucked in a lovely Alpine-like valley between the
high mountains. Maggie easily located the runway--a deserted
two lane tan colored road not far from the center of town.
"
The approach was buffered by a strong headwind, with
took her by surprise. The pitch was too high and when Maggie
392
slowed the speed, the wind pushed the plane’s nose up, so she
had to remember what I said about the elevators. As she made
her adjustments Howard and Sopi tightened their seat belts,
having no idea what to expect, bracing themselves for a possible
crash landing. My eyes were glued to the runway, my thoughts in
prayer for a safe landing. Maggie couldn’t remember having so
much fun, and if this was the way she was to die, so be it, though
she was confident in her ability to land the plane.
"
Approaching the runway, Maggie reduce her airspeed,
adjusted the flaps and tried to steady the plane as it pitched from
side to side. While working the flaps, she tried to remember the
effect of each move, proceeding with calculated and methodical
attention to detail. She was in a zone and as happy as she had
ever been as she reduced the power to idle and lightly applied
the brakes when the wheels touched the tan gravel surface.
"
The Baron leaped thirty feet back into the air before it
came back down, touched the ground again and took another
leap. Maggie pulled on the joystick throttle, lifting the plane back
up into the mountain sky. She couldn’t help but shout “Yahoo” as
she looped the plane around and came back for another try.
“That was just practice,” she said to me, with the biggest smile I
had ever seen. The second try was ragged and amateurish from
any pilot’s point of view, but Maggie got it on the ground, applied
the brakes at the right time and held it steady, cut the engines
and brought it to a complete stop a hundred feet from the end of
the runway. We shouted in delight, like four college students who
had just completed an impossible dare. No one noticed the
yogi’s smile.
"
Arjuna rose and opened the back doors, and dropped
the steps for Howard and Sopi. He then politely assisted Maggie
down from the cockpit. She smiled at him, as if they had agreed
beforehand on a mischievous stunt.

The four of us stood on the dirt tarmac, talking about Maggie’s
flying feat, while adjusting our lungs to ten thousand feet. I
spotted Arjuna next to the man who was refueling the plane, and
393
walked over to him. “What were you thinking? You could have
gotten us killed.”
"
“But that is not what happened, Master. You have
already decided not to die. Your Radha had to make the same
decision.”
"
“What?”
"
Arjuna didn't answer as he walked away from the plane.
Stopping before they reached the three others, he turned to
me, “Please, Master. You must stop pretending that I am an
ignorant wala. When you awoke from your death two months
ago, did you not chose to return to Shambala with your beloved
Maggie?”
"
“How could you possibly know what I was thinking two
months ago?” I spoke above a whisper.
"
“But I do.” Arjuna pointed to the three happy travelers.
“Look at them, Master. What do you see?” "
"
I could swear each looked ten years younger. I had
never seen Maggie so excited--she seemed transformed. “They
look younger . . . she’s . . .”
"
“Indeed. She is glowing. And what about you?”
"
“Me? Am I glowing? I doubt it. Your stunt could have
killed us.”
"
“And what if it did?”
"
“Well . . . that’s not how it’s supposed to be. We must
arrive safely . . .”
"
“You cannot bully your way into paradise.”
"
“Bully my way?” I raised his voice. “What are you talking
about?”
"
“You . . you wanting to achieve something. I am
suggesting that you consider giving up your intention.”
"
“My intention? My intention is to do everything in my
power to protect my friends and arrive safely. Shambala is my
goal.” I lowered his voice again.
"
“Look again. Look at how happy she is. Is that because
you protected her?”
"
“Well . . . I . . .”
"
“Shambala is not her goal. She has no goal, her only
purpose is to love and serve.”
394
"
I stared at the young man almost a minute before
speaking, “OK . . . I accept that you are not an ordinary wala . . .
not a wala at all . . . maybe not an ordinary man. I’m not
accepting that you are the actual Arjuna from the Bhagavad Gita.
Even with all my religious training I’m not convinced that story
actually happened, nor the Krishna Rahda story. So who are
you, really?”
"
“I told you who I am. The real question here is . . . who
are you?”
"
“I know who I am,” I replied, with pride.
"
“If that is so, then it is time to be the who that you were
in Shambala, the man you truly are.” "

The Sun Valley Resort, the best hotel in town, was surprisingly
comfortable, catering to western trekkers. Arjuna gathered us
before dinner and led us on a tour of the village. Most of the local
people stopped whatever they were doing and bowed, treating
us as if we were visiting royalty. Arjuna politely refused all gift
offerings, suggesting they be given to the poor of Simikot. After
the tiring high altitude walk we relaxed in the hotel restaurant,
shared a hearty vegetable stew, talked about the events of the
day, and admitted we were worn out. So we retired to our rooms
before dusk and settled in for a good night’s sleep--all of them
except me. "
Arjuna’s words had moved me more than I would have
imagined. I walked around the resort and finally found the pilot
sitting alone on mat. “May I join you?” I asked.
"
“Of course, Master. Please sit.”
"
I found two cushions and adjusted my old body for
comfort. It had been a long day and I realized that I was
exhausted, but I had to say what was on my mind before I could
sleep. “I’m sorry,” I started and then with my palms together I
bowed. “Namaste. I judged you and I regret doing so. I forgot to
see my divinity in you.” I bowed again. “Namaste, Arjuna . . .
please forgive my ignorance.”
395
"
Arguna returned the bow. “You are far from ignorant,
Master . . .”
"
I let those words sink in, and then asked, “Am I the only
one who wants to go to Shambala?”
"
Arjuna smiled, knowing that I had finally surrendered and
was willing to listen. “You are the only one who has been there,
Master. They have seen no pictures or brochures. They do not
even know if Shambala is real. They are following you because
they love you and trust you. There is nothing that you need to do,
and yet you continue to hold on to your agenda.”
"
“They don’t need my help?”
"
“No, not your help . . . If anything, they need your
love . . . your happy spirit . . . your confidence.”
"
“What about Howard and Sopi? They aren’t used to . . .”
"
Arjuna cut me short. “Sopi does not care where she is or
where she is going. She is with the man whom she loves, and
that is all that matters.” He paused and then continued, “Howard
only cares about loving Sopi and serving you. He would follow
you anywhere. Has he not made this clear?”
"
“Yes, but . . .”
"
“Consider your dharma, Master. Is it to love and serve
your friends? If so then so be it.”
"
“I suppose it is.” A minute went by while I thought about
dharma, then I asked, “What is your purpose for doing this?”
"
“I have no purpose. I am simply here to serve you on the
path to paradise. Are we clear?”
"
“Yes . . . I guess . . . yes.” I remained silent for another
half a minute, considering everything Arjuna had just said-humbled to redemption. “What do you suggest I do now?”
"
“Your answers are all within you.”
"
“But I am requesting a suggestion.”
"
“Then I suggest a prayer I’m sure you remember, since
you wrote it. It says and I quote, ‘Divinity is found in silence. Be
silent. Divinity has no purpose. Do not strive. Divinity has no
direction. You are already there. Divinity is beyond belief. I am
that I am. Divinity is simply being. Just Be.’”
"
“How do you . . .”
396
"
“It is time to go to your room and have some rest. I
suggest that you repeat these words, for they are indeed your
words, until you fall asleep.”
"
I closed his eyes to think about those words--divinity is
found in silence--and when he opened them, Arjuna was gone.

Friday:
We left Simikot at ten the next morning and an hour later, after
taking in the spectacular bird’s-eye view of Mt. Kailash Arjuna,
with Maggie as his co-pilot, landed on the highway, which was a
dusty dirt road leading to the small mountain village of Darchen.
Upon our arrival a Range Rover appeared and transported us to
the rustic but apparently renovated Mount Kailash Hotel. Maggie,
Howard and Sopi were surprised at how desolate the area was,
a barren land devoid of trees--a far cry from the tropical paradise
they were imagining.
"
After checking into our rooms, we each realized our
bodies were struggling to adjust to the fifteen thousand foot
altitude--it was an effort to breathe. Even though it was still
morning, we all agreed to take the day off. After a light lunch, we
retired to our rooms and took naps. Arjuna knocked on doors and
made us take an afternoon walk, and periodically breathe from
an oxygen tank, following in a pedicab. This exertion
necessitated another nap, and another rap on the door at supper
time. After our meal we walked again and by eight o’clock we
retired for the night, to dream about the journey ahead. Before I
retired I promised Arjuna we would go with him to visit
Mansarovar Lake before the start of our trek in the morning.
397
46
On her way home
a moth is distracted
by delight.
Saturday night at Mt. Kailash:
Staring at the flickering candle on the bedside table, I tried to
relax. I searched for some sort of comfort in the stained
cushioned corner chair, my down sleeping bag covering me for
warmth. Though the Shiva Hotel was supposed to be Darchen’s
best inn, the bed was box-spring hard, the sheets slightly musty,
and the mountain chill seeping in below the door begged for a
wood-burning fire--it was nearly midnight and I couldn’t sleep. I
was accustomed to a level of luxury unknown in the far reaches
of Tibet--this crude excuse for a hotel was quite contrary to the
five stars of Kathmandu, more like one-quarter star, and at least
two stars below Simikot’s Sun Valley Resort. Although I
anticipated Darchen, and I knew I would have to abandon my
fussiness regarding cleanliness for awhile, at least until we
reached Shambala, I now realized the difficulty of this
adjustment.
"
I had fallen asleep the night before, after doing as Arjuna
suggested, repeating my own prayer. During the day in Darchen
my mind kept circling around the line, ‘divinity has no purpose.’
Now, in the drafty room, my thoughts drifted to the morning of my
near death; the moment I was able to bring myself back to life,
heal myself--when I decided to return to Shambala and bring my
best friends along--my purpose. This was when I first wondered
398
if I could use the same power to heal them of their disease that I
had used on himself. The three Happy Acre healing’s had
weakened me, indicating an impurity in the act. Although pleased
with the end result, it took weeks to recover my strength. My
power had been compromised and that was, in my mind at that
time, unacceptable.
I stood up, dressed, zipped up my down jacket, opened my hotel
room door and stepped out into the entrance balcony. The cold
mountain air raced to my lungs and tickled my face; I shivered
while adjusting. Recalling an exterior stairwell, I climbed to the
flat-top roof over the third story. "
The moon was nearly full, illuminating the top third of the
pure white snow-covered Mt. Kailash; a jewel posed in front of
the midnight sky. I stood in surrender, contemplating my
weakness, why I thought weakness wasn’t acceptable, and what
I was to do about it. Divinity is simply being, I thought.
"
While staring at the holy mountain, Maya, the mother of
Buddha, came to mind, as did Mary the mother of Jesus. I
thought of Pravati, the mother of all gods and goddesses and the
wife of Shiva. I imagined myself as a baby, cradled in the arms of
the holy mothers. I silently prayed to them and to Shiva, asking
for help to return to the divinity I had known while growing up in
Shambala; had written about in my book. My mind then drifted to
the story of me being Krishna and Maggie being Radha, allowing
for it to be true. I thought of Arjuna and sensed a presence
behind me.
"
“It is quite a lovely site, is it not, Master?” Arjuna spoke. I
turned my head and looked into the soft eyes, reflecting
tranquility in the moonlight. "
“When I was young, living in Shambala . . .” I began as I
turned back to face Mt. Kailash, still in surrender to whatever the
night would offer, “the siddhis were a part of my life. I could alter
time and space, manifest objects and easily see beyond the
form--I would have immediately recognized you as the immortal
master from Japan. That is who you are, is it not?” Arjuna
nodded and even though I didn’t see it, I continued, “I have lost
my innocence, Arjuna, I have lost my power. I felt helpless in the
399
airplane yesterday. I don’t even know if I am pure enough in spirit
to be allowed through the portal to Shambala. How do find my
lost innocence, my powers and perform these siddhis again?”
"
Arguna moved to face me, his back to Mt. Kailash and
the moon. “When you were young, living in Shambala, the
siddhis were not a power. They were not some supernatural
thing to you. They were a natural part of your life. You were
simply being who you were, doing what you were doing. . . . an
innocent one, being innocent. You can not try to be who you
were then. You can only be who you are now.”
"
“But don’t you see? . . . I want to do all the things I could
do then. I don’t want to be a weak version of who I really am. I
have to do something. I can’t sit back and not try to regain the
power I have lost, especially if my inability to use these powers is
risking our lives. Sure, I was a powerful businessman. I built a
huge company and helped millions of people, but it was never
life and death. If I had had the power I could have flown the
plane myself, or even rearrange events so it never would have
happened in the first place. I’m not the kind of man who stands
by as a victim, when I have the power within me to effect a
positive outcome.”
"
Arjuna smiled and patiently stared into my eyes. “You
wrote that divinity is beyond belief. I suggest that you stop
believing--stop believing in your past, in your former powers, in
your accomplishments, and allow yourself to be here in this
moment, continuing on step by step, weak or strong . . . and see
what happens.”
"
I shook my head, rubbed my eyes and looked up at the
billions of stars in the clear Tibetan sky. I wasn’t satisfied with
Arjuna’s suggestion. “Maggie rose to the occasion yes, but what
would have happened if she hadn’t? You’re not attached to life or
death. As an immortal you would have survived a plane crash.
But not us four old people.” I paused for Arjuna’s response that
didn’t come, then continued, “The kora is not easy. I know what
it’s like to get from here to Shambala. There are many
dangerous obstacles along the way . . . especially for four old
bodies . . . and you suggest I do nothing . . . to just stand back
and see what happen?”
400
"
“But you will do something, as you did after Maggie took
control of the airplane. You were her navigator, were you not? It
was not your job, or part of your agenda. By you being there,
supporting her, helping in any way you could, she was able to
have a most profound personal experience. You can not
orchestrate divinity . . . as you wrote many years ago, it has no
direction. You were just there, doing what you needed to do, and
that was enough.”
"
“But, if not for my prior arrogance it all never would have
happened.”
"
“Are you sure? We spoke of this before and still you
think you cause something to happen or not happen. Arrogance?
What control do you have over your destiny, or the destiny of
your friends? I am telling you that whether they live or die is not
your responsibility.”
"
“Then whose?”
"
“Certainly not yours. Your attachment to their fate is not
reasonable, Master. In Kathmandu I reminded you of Krishna-the deity whom you embody. Perhaps you would let go of your
control and expectations, and enjoy the journey.”
"
“You expect me to enjoy near death experiences?”
"
“I expect nothing. I am only reminding you of Krishna . . .
who was the innocent god/child, the playful one, the one who
dances in lila, who loves everyone, loves life to the fullest, and
has no concern for attainment or powers, or fear of death. I am
inviting you to embrace this part of yourself.” Arguna moved
away so my view of Mt. Kailash was unobstructed.
"
The moon was rising higher and brightening in the
cloudless sky. I was lost in thought, Arguna is asking me to let it
all go--my past, my accomplishments; everything that’s related to
my success in the world. Is this possible? I am my success . . .
how can I not be? Let it all go? I studied the white top of Mt.
Kailash and considered whether or not Shiva and Pravati
actually lived there. How can I refute the wisdom of an immortal
master, especially with the Divine Mothers Maya, Mary and
Pravati, Mt. Kailash, Shiva and the moon as witness? Maybe it is
time. Nobody is asking me to be the leader. There really is no
future . . . only the present moment, I know that. My future ideas
401
have always been about careful planning and hoping that the
plan works. But this isn’t the business world . . . it’s a journey into
another way of being. I know that, too. Can I surrender to this
moment . . . and just be one of the dancers in god’s play? Maybe
it is really the only way I can relax and enjoy the journey. What
was it I wrote almost fifty years ago? Divinity is found in silence.
Be silent. Divinity has no purpose. Do not strive. Divinity has no
direction. You are already there. Divinity is beyond belief. I am
that I am. Divinity is simply being. Just Be.
!
“It’s not going to be easy, Arjuna . . . but I’m going to do
it,” I finally said out loud. When I turned around to thank the
master, Arguna was gone.
402
47
Sacred water.
A pitcher over-flowing with bliss-fullness.
Sunday morning at Mt. Kailash:
Before we left our rooms I made sure we were properly dressed
for the journey ahead. Buying gear in Kathmandu proved to be a
good idea--we all wore comfortable khaki clothing, well-fitted
hiking boots and the best quality down jackets. We each took
advantage of our tanks of oxygen and were now beginning to
tolerate the high altitude. And we were apprehensive, not sure
how we could possible trek at fifteen thousand feet.
While dressing, I thought about my meeting with Arjuna
the night before. My new plan was to not interfere with whatever
my friends needed to experience; I would simply step aside,
unless I was absolutely needed.
I wasn’t alone in self-reflection. Maggie, Howard and Sopi
were each moved by the near death experience and now had a
greater desire to live life to the fullest and appreciate every
minute of the adventure.
Arjuna tapped on everyone’s door at the appointed time. We
welcomed his early morning directives, even though we had no
idea what to expect as he hustled the four of us into the Land
Rover. When we arrived at Manasarovar Lake we followed
Arjuna to the shore and I half-watched as he said a series of
prayers out loud, accented with bows and mudras. My split
attention was on Maggie, Howard and Sopi, who stared out upon
the massive Tibetan inland sea, it’s perimeter nearly devoid of
flora and fauna. They asked me why it was considered so
403
special. I knew but didn’t feel like explaining.
Arjuna ended his prayers by clapping his hands three
times, gaining our undivided attention. He pointed to the peak of
Mt. Kailash, which we had flown over the day before, and began,
“Lord Shiva and his wife Parvati smile down from the summit of
Mt. Kailash,” and then extended his arm to the lake with an open
palm, “blessing us and this beautiful jewel, which is
Manasarovar.” He paused and smiled before continuing, “This
lake is like no other lake on this earth. Actually, it is not from this
earth at all. It is from another place . . . it is here as a blessing to
whomever stands before it, or enters.”
“I don’t understand. Is it man-made?” Sopi innocently
asked.
“It is immaterial.” Arjuna paused. “I have made a pun.”
When no one responded he continued. “Regardless, if you were
to jump into it right now it would certainly wake you up.”
“Jump in?” Maggie asked as she reached down and
touched the water. “It’s freezing. People actually go in there?”
“Indeed. All the most sincere pilgrims will bathe in this
sacred lake, especially before beginning their kora. A ritual bath
in Manasarovar will bring you to great merit, many boon, indeed.
But for you . . . you will find the water to be like ice, and it may
stop your hearts.”
“I think we’ll pass,” Howard spoke for each of us.
“That is wise. We are here to strengthen your heart and
lungs, to prepare you for the days ahead. The water is most
pure, and I am but offering you an opportunity to drink it.”
“Just drink from it? I can do that,” Maggie answered.
“Thanks for not making us jump in.”
“That will not happen. I would not know what to do with
your dead bodies.” He waited for the chuckles that didn’t come,
and then continued, “Please, do as I do.” He bowed to the lake,
us likewise, and he proclaimed, “Great Mother Triumphant!
Queen of Heaven, Mother of Buddha, the Unconquerable
Turquoise Lake . . . we ask for your blessings.” We all bowed
again with him.
Arjuna turned to us and said in a calm voice,
“Manasarovar . . . we also call it Mapham Yumtsho . . . is the
highest fresh water lake in the world and the source of the four
holy rivers, including the Ganges. To begin I will have you
breathe it in. It will nourish you, heal your lungs and give you
404
strength. Take a breath.”
We consciously took the breath. Maggie, Howard and Sopi
all coughed and wheezed, wishing the oxygen tanks were near.
“Begin with shallow breaths,” Arjuna instructed. We had done
better when we weren’t thinking about our breathing--each of us
now experiencing difficulty. “Come on. You can do it,” he
coached. “Breathe in just a little bit deeper. Imagine the ions
going into every cell of your body. You can close your eyes . . .
keep breathing in. By doing this you will be rejuvenated.
Continue.”
For the next five minutes the four of us continued
breathing, and with each passing minute we found our breathing
to be easier, as if our lungs were actually expanding and
adjusting to the fifteen thousand feet.
“You can keep your eyes closed. Your lungs are
expanding, healing, your breathing is now more normal, is this
not so?” We smiled and nodded; relieved. “Keep breathing in the
sacred waters, affirming in your consciousness that this blessing
has prepared your lungs for the journey ahead.”
While our eyes were closed and we inhaled the sacred
lake, Arjuna manifested a chalice. He waited a few minutes and
then said, “Please, open your eyes.” When we did we were
astounded by what he held in his hands. “This most ancient
chalice is also not from this earth,” he casually remarked,
searching eight eyes for signs of comprehension, and then
continued, “It was a gift, given to me by Lord Shiva when I finally,
after countless lifetimes, moved beyond illusion and entered the
ranks of the immortals.”
“You’re an immortal?” Maggie couldn’t help but ask, her
attention like the rest of us glued to the ten-inch tall pure silver
goblet, so intrigued we didn’t question where the round
rosewood side table came from. He placed it on the middle of the
table and we gathered around to examine it. The interior was
lined in gold, which poured a half-inch over to a thicker golden
lip, ringed with diamonds. The silver exterior was divided in four
equidistant vertical half-inch rows. At the top, near the rim, the
rows began with small images of Shiva, Vishnu, Brahma and
Ganesha. The rows continued down, embedded with red rubies,
green emeralds, purple topaz and blue sapphire. The base was
circled with a finely embedded gold-lined jade ouroboros, a
snake eating its own tail. Arjuna picked it up and turned it over so
405
we could see the underside--a silver carving of Kali, the goddess
of power. The entire composition of the chalice was of priceless
magnificence.
Arjuna, who was dressed in traditional Hindu clothing, with
a white cotton long-sleeved kurta and matching yogi pants, then
balanced the chalice on his head, clapped his hands in order to
snap us out of our trance, brought it down, held it in front of his
heart and continued, “I have walked around this lake countless
times, and have circumambulated Mt. Kailash, the body of
Buddha, and Khawa Karpo, his mind, more than anyone in the
history of this world. You must understand, I know this sacred
lake, and the equally sacred mountain over there like no one
else, with the possible exception of Shiva himself. You are
standing on the yoni of Mother Earth.” Maggie and Sopi’s eyes
bolted open. I could tell that Howard didn’t know what to think.
Arjuna’s words were beyond their understanding, and yet
convinced them that we were in the presence of yet another
immortal master.
I was absorbing every word--the meeting under the moon
had assured me of who this young man really was, and now
there was absolutely no doubt.
“The Yoni is the portal into the womb of our Mother, which
is the home of absolute divinity and power,” Arjuna continued. “In
order to bring her healing ambrosia into the light, I must descend
into total darkness; into her womb.”
Although we had no idea what that meant, the visual
composition of the handsome young yogi holding the priceless
treasure stretched out from his heart, shook our senses. He
bowed to his four elderly witnesses, and then extended his arms
as if he were presenting the chalice to us. Without turning around
or losing eye contact, Arjuna stepped backwards on the
pulverized red garnet sand and into the waters of the blue/green
lake. He slowly moved farther away from shore, until his head
disappeared under the waters of Manasarovar Lake.
We collectively held our breath for a long minute. The lake
was as calm as if nothing had just happened--we wondered if he
really was descending into the womb of Mother Earth, though the
actualization was beyond imagination. Several minutes passed
and then suddenly the surface was broken without a ripple. Two
hands holding the precious chalice appeared, wrists above the
still water. Our eyes were glued to this vision for more than a
406
minute, although it seemed forever.
Arjuna slowly moved forward and effortlessly approached
the shore, arms still held high, the silver chalice glowing in a ray
of the morning sun which, at the perfect moment, cut between an
opening in the high clouds. As soon as he was out of the lake he
brought the chalice down and again held it in front of his heart.
None of us could help but notice that his short hair was now
down to his waist and his clothing was dry--his breathing was
even, as if five minutes under the freezing water had no effect.
“The same immortal master from Japan,” Sopi whispered
what was obvious to the others.
While we stood in complete awe, Arjuna extended the
chalice toward me. “I have visited our Mother. She is most
satisfied that the four of you are returning home. Please . . .
Master . . . I invite you to be the first to partake in this divine
ambrosia. The Amrita from this cup will remove anava, your
ignorance, in this and all of your eight-hundred and eight
thousand lifetimes.”
“That’s almost a million,” Sopi whispered to Maggie, who
answered with a “Shush.”
“I most humbly accept this blessing,” I said as I received
the chalice. “Thank you, Arjuna,” I almost mumbled in reference
to the night before, then with a slight bow I said a silent prayer
and slowly swallowed the first mouth-full. A rush of ecstatic
energy surged from my chest and radiated out to every extremity
of my body. While each cell was exploding into bliss, my next
movements were automatic--I eventually drank every last drop,
handing the chalice back to Arjuna.
“If you please Radha,” Arjuna spoke as he handed the
chalice to Maggie, who was stunned to see it still full. Her
reaction was rapture equal to mine, as was Howard’s and Sopi’s,
in turn. Each were jolted into unparalleled full-body orgasmic
bliss, and as we leaned on each other, more akin to floating than
standing, we were consciously aware of where we were, what
had just happened and what was going to happen next. When
Arjuna reached back and threw the priceless silver chalice as far
as he could into the depths of Manasarovar Lake, it seemed to
us the most reasonable thing he could have done.
“Now,” looking into the glowing eyes of the transformed
travelers, each of us who appeared no older than sixty-five, he
said, “you can begin your journey home.”
407

No one said a word as Arjuna helped us into the Range Rover
for the drive back to Darchen. Waiting there for us were eight
smiling porters, cooks and twelve yaks, all packed and ready to
go. Maggie, Howard and Sopi and I were still stunned into
silence as Arjuna opened the car doors and assisted us out. He
knew our bodies were full and overwhelmed with nourishment,
and there was no need for breakfast.

The porters and cooks greeted the four travelers with bows and
friendly smiles, then went about their business of moving the
caravan out of Darchen. It wasn’t long before they began the
clockwise trek on a trail lined with rocks and devotional cairns,
weaving up through a high desert of scrub brush and rough
sandy soil, on a route that looked nothing like the way to
paradise.
Everything that had happened, especially their reverse
aging, which gave their senior bodies a new and unexpected
strength to move forward up the formidable terrain, rendered
them speechless. Each one knew there was no rational answers
to their questions; a thousand impossible thoughts filled their
minds. They continued on in silence until they reached the first
chakstal gang, a rugged ridge of moraine clustered with prayer
flags and stone cairns. There the trekkers caught their breath,
without the help of oxygen, and accepted Arjuna’s story--again
that Shiva was smiling down at them from the white-walled south
face of Mt. Kailash.
During the first break, the eight porters, five men and three
women, tethered the yaks and stood side-by-side facing the
sacred mountain. Along with Arjuna, they each joined their two
hands together in prayer, and moved them rapidly from head, to
mouth, to heart, before prostrating, just like the servers in
Nepalganj, but this time to the mountain. When through with their
incantations they each rose and, except for Arjuna who
apparently had no personal possessions, extracted from their
personal belongings a piece of cloth, which they left there as an
auspicious gesture of personal purification. Howard, Maggie and
408
Sopi were now understanding how sacred each and every
moment and movement around this mountain was, and wished
they knew more so they could join in the rituals. Robert smiled in
remembrance.
The day was still young, and each of us wondered what
exciting new mystery awaited.
409
48
In the mountain
papa bear stopped to feel
tender loins.
Tuesday - Khawa Karpo
Although we tried not to show it to one another, both Lucky and I
were totally wiped out. We had spent the day keeping up with
each other, hiking four thousand feet higher in elevation as if it
were no problem. Once in our tents we were out almost as soon
as we were horizontal, and when the morning came I didn’t want
to be disturbed.
"
Soon after dinner Jimmy and Jane nearly stumbled to
their tents, where they both also immediately fell asleep. The
next morning Jimmy was suffering. His muscles had cramped
overnight, and after sleeping on the ground with minimal
padding, he couldn’t get up. Jane didn’t fare much better.
Normally it would have taken months of training to attempt a high
mountain trek, and they hadn’t trained for one day. I, on the other
hand, worked out religiously. I did mile after mile on the treadmill,
and took three mile early morning runs at least four times a
week, well off the road, on the hilly forest path above the
Portland Rose Gardens. And now I tried, but it was too difficult to
get up and with little desire to, didn’t."
"
Lucky’s body also hurt, but he pushed himself to rise and
massage his legs with a hot healing salve he had purchased in
Chiang Mai, where he had walked everywhere for the last month.
Possibly for that reason he fared better than us.
410
"
At nine in the morning Lucky walked from tent to tent
attempting to rouse the Portland trekkers, to no avail. It became
obvious to him we all needed at least one day to recuperate.
While we slept, he gathered the female cooks and turned their
larger sleeping tent into a make-shift massage parlor. A canvas
cot covered with layers of blankets and furs became the
massage table. Beginning with Jane, whom the porters carried
from her tent, the two women and Lucky worked every muscle.
When she could finally walk around the campsite with minimal
pain, they carried Jimmy in. He had no problem surrendering his
body, and kept everyone in chuckles with an unending
cacophony of oohs and ahhs and guttural screams. I wasn’t as
sore as the others, but welcomed a massage, and would have
easily spent the remainder of the day in bed.
"
After a midday breakfast/lunch we sat around the
campfire while Lucky worked out our remaining muscle cramps,
and placed the healing salve where needed. Over the years he
had taken classes in massage and physical therapy while in
shamanic training with a medicine woman. He had learned to
forage for food during vision quests and memorized the
properties of many healing herbs, mostly in Washington and
Montana. Even though he was admittedly sore and stiff, Lucky
was quite willing, ready and capable to spend the day attending
to his three new friends. We were extremely grateful that our
Indian was an unexpected medicine man. We were also grateful
for the loving care of the cheerful smiling cooks and porters. To
complicate matters, all four of us were having trouble breathing
in the higher altitude, and periodically took in air from the oxygen
tank, which Tenzin thoughtfully brought along.
"
As always, Tenzin had not been seen since the night
before. In mid-afternoon, when we were about to nod off in
siesta, he appeared and sat in a chair facing us. He looked
perfectly healthy, though he appeared several years older and
his longer black hair was laced with gray. He now took on the
look and bearing of a studious, near middle-aged college
professor. Having previously admitted
to being a humble
teacher, actually a god first and humble teacher second, he
411
positioned himself in attitude like a scholar preparing to give a
lecture.
"
“It is good that you are resting your bodies,” he began in
his normal Tibetan/English accent. “Tomorrow you will be ready
and the trail will also be steep, but only three thousand sevenhundred feet higher than here, not four thousand.”
"
“You can’t be serious,” Jimmy interrupted, rather wishing
to nap and not really interested in listening to a lecture. “Two,
four thousand feet treks in a row? No way?” He held up his
hands to pause everyone while he thought. “In the mountain.
The bear stopped to feel. Tender loins.”
"
“But it’s true,” Tenzin continued after giving Jimmy a
strange look. “The good news is that we’re only about five miles
to the next camp, and then after a night at Chubela, it’s a four
thousand six-hundred foot loss in elevation, a steady downhill
five-hour hike to Lado, a small village where we can bathe, and
spend the next night.”
"
“And you are here now,” Tenzin continued, stating the
obvious. “It is a good time to rest . . . and it is a good time to
prepare for the days to come. This is really why I am here, and
did not continue on with the people you are seeking. Arjuna, the
immortal master you met in Japan, is initiating the others as I am
doing with you.”
"
“You’re initiating us?” I asked, not in the best mood since
I didn’t like being laid-up. “I didn’t ask to be initiated. We’re
looking for four old folks. How could the immortal master possibly
be with them? . . . unless he can materialize at will and bend
time. There’s no way he could have gotten to where we were in
present time to wherever they are in their past time? I know my
sci-fi, but this is real life. Do you know where they are? That
would be a big help . . . and something you shouldn’t be
withholding. So unless you’re gonna to teach us how to bend
time and bio-locate I can’t see what good your lecturing will do.
Really, what does being initiated have to do with anything?” I
surprised myself with all the questions.
"
“It has to do with everything,” Tenzin answered, ignoring
my other questions. “You were able to keep up yesterday
because you have been initiating your body. It was much easier
412
for you than Jimmy and Jane, who are only beginning the body
initiation.”
"
“You got that right,” Jimmy said, stretching his still sore
body. He missed his fedora. It would be a good time to drop it
over his eyes, and rest it on his nose, except he wanted to know
the answers to Taylor’s questions.
"
“Shambala is like no other place.” We were going to get
the lecture whether we liked it, or not. “In order to find your way
there you must go through a spiritual initiation, an abbreviated
right of passage. You must be able to move into the miraculous.
Do you know what I am saying?”
"
“Move into the miraculous? A spiritual initiation?” Now
Jane questioned him, having been taken by surprise with
Tenzin’s new information. “I’m fifty-five years old, not twelve.
What are you talking about, going through a rite of passage?
What are you going to do, send us out on a vision quest?” Lucky
grinned.
"
“But you are already on a vision quest. You are right.
This is what I am saying. The initiation or rite of passage is
indeed a vision quest . . . where you will change your vision and
be able to see.”
"
“What do you mean see?” Jimmy asked, sitting up. He
had always wanted to go on a vision quest, but was forever too
busy with important cases or teaching Aikido. “I can see you. I
can see these mountains. I’ve got good vision. Change my
vision? What are you saying exactly?”
"
“There are two kinds of vision, Mr. Jimmy. There is
collective vision, and that is the vision you and most everyone
sees everything with. In collective vision we all agree the tree is
there, and the tent is there and the fire pit is there, and I am
here. The second vision is ethereal. This vision is light and pure,
of a higher vibration. With ethereal vision you can see what the
collective vision can not.”
"
“Do you mean this is how some people are able to see
fairies and ghosts?” I asked, now becoming engaged in the
conversation. “The Japanese tengu?”
"
“Exactly. Most people think that those who see angels
and nature spirits are crazy, but I am telling you they are
413
anything but crazy. They have evolved, maybe through many
lifetimes, and now have the ability to see that which is light and
pure and perfect. And what is gnarly and deformed, like the
tengu. Mrs. Maggie was able to see the tengu on Mt. Kurama.”
"
”Maggie, the missing old lady?” Jimmy asked. “You saw
her see the tengu?”
"
“I did . . . and sparred with him with our bamboo staffs.”
"
“You can do that?” Lucky asked, impressed.
"
“I can. Do you want me to teach you how?” It was
becoming apparent to me that this man didn’t let anything pass
by. I’m sure Tenzin had watched Jimmy and Lucky spar that
morning in Putao.
"
“That’s OK. I trust you. So, I think I know what you are
trying to say,” Lucky continued. “You’re saying that I wouldn’t be
able to see Shambala, and most people won’t either, because
we have collective vision . . . our eyes are closed to that
reality . . . even if it were right in front of our face. You want to
initiate us into this ethereal vision, correct? Are you talking about
seeing into the forth dimension?”
"
“The fifth and further . . .”
"
“And only with forth or higher dimensional vision will we
be able to see Shambala.” He paused and thought about it. “I’m
in. Initiate me. What do you want me to do? I’m ready.”
"
“It is good that you are ready. I do want the four of you to
know that Shambala is real in every way. I myself come from
there. It simply exists on another frequency. Imagine that the
movie is already in the TV. The screen is blank and you do not
see anything until you turn it on, and put it on the right channel.
This is what you need to do. You need to first turn on the TV, and
then put it on the right channel. And you would have no idea how
to do this if you had never before seen a TV, and had no idea
what it was or how it worked.”
"
“You want to make us aware of . . . introduce us to a
higher frequency or dimension.” Jimmy said. “You want to teach
us how to switch a third dimension frequency TV to another
channel . . . a fifth or sixth dimension frequency? I’ve read about
this. But I have no idea . . . how would you be able to teach us
such a thing?”
414
"
“That is correct in what you say. Shambala is like
another TV channel, in another dimension. Right now if you turn
the channel you will only see fuzzy. I am here to teach you how
to put it in focus, that is, how to see it when we get there. First,
each of you must agree to surrender.”
"
“Here we go again,” I sighed, though I realized this time I
was on equal footing with Jimmy.
"
“You must all agree go through this rite of passage. If
you are willing to listen and learn, then I will be very pleased to
initiate you. If you are not willing then I cannot help you. If you do
agree then you must pay perfect attention to what I am saying.
Please. If Jimmy learns to see through his soft eyes, then he will
see Shambala, but if you, Jane, do not, then you could stand
next to him and not see what he is seeing. Do you now
understand what I am saying?”
"
“That seems like a whole lot of pressure,” I offered. “I’m
willing to try, but what if it’s just not in me? I mean . . . all my life
I’ve seen the world one way. How is it even possible that I would
be able to see it differently in one day?”
"
“It does not need to take one day. It can take one
second. There is no trying. You must never try. You must be
willing. It takes a desire. You are traveling with your friends. You
want to be with them, do what they do. You are with this man and
you want to be with him. Do you not? Imagine that we all see
Shambala, that we all walk into Shambala, but you see nothing,
everyone disappears and you are alone. Is that what you want?”
"
“No, but . . . I don’t get it. How would they be able to see
this place and not me?
"
“Their desire would be greater. Maybe they are
convinced their life depends upon it, and they will do everything
in their power to make it happen. Even risk their lives to be
there.”
"
“I’m not convinced that getting to Shambala is worth
risking my life. I still don’t really believe it actual exists. There’s
no way I’m going to die in these mountains.”
"
“This is your choice. I do not care how or where you die.
You have my permission to die any way or anywhere you want. I
am not here to lead you to your death. I am here to lead you to
415
your life . . . to help you to live to your highest potential. I am
here to help you to open your eyes, so you can see many levels
of this reality, and not just one.”
"
“My god,” Jane said as I sat back in my chair in
contemplation. “I’m ready. I can care less if my life depends upon
it or not. If we’re surrounded by mountain fairies I want to see
them. That would be so cool. I’m a biologist. I want to see earth
spirits, and see how they work with each other and the elements,
and I want to communicate with them, and with the plants and
the weather . . . I want to talk with the spirits and Mother Earth,
and have question and answer conversations. That would be so
fantastic. I really want to see Shambala. Why are we wasting
time? Let’s do it! Initiate me. Jimmy?”
"
“I’m going wherever you’re going,” Jimmy said, giving
her a wink. “But my perspective is a bit different. I really want to
find Robert. I’ve thought about it a lot. Robert was indirectly my
life-long spiritual teacher, and the fact we were drawn into this
case of missing dementia patients, who took off with the very
same man, is beyond coincidental. There is a reason I’m
supposed to be here. There’s a reason I’m supposed to find him.
And I believe Tenzin here. Robert obviously knew how to get in
and out of Shambala. He must have the vision Tenzin is talking
about. He said the old folks are with Arjuna, the immortal master,
even though how that’s possible is beyond my comprehension.
He’s going to offer them the same initiation, I would suppose. I
would hate to be standing right in front of Robert and not be able
to see him. I’m in. You’ve got my undivided attention.”
"
Tenzin looked at his new students, and paused to meet
my eyes, knowing I was far from completely surrendered. “And
what about you Taylor? Forget about the death argument. Why
are you choosing to continue to go to Shambala? To be a better
detective? To have a new boyfriend? To prove you are a good
mountain climber? To be more of a woman than your mother?
More of a man than your soldier father?” He raised his voice as if
commanding. “Tell me. Why do you really want to go?”
"
“Shit. You’re not going to make this easy for me, are
you?”
416
"
“This is not easy,” he calmed his voice. “And yet it is. You
have a couple of days to transform your vision. But all that other
stuff is what is in the way. You must first let go of pleasing
anyone. You must let go of doing this for anyone except yourself,
for your own good reasons.”
"
“You’re asking me to be selfish?”
"
“Absolutely. Absolutely selfish. Do you understand? You
must do it only for yourself. There is only you, Taylor Banks. And
at the same time we are all one. This may sound like a paradox,
but it is not. When you selfishly commit and focus on finding your
vision, then it affects the collective, and others begin to find their
vision. Do you hear what I am saying?
"
“I do . . .” I answered. “Believe me, I do.” I felt I had to be
real, and realized that Tenzin just gave me permission to speak
my truth. “Back in Portland, Jimmy didn’t teach me anything and
the Chief wanted me to quit. The whole damn bureau was
against me, or so it seemed. But I didn’t care what anyone else
wanted. I wanted to be a detective. Screw them. Screw
everyone. That’s what I thought.” I found Jimmy’s eyes before
continuing. “I’m good at what I do. I was convinced that if I was a
great detective, then I would be a part of a great investigative,
crime solving police department. It pissed me off that no one saw
that . . . what I was doing for myself, I was doing for everyone.” I
paused and became more reflective. “I studied my ass off to get
a masters degree and be near the top of my police class. I
worked out at the gym every day for ten years. Nobody told me
to do that, but I did. It made me strong so I can do things like
this. School, working out, then my detective job . . . those things
all came first. I don’t want to get married, and settle down and be
an obedient wife. That’s not my dream. Men wanted me to have
their dream.” Now I was beginning to talk myself into a root truth.
“Since I didn’t want what they wanted, they always called me
selfish. Well, shit. I want the life I want. I want the man that I
want, and not some domesticated weenie. It’s not wrong to want
what you want, and not compromise.” I was more wound up than
I intended to be, but this was a hot trigger for me, and somehow I
knew I had to let it out with emotion and passion. Tears were
welling up, and running down the sides of my face. I looked over
417
at Lucky, whose clenched fist involuntarily rose up, as if he
wanted to say, ‘Right on, sister.’ I paused to collect myself, then
wanted to hear some feedback, some validation that I wasn’t
alone in the world. “Say something, Lucky.”
"
“Thank you for that, Taylor. I had always felt somewhat
guilty about choosing an isolated single life, keeping myself away
from all the trappings of civilization. I guess I too was extremely
selfish. . . I totally relate to everything your were saying. I never
stopped challenging my body and wanted to master Aikido,
archery and horsemanship. I never wanted the wife and picket
fence in some Seattle suburb. I wanted the life I wanted, and the
woman I wanted, and there was no way in hell I was or am about
to compromise. So I guess we’re saying the same thing. In a way
we’re mirror images of each other. As I look at you, your tears
only enhancing your beauty. Did I say too much?”
"
“Not at all, Lucky. We can talk more about this later,
when we’re alone.” I didn’t know what else to say. I was
beginning to realize that the two of us were quite possibly the
definition of the words I always scoffed at: twin flames--and at
the moment I didn’t know what to do with that information.
"
“Is there anything else you’d like to say?” Tenzin asked
me.
"
“I think I’m beginning to understand our similarities . . .
my similarity to Jane, and a different similarity to Jimmy . . . and
with what Lucky just said, an all new and exciting similarity to
Lucky.” I paused to smile at him. “People don’t understand me.
Maybe they don’t understand any of us. i certainly didn’t
understand Jimmy. It’s because we’re all so different. It’s all in
degrees of perception. I haven’t been understanding you Tenzin,
because you’re different, but only in a way I don’t understand
different. I’m getting it. It’s all in how we see things. If I could
change my vision it probably wouldn’t be a problem seeing and
accepting why you’re aging so quickly. You said you are already
an old man. That sounded crazy . . . but if I had clear vision, then
maybe I would now be seeing exactly who you are. I want to see
who you are. I want to see exactly who Lucky is. I want to see
my real father! Damn it!” I was now yelling. “I want to see! I’m
418
going to see Shambala. Nothing will stop me. And I want all of
you to see it with me.”
"
Tenzin smiled. This was the initiation. The vision quest
had already begun. Our group consciousness was expanding,
and the desire was evolving to a whole new frequency. To his
ethereal vision, our individual spirit guides now appeared in
physical form. The crowd around us was growing, and these
entities were all pleased, at least Tenzin said so.
"
Jimmy, Jane, Lucky and I felt a comforting peace
surround us. Our decision to be initiated into this new vision
seemed true and right. We all felt much stronger and ready to
continue the next five mile, four thousand foot climb. Our
collective desire to find Shambala, to see Shambala, was many
times greater than ever before, and we eagerly awaited whatever
lesson Tenzin was about to teach.
"
And so the lessons continued through dinner and after
the sun went behind the Great Snow Mountain. When the upper
Khawa Karpo kora camp was draped in darkness and rocked in
a cradle of pristine stillness, we found our cocoon tents and
tucked ourselves into a night of self-transforming dreams, selfmassaging eyes ready to open to a new day, with gestating
visions of paradise.
419
49
In still hours
magicians arrange a world-unimagined.
Wednesday - Khawa Karpo
All of us had a great nights sleep. Tenzin’s talk the previous day
had inspired us; we wanted to see into another dimension. We
each started the day squinting, searching to see what our normal
vision couldn’t. We were convinced that we had to learn to see
the unseen. Tenzin’s logic about being selfish also struck a cord.
We now accepted our personal reasons for going to Shambala,
knowing we were with the very best teacher and guide.
"
The sky above the mist was clear and cloudless; the air
cold and crisp, exposing our breath. We warmed themselves
around the early morning fire while doing a variation of stretching
exercises. After a simple breakfast of sliced apples, yogurt mixed
with raisins, dates and honey, and a cup of definitely not
Guatemalan roast Tibetan camp coffee we took off, heading
higher up a trail semi-shrouded in twinkling evaporating haze.
Jimmy and Jane’s bodies had gone through a remarkable
transformation; they felt fit, healthy and ready for the next four
thousand foot climb. The cooks and porters stayed back to break
camp and would catch up later.
"
Unlike the first day, we stayed together. Lucky slowed
the pace and stopped often to talk about certain plants and point
out geographical features, comparing them to what he had
learned in the American west. I pulled out my seldom used
Canon SLR digital camera, which I had purchased in Hong
420
Kong, and Lucky encouraged me to be the tour photographer.
He had a keen eye for picture placement and it wasn’t long
before I was clicking off photos to my heart’s delight, distracting
everyone from the rigors of the high mountain trek. Along the
way pine and fir forests would open into long scrub brush
clearings, offering magnificent photo ops of the rugged range of
Meili mountain tops. I no longer felt I had anything to prove; I
was a strong mountain trekker--I knew it and Lucky knew it--and
was now free to enjoy the journey.
"
An hour after leaving camp we stopped to rest in a
clearing surrounded by tall spruce. The four of us sat side-byside on a fallen spruce log under a canopy of over-powering
grandfather oak, which was draped with hanging usnea lichen-pale green robes flowing from open arms. The rich organic
redolence emanating from this ancient forest monarch was so
thick and rich one could imagine how a yogi’s life could be
sustained by merely sitting under one such tree.
"
In full view of the oak, and now being more accustomed
to Tenzin’s ability to disappear and reappear, we only chuckled
when our teacher emerged from behind the grandfather and
stepped forward like a professor ready to give his lecture. Where
he went every night after dark was a mystery. The porters hadn’t
bothered pitching his tent the night before, and although it
drizzled and temperatures were not that far above freezing,
Tenzin wore his traditional robe jacket, and was without a
backpack.
"
He had again aged overnight. Now he had a white
mustache and chin beard--his cheeks clean shaven, and his
nearly white hair was shoulder length. The wrinkles on the sides
of his eyes were obvious, accenting his brown turned hazel eyes,
which were glowing brighter than ever before. He took a few
minutes to study each of us, his students. “You are also
transforming, taking on a new radiance. Do you not feel much
different than yesterday?” We each nodded, more-so about the
transformation we were seeing before us.
"
Tenzin then reached into his robe and pulled out four 8
1/2 x 11 inch laminated and very colorful papers. On each were
splashes of multi-colored repeating patterns. He handed one to
421
each of us. Looking the laminates over, we considered where
these designs came from, why and how he had them--we were,
after all, presently over nine thousand feet high in a remote
mountain wilderness, far from copy machines and laminators.
"
“What you have in your hands, they are called
stereograms. Do you know what a stereogram is?”
"
“Hold on a second,” Jimmy broke in. I knew what was
coming. “In still hours. Magicians rearrange a world.
Unimagined.” His haiku implied he knew the answer.
"
“I know these,” Jane said, turning hers over to a different
design on the other side. “What are they called, stereograms?
Funny name. Back when I was in graduate school I used to look
and look and couldn’t see anything different than what’s here.
Other people would get all excited when they saw something
else. It was frustrating not to be able to see what they were
seeing. I couldn’t figure the damn things out. ”
"
Tenzin looked pleased with her response. She had just
illustrated the problem we’d discussed before. “They are indeed
called stereograms, because you will have to coordinate your
two eyes differently in order to see stereo. To see what’s beyond
the colored dots you will have to look with soft eyes.”
"
“Soft eyes?” Jane questioned.
"
“For thousands of years the collective human population
has adapted their eyes to only perceive things agreed upon as
real and solid. Most people do not know how to or care to see
differently. They see with hard eyes and don’t not know how to
relax them. If they did, then they would see that the world is like
a stereogram.”
"
“What exactly is a stereogram?” Lucky asked.
"
“I will say it this way . . . you only see three dimensions.
Very simple. You see me, and you see the tree behind me, and
the forest behind the tree. What you do not see is the
dimensions beyond the three dimensions, which you do see.
Each higher dimension requires softer and softer eyes to see. I
am here to tell you that each dimension is a layer of reality which
contains life.” He stopped, looking into each of out eyes for
comprehension. “OK . . . I will define stereogram. When you say
monogram, like a record, it is only one sound recording. Stereo
422
is two or more sound recordings. A stereo you do understand.
The colored drawing in front of you looks like a monogram
painting. It is one flat singular drawing. Correct? . . . It is not. The
mono drawing is really stereo. It appears to be something which
it is not.”
"
“How can something be something and not be
something?” Lucky wondered.
"
“If you look up in the clear sky you label it the sky, but is
the sky some thing? Or is the sky no thing? I say it is something
and nothing at the same time. Do you all hear what it is I am
saying?”
"
We all nodded though still confused, now eager to see
the something in nothing.
"
“Please if you will, hold the drawing about eight inches
from your eyes and relax.” Tenzin began speaking very slowly
like a hypnotist, “Put your eyes at half open like you are
meditating, but you are still peeking. Peeking is good. Breathe
steady, in and out, and relax, like you are about to fall asleep.
Eyes half open. Relax some more, still looking at the design.
Breathe in and out. Soften your eyes. Softer eyes. Ommm. Look
but don’t look.” He waited until each of us appeared to be
nodding off.
"
“My god,” Jimmy suddenly said, “it’s a three-D rose. How
did that happen?”
"
In turn Jane and I saw the inner third dimension,
different multi-depth designs. Excited, we turned the laminated
cards over and without further instruction were soon lost in the
next hidden treasure. We traded cards.
"
“When you see what you see inside the stereogram, you
first think what you are seeing is an illusion. But you are seeing
what is really there. What you first saw, the design on the paper,
was truly the illusion. Do you now understand? This is why the
ancient masters called what the world collective eyes see . . . an
illusion. Just like this stereogram, there is another world you do
not see hidden behind what you do see.”
"
“I got it,” Jimmy said with enthusiasm. “I never could
understand why they were calling this world an illusion. Now I
know!”
423
"
Our class was momentarily interrupted as the caravan
passed by. When they were out of site, Jane posed a question,
“Do our cooks and porters see this way?”
"
“As I walked through the porter village the night before
we left, I made myself visible to only those who resonated at the
same frequency as me. The right number of cooks and porters
actually walked up to me and volunteered. There was no seeking
or questionings or even instructions to give . . . they could see
what they were to prepare for. In maybe two days you will be
able to see as they see, by then we will be on the final path to
Shambala.”
"
“I know we need to learn this, see through dimensions
and all that, but do you offer a crash course?” I interjected,
feeling totally incapable of achieving what he just described. “I
mean, do you have some trick like touch our foreheads and
voila, we can see? Teaching four westerners to see this way in a
couple days sounds impossible to me. We’re still a week behind
the old folks . . . how could you expect us to raise our frequency
or whatever in a day or two? Aren’t we wasting valuable time?”
"
“Wasting time?” Tenzin repeated with a quizzical look.
“There is no such thing as time. You are asking me to manipulate
something that is nothing, as is your minds you want me to
manipulate. I will do neither. It must be genuine, and to be so it is
necessary to take one step after the other, which you equate as
consuming time. Walking up this mountain is simply a necessary
step before the next step. After the first day, the second day was
easier, was it not? Finding the inspiration to continue on is a
step . . . learning to see by looking at this stereogram . . . is
another necessary step.”
"
“I know you’re being simplistic,” I interjected, “but what is
the point?”
"
“The point is that you still only see me and the tree and
the forest behind this tree. What will it take for you to see the
universe between you and me? Whatever that is, at this moment
you see it as impossible, and I do not. I see you as the porters in
the village saw me, as who you really are . . . I know what you
are capable of doing. In this respect I am directing you to see
yourself, and know first hand that life is not just this, it is this.”
424
Tenzin moved his arm and a rainbow of colors flashed before our
eyes. “Did you ever consider that you could see this and a million
other things on your own, without my so-called magic?”
"
“No. But I still don’t see how this is possible . . . in a
matter of days?” I wasn’t satisfied.
"
“You are a good detective, Taylor Banks. Someone
commits a crime. You have no idea who this person is. You know
nothing to begin, see nothing, you do not have one clue. Maybe
one person is dead and there are a million people in your city. A
person who knows nothing about police work with say that it is
impossible to find the one who did this murder. Then you begin
looking and soon uncover clues. In order to solve this mystery
you must pay attention, look around and take one step at a time.
The first day you know nothing and by the third day maybe you
have arrested this person. How is this possible? I see you
nodding because you know how this is possible.” Tenzin paused
to let it sink in, and then continued, “Everything must happen in
the proper order . . . as I so simplistically stated. What I am
proposing is not impossible at all. Within a day or two you will
solve this mystery. I suggest that you spend the day practicing to
see with soft eyes. Focus your camera lens, your eye lens and
allow yourself to be surprised. Eventually you will see . . . what I
see. This is enough for now. In another mile the cooks will be be
waiting to feed you. We shall go now.”
"
“Thank you, Tenzin” I said with a grateful bow, humbled
by his words, challenged by this new puzzle I was sure I would
figure out.
"
Jane collected and slipped the stereograms in her
daypack, and we were back on the trail, each paying attention
and looking around with as much awareness as possible.
"
After a simple meal of rice and vegetables and an hour’s
rest, we were ready to continue. Tenzin didn’t show up to eat, in
fact no one had seen Tenzin eat since we first met him in
Mandalay. Jane couldn’t remember if he had ever joined them for
supper in the Frank Lloyd Wright house. He was but an example
of the possibility, and now we knew we were on our own, as far
as learning to see was concerned.
425
During the afternoon trek we stopped for many breaks and photo
shoots. We anticipated another lesson from Tenzin, but we didn’t
see him for the rest of the day. The last leg of the trek took us
over the highest pass on the whole Khawa Karpo kora, Shok La.
By the time we arrived at the prepared camp site at Chubela we
were extremely tired, and although our bodies felt nothing like
the day before, we were more than happy to have arrived and
soon relaxed in front of the welcoming warm fire. We thankfully
accepted a plate of delicious hot deer stew over a bed of jasmine
rice, with a side of pan fried tsampa bread. When we finished our
meal, the two women cooks removed our boots, washed our feet
and gave each of us a soothing foot massage, which extended
up the entire leg, one leg after the other. Each of the four porters
began massaging a back, and once we began to blissfully pass
out, we were led to our tents where we fell sound asleep before
the sun had a chance to duck behind the Meili Mountains.
426
50
Falling-one’s life passes by.
An open window.
Mt. Kailash.
After two hours of high altitude mountain trekking under a layer
of angel winged white cirrus clouds, Maggie, Howard and Sopi’s
pace had slowed, but they continued on and spoke in gratitude
for the mysterious gift of younger bodies, and of all that had
happened at the sacred lake. Their lungs were now stronger
than twenty year olds--they could inhale with no problem; the
steep dusty declines presented the only challenge.
"
I walked ahead with Arjuna. I knew all about the history
of Manosarovar Lake, but had never witnessed anything
remotely close to the immortal masters astonishing performance.
In my mind it rendered all my personal past accomplishments
elementary. Arjuna was succeeding in bringing life to what I had
always considered mythical characters; Shiva, Pravati, Maya the
mother of Buddha, and Prithvi Mata, Mother Earth herself. If
they’re real, eternal and immortal, as Arjuna obviously is . . . then
Krishna and Radha must also be real. Is it even remotely
possible that Maggie and I are the modern incarnations? And
what about our bodies? Our reverse aging?
!
“Arjuna,” I broke the silence of our walk. “Can we talk?”
"
“Certainly, Master. What would you like to talk about?”
"
“All of it. What’s going on? Not specifically, generally.”
427
"
“It is quite simple. You, all of you, have been fragmented,
and now you are becoming whole. You have acted with instinct
like animal’s do or mentally with strategy like a contrived
human . . . but now, your consciousness is becoming binary. Do
you understand?”
"
“Not really. Binary?”
"
“This morning at the lake your body had a reaction, did it
not?” I nodded. “Your consciousness observed the reaction. It
was simultaneous, Yes? I am telling you that the body has it’s
own intelligence. The mind consciousness is only a library and
the witness—communicating information and observations.”
"
“Let me see if I have this right . . . at the lake when my
body was in bliss, my mind didn’t know how to, couldn't, stop
it . . . because it was happening without the mind’s permission,
beside or outside of the mind.” Arjuna nodded in agreement and I
continued. “When we’re in bliss we think it’s the body that’s out
of control . . . but it’s actually the mind . . . the bliss is more than
the little mind can handle. So you’re saying . . . the mind is, and
can only be, the witness of the bliss . . . or pain or whatever the
body is doing . . . and you’re implying that it’s not natural for the
mind to attempt to do anything other than witness the body, bliss
or no bliss?”
"
“Correct. The body has it’s own intelligence. It lives it’s
own life. But as I said, it is binary . . . it happens simultaneously.
With binary consciousness our mind is fully aware and
supportive of our body’s intelligence. While I sat in the back of
that airplane, I was fully aware and supportive of everything
Maggie was doing.”
"
“I see . . ." I paused to let that sink in. "So your body
intelligence knew how to breathe under water, but how does it
keep you looking twenty two for thousands of years?”
"
“It is a binary agreement of what is best for me.”
"
“So, you’re conversely implying that the mind is
genetically and historically programmed to supersede the body’s
natural intelligence, telling the body what to do, to do what’s
maybe not the best thing, such as to age in a linear way . . .”
"
“As a species our intelligent bodies designed themselves
to be immortal and to chose the age that best serves ourselves
428
and others. I am this age for what should be obvious reasons.
Understand that in a healthy and whole binary life it is not our
mind who is doing the choosing.”
"
“Ahh . . . OK . . . so the bottom line is . . . the mind, as
we use it, is constantly subverting the body’s natural
intelligence?”
"
“Haan,” he answered in Hindi. “Our mind, actually what
you call higher consciousness, is to observe life without
judgment, and communicate our observations to the benefit of
others. Your friends observed what they judge to be a
phenomenon or miracle. But you yourself know it is neither. I am
simply living at my full potential . . . and you are not so far
behind.” We continued on in silence for awhile.
"
“Hmmm,” I thought out loud, my mind distracted. “I am
seeing something. I don’t know if it’s a premonition.”
"
“What is it, Master?” Arjuna asked, even though he
already knew.
"
“I am seeing Sopi fall, terribly. Would her intelligent body
cause her to fall, or her mind? Should I witness, or use my mind
now to warn her?”
"
“What is your body telling you to do?”
"
I stopped and looked back at my friends. The small
caravan had begun a descent into the southern Lha Chu River
valley. Arjuna and I were one hundred yards ahead of Maggie,
Howard and Sopi, whose legs were challenged with the rocky
downhill path. She lacked the strength, control and experience of
the others on mountainous terrain. My mind wanted me to run
back and warn Sopi to be careful, but my body wouldn’t move.
Sopi was the most carefree and easy going of us four--and the
weakest. When she started the Mt. Kailash hike, bolstered by the
morning’s rejuvenating drink and the loss of eleven years of age,
she assumed her fitness was validated. In truth she had been
pulled from death’s door only two weeks before--she was tired
and the downhill trek was difficult. She over-compensated with
enthusiasm, her mind disregarding the warnings of her body.
Instead of watching her steps she turned around to face Howard,
taking a step backwards. She stumbled over a rock, lost her
429
balance and began a long violent tumble down the side of a
steep rocky incline.
"
Possibly from shock, she went down without making a
sound.
"
Maggie screamed, and Howard in shock helplessly
shouted “Sopi” from the top of the hill. I saw it all, scanned my
options, and raced off the path, through the lower level scrub
brushes, toward where I thought she would be. Howard and
Maggie held on to each other as they looked over the side,
wondering what to do next, knowing they had to act quickly,
unsure what Sopi lying motionless nearly two hundred feet below
meant. They were distracted by me, down below to their lower
right, heading in Sopi’s direction. "
They immediately decided on a route to where their
friend’s battered body lay prostrate, hopefully not dead. Hand in
hand Howard and Maggie made their way down the steep barren
incline, trying their best not to kick rocks which could fly down
and hit the still prone body. After a slow and considerate descent,
they finally reached an unconscious Sopi. They were shocked at
the sight of her bruised and bloody face. I was already there,
examining her. Howard let loose a sad wail, which came from
somewhere deep in the hidden recesses of his heart, as Maggie
took Sopi’s wrist, and felt a faint pulse. "
“I can do this,” she said, taking in a deep breath.
“Howard, please hold her head, and through your hands and
heart send her all the love you have always had, and will forever
have for her. Robert, take off her boots and hold her feet. Think
in a circular motion and send energy throughout her body, to
every cell, to the mitochondria which will give the orders to heal. I
need to work on her heart and do what I was so good at all my
life, energy healing.”
"
I did as I was told, and put my hands on the soles of
Sopi’s feet. I decided to be out of my mind, to listen and be a
conduit of the natural flow of Sopi’s intelligent body. Her body’s
instructions were to began an infinity eight directional flow of
energy, through my right hand, into her left leg, moving the flow
up, crossing her body while stimulating her heart and all the
organs, every cell, and on to the top of her head, healing the
430
wounds, crossing back down over her heart, into her right leg,
into my left hand, through my body and then back again. With my
eyes closed, I soon became lost in the rhythm and pulse of her
circulating healing energy.
"
Howard’s heart was full to overflow for his beloved. He
didn’t know what to think or what to do, so he followed Maggie’s
instructions. All this love poured through his hands that cupped
her head. He closed his eyes and saw her laughing and playing
and in perfect health. In his mind’s eye he saw flowers woven
through her long black hair, and a shiny diamond ring twinkled on
her wedding finger. She looked younger and more beautiful than
ever, and so very happy. They lived in their elegant apartment in
paradise, they were in love forever, and nothing would stop that
vision from coming true. He continued sending variations of this
vision from his heart and hands to her, and soon forgot about the
problem at hand, chuckling in the joy of his, and maybe her,
imaginings.
"
Maggie ran her hands inches over Sopi’s body, from top
to bottom, constantly visualizing a steady stream of healing
restorative energy pouring into the battered body. She asked her
guides, and Sopi’s guides, and the ascended masters to help her
with whatever spiritual powers were available to heal. She called
forth Sopi’s body’s ability to resurrect itself. Also closing her
eyes, she began toning with guttural sounds, which increased in
pitch and amplification. She moved energy up from the ground,
asking Gaia Mother Earth for the mana to bring the earth’s
healing powers into physical manifestation. She invoked the
devas, over-lighting spirits and the healing angels. She called to
the angel Lelahel, who carries the Divine Light which heals
everything, to help heal her friend. She summoned the Kailash
mountain spirits, the local fairies and sprites, and all the gods
and goddesses of all religions who serve to heal and answer
prayers. Maggie implored Lord Vishnu to preserve Sopi’s body
and make her whole again, and begged Lord Shiva, who was
watching it all from the mountaintop, to stop the illusion of a cut
and broken, damaged body. She called on Brahma to initiate the
process of rejuvenation. Maggie asked Krishna, Jesus,
Muhammad, Buddha and Ram to lay their hands on her friend’s
431
body, to make it whole and complete, with no signs of damage.
She was unashamed in her invocations, seeking the intervention
of any master, saint or god she could think of, to help save the
life of Sopi Nyugen. She envisioned the rearranging of the
current reality from apparent to desired; a whole and complete
realignment of the body before her; a restored healthy and
vibrant Sopi, who would stand up and walk away, as if the fall
had never happened.
"
Twenty minutes of non-stop energy healing passed. Our
eyes remained closed, a low pitched, three voice toning
continued, lost in a rhythmic trance, each of us doing our part in
the spontaneous process. It would have continued into the
darkness of night, if not for the words that stopped us and moved
our hearts in gratitude, “Hey, I’m all right.”
"
We opened our eyes and looked down upon the once
broken and bloodied body of our friend, but it no longer looked
that way. It was as though Sopi had just woken from a nap, now
totally whole and complete, without a scratch; in perfect
health. "
"
“I know I slipped . . . then it was a blur . . . what
happened?” She looked up the steep hill. “I couldn’t have fallen
down to here. I feel great!” she said. Howard helped her to sit up. "
“You look . . . you look incredible,” Howard gushed,
moving around to face her.
"
“You too, Howard. What happened to you? You look
years younger. How can this be?” There was no answer between
the two who were now in their mid-fifties, but I now knew exactly
what happened, how the holistic intelligence of one body
effected the others. I remained silent as I placed the boots on
Sopi’s feet. Maggie simply smiled, having orchestrated a healing
she had always imagined possible. "
Our happy foursome was interrupted by the presence of
Arjuna, and an older male porter, wearing a sky blue turban. The
immortal master was standing next to me when Sopi slipped,
and chose to witness it from a distance. He reached down and
helped her to stand. “You are much better now, Mother. I am
pleased. It is the innocent fool who steps over the cliff for the
benefit of all. I bow to your purity.” He bowed.
432
"
Sopi blushed and bowed in return, as Howard continued
brushing the dirt off her back.
"
“We’re ready to go on now.” I spoke, discretely winking
at Arjuna. “Do you think there might be a little tea hut along the
way? Tea would be good.”
"
“Whatever the Master wants,” Arjuna replied with a
smile. “Do you remember Samba, Master?”
"
I shook the porter’s hand, but had no recollection.
"
“There is a little tea hut near Naro’s cave, not far from
here,” Samba said in perfect English. “You have not eaten
enough today. The food will be good for your bodies . . . although
you look more refreshed than you did when we began. After you
have eaten, it will be three more hours until we reach Drira Phuk,
where we will camp for the night. Do you all feel good enough to
continue on that far today? “
"
Feeling better than we could ever remember, we quickly
nodded our heads yes, and followed Arjuna and Samba back to
the trail.
Passing by purple sandstone and towering rock pinnacles that
kindled visions of mystical castle towers, it wasn’t long before the
caravan came upon a very basic stone, log beamed, tea shop-not far below Naro’s cave. Arjuna and the porters sat on the
ground in front of the rustic shop, and shared their own tea and
lunch. The four of us relaxed over a pot of sweet black tea,
sharing a crude outdoor picnic table. We ordered biscuits and
eggs, the only choice on the menu besides dried marmot meat
and candy. When our meal was over, Arjuna and Samba joined
us and began telling stories of Naro’s cave and Choku Gompa, a
temple that clings to an immense rock face, not far away.
"
“It was very long ago, a thousand years.” Arjuna began.
“There was a disagreement here between Naro Bonchung, the
head of the local Bon religion, and the great Buddhist saint
Milarepa, who meditated in the caves here for many years. The
two magicians engaged in a sorcerer’s battle, but to no
advantage. They wanted Kailash to be the home of their
particular religion, and decided that the one who reached the top
of the mountain first, would win. Naro got on his magic drum and
433
soared to the top, but when he got there, Milarepa sat in
meditation. When Naro came upon him, the tantric Buddhist
master grabbed onto and rode the rays of the sun, defeating
Naro and proclaiming Kang Rinpoche, Mt. Kailash, the body of
Buddha, thus bringing Buddhism to Tibet.”
"
“How could either one of them claim a mountain that
wasn’t theirs in the first place?” Maggie asked. “From what you
said and did at the lake this morning, I have no doubt that this
mountain belongs to Gaia Mother, and not some religion. It’s a
good story, but isn’t fighting over and then claiming a mountain a
bit presumptuous?”"
"
“This is true, Rahda. Your spirit remains unchanged,”
Samba answered with a grin. “All religious stories are
presumptuous, indeed. Still, the story has opened millions of
hearts and brought countless seekers to self-realization. We
make up stories to believe in, until we discover that beliefs are
not necessary.”
"
The broad-robed shop keeper returned with a fresh pot
of tea, and refilled our cups. “I should tell you about Choku
Rinpoche. The temple is right over there on the side of that
mountain.” Samba pointed to the west. Arjuna seemed pleased
with the porter’s initiative, and his four attentive listeners
gestured for him to continue. “In the Choku temple was a white
marble statue of Wopame, the Buddha of Boundless Light.
Naropa, an Indian master who lived there, possessed a silverlined conch shell. They say that Milarepa, who meditated for
years without food in one of these caves, found the shell in the
middle of Manasarovar Lake. Naropa also possessed a large
copper tea cauldron, a most precious teapot. In the sixteen
hundreds an invading army came here to Choku Gompa, and
with no reverence to that which is sacred, stole the marble
statue, the sliver conch and the copper teapot. The local gods
were not happy, to say the least. Once the soldiers reached the
Lha Chu River, right over here,” he pointed without pausing, “a
god made the stolen statue so heavy, the soldiers had to leave it
there by the river side. The silver conch shell then took off by
itself and flew back to the gompa, and when the soldiers made
tea in the cauldron it turned to blood. They left it there and ran
434
away. An old man found the statue by the river, and it being as
light as a feather, returned it to its glass case at Choku
Rinpoche, another did the same with the teapot. Thus the statue,
conch shell and caldron were then and now where they are
supposed to be. This is a very sacred place, indeed.”
"
Now full with food and story, and years younger, we
continued on, trekking parallel to the west face of Mt. Kailash,
past another chaktsal gang of colorful prayer flags cairns, then
over the Drifting Snows River until we reached a flat area
campsite between two rivers, not far from Drira Phuk. The
porters quickly set up camp below the imposing sheer icy North
Face of Mt. Kailash, in a wide grassy meadow. They erected a
fifteen foot in diameter yurt-like canvas tent, in which the cooks
and porters would sleep, and two eight by ten foot wall tents, one
intended for us men, and the other for the women.
"
Pots and pans appeared, wood was gathered, a fire set
and soon a delicious meal of tsampa, covered in a not too spicy
stew of vegetables and potatoes appeared, along with balep
korkun, a flatbread they had just cooked on a skillet. After the
meal the porters and cooks brought out their instruments,
damaru drums, a gyaling flute, a dribu bell, and blended them
with the haunting sounds of their collective voices. As the sun set
to our west, illuminating the peak of Mt. Kailash, Arjuna informed
us that he would spend the night across the Lha Chu River in the
Drira Phuk temple, and would meet us there in the morning. We
surrendered to our weariness, and retreated to our tents for a
welcomed night sleep.
435
51
A lila pond.
Splashing, laughing, running-out of time.
Saturday - Mt. Kailash kora:
The camping accommodations were better than the younger
older folks expected. Both tents had large cots, big enough for
two, which pleased Howard and Sopi. After she closed her eyes
he stared at her for a long time, grateful she was alive and
healthy after her near-fatal fall. She burrowed into him, her soft
breath on his neck, before surrendering to sleep.
"
Maggie and I experienced an awkward moment, since
we had never before shared a bed. But we were too exhausted
to suggest anything different and quickly fell asleep-unconsciously settling into a warm snuggle.
The next morning air was chilly and the low-lying altocumulus
clouds, which blocked most of the blue above, spoke of a rain
that had no intention of falling. We finished a simple breakfast
under an opened four-post dining tent and were enjoying cups of
chai when Samba joined us.
"
“I take it that you had a pleasant night sleep. How are
you today, Father?” he asked me directly. I gave the porter a
questioning look and answered that I was fine.
"
“You look lovely today, Radha,” Samba said to Maggie
as he bowed.
436
"
“As do you, Mother,” he said to Sopi--still she not sure
why the two men called her mother, although it reminded her that
she was one.
"
“And you Sudama, you are forever my inspiration. Good
morning,” Samba completed his salutations.
"
Arjuna had referred to us by these names, but at the
time we believed it to be the tour-guide repertoire of an overzealous Hindu. Samba was different. He was a humble porter
who in every way came across as genuine and sincere. We had
learned our lesson in pre-judging Arjuna and therefore were
respectfully cautious with this man, who appeared to be in his
mid-forties, and whom we suspected to be another wise master
in disguise.
"
Samba paused, having our attention. “Today you are
fortunate. The normal kora begins a climb up to seventeen
thousand feet. We will follow the Lha Chu river for two miles and
then cross it, and proceed on a trail north to the Indus River. We
will leave when you are ready.” Samba bowed and left.
Not far down the trail we came upon a junction marking the left
path to the Drira Phuk temple. A ray of sunshine broke through
the altocumulus clouds and illuminated Arjuna, who sat in the
lotus position on a level area six feet above them.
"
“Arjuna,” I called up to him. “Good morning. Did you
have a good night’s sleep?”
"
“I do not sleep, Master. And it is alway a good night,” he
answered as he moved down the embankment and stood on the
trail. “And how was it for you, in the arms of your beloved?”
"
Maggie and I looked at each other, she slightly
embarrassed, both of us oddly and suddenly experiencing the
teenage blush of being caught in the back seat of her parent’s
car. We weren’t hiding anything, and we only snuggled, didn’t
even kiss, but the idea that Arjuna knew something about our
budding romance, something he could not have known, seemed
as a secret exposed. Nevertheless, I cheerfully responded, “It
was great to have another body . . . Maggie’s . . . to keep me
warm last night. It’s quite chilly in these mountains, you know.
437
Everybody deserves somebody to snuggle with.” We smiled at
each other. “I’m a lucky man.”
"
“Indeed you are, Master,” Arjuna answered with grin,
noticing how Maggie radiated happiness. “And Radha, you are
being loved and protected, even more than you realize.”
"
“Protected . . ?”
"
“So, here you are,” Arjuna continued, “I am ready. We
will proceed towards the Indus River, which begins not so far
from here and weaves south two thousand miles through
Pakistan. This is a most auspicious place in the world.” Arjuna
began walking. “Come. Father Sindhu waits.”
"
The caravan moved steadily north on the trail, and after
crossing the bridge over the Lha Chu River, we headed away
from the Mt. Kailash kora.
The sun was directly overhead when we stopped for lunch at a
clearing marked with prayer flags and a cluster of cairns, on the
banks of the swiftly flowing Indus River. The porters arranged
camping chairs in a circle, and it wasn’t long before the four of us
were served sweet black tea, heated biscuits stuffed with fried
eggs, with apple slices, cinnamon and honey for desert. After our
lunch Arjuna brought a fifth chair and joined us. “You remember
this very place, do you not, Master? Tell me, what is on your
mind,” he prompted.
"
I leaned back and removed my sunglasses, which I now
only wore in the direct sunlight, and looked around. Having
circumambulated Mt. Kailash twenty-two times early in my life, I
was thinking about the very first time I camped in the exact same
spot. I addressed my friends, “On Mt. Kurama, after our
encounter at the meditation hut . . . I was about to tell you the
story of when I first met an immortal master. I didn’t tell the
story . . . and now we know why . . . I failed to recognize him as
Arjuna. I also had no idea, of course, that we would be with him
here . . . at the very place where he and I had first met, seventy
years ago. Would you like to hear the story?” They nodded yes,
and welcomed another cup of tea.
"
“Here? This is where you first met him?” Maggie asked,
and after Robert nodded she paused to reflect. “I hate to confess
438
Archie, and I think I can speak for the others . . . up until we all
met Arjuna in Japan . . . we were . . . only half believing your
ramblings. An ex-guru? Shambala? Immortal masters? To us
these were wild stories and myths. Seventy years ago?”
"
Robert chuckled. “You might remember . . . I told you
that my parents left me in Lhasa with their teacher when I was
five years old.”
"
“The very idea that your parents actually did that, is hard
to believe,” Maggie interrupted again. “Now, of course, I believe it
happened . . . so you came here?”
"
“It was five years later, when I was ten. We left Lhasa in
a truck caravan and arrived a week later in Darchen which, by
the way, looked a lot different than it does now. There weren’t
any restaurants and lodges back then. I think our returning to
Shambala had something to do with the Japanese invasion
during the second world war. Anyway, I was traveling with my
master, many lamas, lots of porters and cooks, women and their
children, the whole ashram. Since we were a very devout
religious group, we did the full kora . . . and a half more . . . the
half we just walked. They told me that we were going to
Shambala, but like you right now, I couldn’t relate.”
"
“You’re telling us that a whole religious group, every last
one, left Lhasa with no intention of returning?” Howard asked.
“I’m sure your parents weren’t notified, and you going even
farther away from them would be upsetting. You must have been
a scared little boy.”
"
“My parents were a distant memory and . . . I was
obedient. Everything was explained and justified. I accepted my
fate. I was told that I was the special one . . . that my real home
and real family was in Shambala. I accepted that, and so there
were no surprises. We, as an extended spiritual family, prepared
for the day we would leave. So I remember my excitement when
we finally left Lhasa. For me it was something different, sort of
like a spring vacation . . . even though I was still under constant
protection. They made a tapestry-draped bedroom out of the
whole back of one Land Rover just for me, and when we started
the kora they carried me in a litter, a palanquin . . . all fancy with
439
little porthole windows. Now that I remember, this was the only
time I didn’t actually walk the kora. I rode the kora.”
"
“That sounds like the way to go,” Sopi offered. “I
wouldn’t have fallen off the mountain if I was being toted in a
basket. I’d rather be carried around. Isn’t that why they invented
cars?” She paused, “So it was quite an adventure for you.”
"
Robert loved his friends. They were honest and always
kept the conversations real. He collected his thoughts and
continued, “It was late spring . . . maybe a month earlier than
now . . . right at daybreak on the fourth day. I was wide awake,
so I stepped out of my palanquin, where I also slept. I looked
around and everyone was still sleeping. It was a rare opportunity
to do something without being watched. Do you know what I
mean?”
"
“Not really,” Maggie offered. “I can’t imagine not trusting
a child to run out and freely play. That wasn’t right . . . keeping
you under constant watch. My childhood was the total opposite.
My parents pushed me out the door . . . to go out there and
explore and get dirty and misbehave to my heart’s content. They
didn’t supervise. They trusted me.”
"
I gave her an appreciating smile, then answered, “My
parents were like that too, before they left me here in Tibet.
Ironically, the lamas chose me because they were attracted to
my play and care-free nature . . . and then, after my parents left,
they proceeded to take it all away.” I paused to reflect on my
childhood years, before continuing, “With the winter runoff, the
Indus was swiftly flowing.” I looked up and out at the river, not in
a rush to tell the story. “Quite a bit more than it is now. Anyway, I
just started wandering off, that way, along the bank. It was good
to finally be by myself.
"
“I remember thinking, ‘What harm is it, taking a little
walk?’ I didn’t go very far. I stopped and sat on the river’s edge,
took off my embroidered slippers, and wiggled my toes in the
cold water. When I did, this feeling came over me . . . I wanted to
jump into the river even though I didn’t know how to swim. The
thought excited and confused me at the same time.”
"
“You didn’t know how to swim when you were ten?”
Maggie asked, and then not needing the answer conceded,
440
“Since you had been so protected, did you have an
understanding of what was dangerous or not?”
"
“Honestly . . . no. I didn’t relate to free will. I was never
allowed in harms way, so I had no concept of being harmed.
Don’t you see, I had never experienced danger . . . and this is
why the thought of jumping into the river confused me.”
"
“You had no idea of the consequences . . .” Maggie was
beginning to feel compassion for the golden boy; her statement
wasn’t a question.
"
“I wasn’t a normal child, Maggie. In Lhasa all my time
was either spent in school lessons, religious study, exercising
with an ancient tantric martial art, more like tai chi, or in
meditation. I was aware that jumping into the river was surely
something my teachers would never allow. And I wanted to do it.”
"
“Even though at ten I knew how to swim, I would have
kept walking until I found a calm swimming hole,” Maggie
offered. “But you didn’t know . . .”
"
“You’re right,” I cut her short. She had triggered another
memory--the rest of the story. “I’m admitting to you I was having
these thoughts, but all I was actually doing was touching my toes
in the water. If you, or the lamas, would have seen me, you
would have guessed that I was simply meditating by the river.”
"
“So what happened next?” Sopi asked. “There has to be
more to the story.”
"
“The story is, or was, just beginning . . . After a few
minutes I sensed there was someone behind me, so I turned
around, thinking I would see my caretaker. To my surprise a
young man was sitting in the lotus position, staring at me. I didn’t
know this man, he wasn’t one of my people.” Robert looked at
Arjuna.
"
“Arjuna?” Maggie asked without being answered.
"
“The second our eyes connected the clouds parted and
a golden glow of sunlight bathed just us. We didn’t say anything,
and when people started leaving their tents, mostly the cooks to
begin breakfast, he got up and started walking on a path away
from the caravan camp. Without speaking he invited me to
follow. I wanted to, so I ran up next him.”
441
"
“You just took off and followed a complete stranger?”
Sopi asked. “I mean . . . you know who he is now . . . but you
didn’t then.”
"
“He was Arjuna . . .” Robert answered and paused, as if
that was enough of an answer.
"
Arjuna cleared his throat, getting everyone’s attention.
“You must understand . . . this boy was a pure soul. He had been
trained by masters in seclusion for five years. He was already
adept in reading energy and minds. So he felt my love and heard
every word I thought. It is true, I invited him to follow me, without
speaking.”
"
“What did you say or think to the boy while you were
walking?” Maggie was spellbound.
"
“I thought to him, ‘Young Master, I am inviting you . . .
into life. But in order to be alive you must first let go of all your
attachments. You must throw everything that fills your mind, all
your beliefs and serious notions, your attachment to being a
master, and even to living beyond this day . . . I am inviting you
to throw it all into this river.’”
"
“You were encouraging a naive ten year old who couldn’t
swim to jump into that river?” Maggie interjected, pointing at the
Indus. “I can’t believe you would do such a thing.”
!
“Never underestimate the intelligence of children . . . or
the human body. I did not encourage him to throw his body in the
river. He knew exactly what I was saying.”
!
“Yes, I remember this well,” I joined in. “It was a great
awakening moment in my young life. I had already been exposed
to sadhus with powerful siddhis, and to the great wisdom of my
master and the oracles. I grew up surrounded by remarkable
men and knew he was one of them--but then again different.
They were asking me to attach myself to the teachings, and this
young master was inviting me to detach myself from them. The
opposite. Arjuna told me that I would live a very long life . . . that I
didn’t have to metaphorically jump or detach myself today, or
tomorrow, but one day in this lifetime I would . . . that for me
jumping into the unknown was inevitable . . . and part of my
destiny.
442
!
“I was being groomed to be the next master of an
ancient teaching, and he was telling me that one day I would
have to abandon it. That thought never left my mind. I later wrote
about it in my book . . . about rebelling against the life others had
designed for me. This meeting, at age ten, was the introduction
to my book, Many Gods, One Heart.
"
“I remember the part I read about raging against a living
death,” Maggie offered.
"
“That was written at least twenty years later, but this is
where it began. Anyway, as we were walking the young man . . .
Arjuna here . . . turned and smiled at me, and said, ‘It is your
mind that keeps you from surrendering to the unknown. Don’t
listen to your mind. Listen to your inner knowingness and the
wisdom of your body. You will always be confused as long as
your mind goes back and forth with all its chatter.’”
!
“You were wanting a ten year-old to stop his mind
chatter?” Maggie remarked, staring at Arjuna. “No offense, but I
think an active mind in a child should be encouraged. You don’t
tell a ten year old student to give up his studies and go to his
room and meditate.”
!
“I am never offended,” Arjuna said with a smile. “You are
still wanting to compare him to a normal boy. We both knew
exactly what I was suggesting.”
"
“I was a Rinpoche, a recognized reincarnated high lama,
and therefore a monk from birth, at least in their eyes,” I kindly
offered. “The object of my meditation training was to stop the
mind chatter. This was normal and a requirement for my station
in life.”
"
“OK . . . I’m getting the picture,” Maggie said, humbled.
"
“To get back to the story . . . Arjuna and I kept walking. I
felt safe, and I trusted him, like an old friend. I remember thinking
that I could run back and wake up my beloved teacher Tenzin,
but then I saw him in my mind, smiling. He himself would never
expose me to anything that was a change from historical
requirements. He faithfully stuck to the curriculum, though he did
encourage a little mischief.”
"
“Wouldn’t your teacher be missing you by now?” Sopi
asked.
443
!
“Not that much time had passed. Once breakfast had
been prepared, my main caretaker would come to my litter. If he
saw that I wasn’t there he would then go to my teacher or not,
since the assumption would be that I already was with my
teacher. None of them would ever consider that I wandered off
alone,” I answered.
"
Arjuna took over when I paused, “While we were walking
I again reminded him that I was there to offer him his freedom.
Chogyal, that was his name, indicated that he did not know the
word freedom.” Arjuna stopped what he was about to say, and
turned to Maggie. “Krishna loved you not as a gopi girl, Radha,
but as a supreme goddess. Even though you were not officially
one of his sixteen thousand one hundred and eight wives, he
loved you most of all. You were freedom embodied. You laughed
and danced and played with wild abandon. You drove Krishna
out of his mind, and into the field of play, to lila. I told this boy
who he really was . . . you totally forgot this, did you not, Robert?
I told you then that one day you will again be driven out of your
mind by the love of Radha, and only then will you know the joy of
real freedom.’”
"
“That’s quite a love story. So you just kept walking
further away?” Howard asked, breaking the intensity of Maggie
and my stare-down.
!
“I did forget,” I responded to Arjuna, looking away from
Maggie and then to Howard, and Sopi. “I really wanted my
freedom, whether I knew what it meant or not. Even at my age I
had thought a lot about my confined and structured life. I was
now curious about what he meant by this word, and my intuition
told me I was about to be shown. We hadn’t walked very far.
There was this place around the corner up that way, where the
river bends, a calm water swimming hole nestled under the
shade of several big maple trees.”
"
“There are no big trees around here,” Sopi interrupted.
"
“There is also no bend in the river,” I answered before
continuing, “Just hear the story. It doesn’t need to make sense.” I
paused and glanced over at Arjuna, then smiled at Maggie, who
returned it with an expression of love, and then proceeded,
“Around the bend there was this wonderful swimming hole and I
444
was surprised to see other people there, people I didn’t know,
people with lighter skin like mine . . . in the water playing and
swimming and having fun, so early in the morning.” I paused
again. “One was a little girl, a bit younger than me. The water
wasn’t cold and she invited me in. We started laughing and
playing and enjoying ourselves . . . just being children.”
"
“That’s so odd,” Maggie interrupted. “Back when I was
growing up in Corvallis we had a favorite swimming hole under
big maple trees, just like you’re describing. I used to go there
with my parents, my friends and their friends. We always had so
much fun. What was Arjuna doing while you were in the water
playing with this little girl?”
"
“He just sat under the tree in the lotus position,
observing. Within minutes I was having more fun than I had ever
had in my whole life. While we were splashing the little girl asked
me where my parents were. I remembered the word Oregon and
spoke it and told her that I had lost my parents. She said that she
was from there too and if I wanted I could stay with her, be part
of her family until I found them. She said we could have fun like
this every day. I remember thinking that if I stayed there I would
be with her and find my parents and I wouldn’t have to study all
the time and be expected to be the next master. I could just
enjoy my life and play and have a whole lot of fun.”
"
“There you go,” Howard interjected. “That’s the best.
Children playing and splashing in the water . . . we had one of
those holes too, in Mississippi. We had a blast.”
"
“I could say that. I was having a blast. But then I stopped
playing for half a minute and started thinking. I actually thought
about not going back. I could be in joyful play forever, I thought.”
I stopped to have another thought, about what Arjuna had said,
about Krishna lost in God’s play, and Radha playing with him.
"
“Archie,” Maggie finally broke my thoughts, “your mind
went somewhere else. You were telling us a story.”
"
“Oh yes . . . where was I? . . . the happy little girl kept
splashing water on me, and told me to stop thinking. But I knew
what I had to do. I had to go back to my caravan. I was sure I
would never be the same . . . now that I knew what freedom
445
meant . . . to play like that and live in a world of love . . . but I
was still committed to my studies.”
"
“So what did you do?” Maggie asked. I looked her in the
eyes, and again felt the infinity eight circling my heart and hers.
“Did you just stop playing and walk away?”
"
“I told her I would come back for her. I promised that I
would return one day and bring her to my world, where we would
play together forever.”
"
“Did you come back for her?” I was surprised that Arjuna
asked that question.
"
“Every year when we returned to do the kora I went
looking for her, but there was no swimming hole, and I never saw
her again.”
"
“Never?” Arjuna asked. “You never went back to bring
her to your Shambala?”
"
“Oh my god!” I said, staring into Maggie’s eyes. “It’s not
possible.”
"
“That little girl couldn’t have been me,” Maggie nervously
said. “I grew up in Corvallis, Oregon. What are you saying?” She
addressed the question to Arjuna.
"
“I am saying that things are not as they appear. Perhaps
he was there, and also here. You think that you only have this
body living in this one place. But you must understand that it is
possible, it is true, that you can be here and somewhere else at
the same time, only by having the desire . . . It is also true that
most people do not see who they really are.”
"
“So you see me as that little girl?” She asked Arjuna,
tears forming in the corner of her eyes.
"
“Indeed. And there is no doubt that your Robert here was
that little boy, and you Maggie, the little girl.” He paused, and
then said, “You Master . . . You have kept your promise. This is
good.” He bowed.
"
With these words our hearts were overflowing with love,
tears rolling from our eyes. I stood and brought Maggie into my
arms, and we remained in a most tender embrace for the longest
time.
"
Finally Arjuna spoke up. “Please Master, there is more to
the river story . . .”
446
"
I looked up from my hug and into Maggie’s eyes. “It took
me seventy years to come back for her, and now she’s here in
my arms. I’m not thinking about anything else, except her.”
"
“I understand, Master,” Arjuna said in a kind soft voice.
“You are thinking that maybe it can not get better, and I assure
you it will. Much better. As I was saying, there is more to the
story. And it is not even the end of the story you were telling.
Remember, after you returned to your camp they were all waiting
for you. They only thought you went to the bushes to pee.” The
four of us chuckled, now entrained with Arjuna’s calmness. “That
morning you needed that encounter with me and Maggie, before
you were able to do something you had never done before. And
now you and I needed to tell Maggie, Howard and Sopi that
story, so they can now do something they have never done
before. Do you not see the perfection?”
"
“What did I do next?” I knew the answer as soon as I
asked the question. We needed to cross the river. There was no
other way around. The trail continued from there to the
Northeast.
"
“It is time to go, Father,” Samba said as he joined the
others. “Are you ready, Radha?”
447
51
A lila pond.
Splashing, laughing, running-out of time.
Saturday - Mt. Kailash kora:
The camping accommodations were better than the younger
older folks expected. Both tents had large cots, big enough for
two, which pleased Howard and Sopi. After she closed her eyes
he stared at her for a long time, grateful she was alive and
healthy after her near-fatal fall. She burrowed into him, her soft
breath on his neck, before surrendering to sleep.
"
Maggie and I experienced an awkward moment, since
we had never before shared a bed. But we were too exhausted
to suggest anything different and quickly fell asleep-unconsciously settling into a warm snuggle.
The next morning air was chilly and the low-lying altocumulus
clouds, which blocked most of the blue above, spoke of a rain
that had no intention of falling. We finished a simple breakfast
under an opened four-post dining tent and were enjoying cups of
chai when Samba joined us.
"
“I take it that you had a pleasant night sleep. How are
you today, Father?” he asked me directly. I gave the porter a
questioning look and answered that I was fine.
"
“You look lovely today, Radha,” Samba said to Maggie
as he bowed.
448
"
“As do you, Mother,” he said to Sopi--still she not sure
why the two men called her mother, although it reminded her that
she was one.
"
“And you Sudama, you are forever my inspiration. Good
morning,” Samba completed his salutations.
"
Arjuna had referred to us by these names, but at the
time we believed it to be the tour-guide repertoire of an overzealous Hindu. Samba was different. He was a humble porter
who in every way came across as genuine and sincere. We had
learned our lesson in pre-judging Arjuna and therefore were
respectfully cautious with this man, who appeared to be in his
mid-forties, and whom we suspected to be another wise master
in disguise.
"
Samba paused, having our attention. “Today you are
fortunate. The normal kora begins a climb up to seventeen
thousand feet. We will follow the Lha Chu river for two miles and
then cross it, and proceed on a trail north to the Indus River. We
will leave when you are ready.” Samba bowed and left.
Not far down the trail we came upon a junction marking the left
path to the Drira Phuk temple. A ray of sunshine broke through
the altocumulus clouds and illuminated Arjuna, who sat in the
lotus position on a level area six feet above them.
"
“Arjuna,” I called up to him. “Good morning. Did you
have a good night’s sleep?”
"
“I do not sleep, Master. And it is alway a good night,” he
answered as he moved down the embankment and stood on the
trail. “And how was it for you, in the arms of your beloved?”
"
Maggie and I looked at each other, she slightly
embarrassed, both of us oddly and suddenly experiencing the
teenage blush of being caught in the back seat of her parent’s
car. We weren’t hiding anything, and we only snuggled, didn’t
even kiss, but the idea that Arjuna knew something about our
budding romance, something he could not have known, seemed
as a secret exposed. Nevertheless, I cheerfully responded, “It
was great to have another body . . . Maggie’s . . . to keep me
warm last night. It’s quite chilly in these mountains, you know.
449
Everybody deserves somebody to snuggle with.” We smiled at
each other. “I’m a lucky man.”
"
“Indeed you are, Master,” Arjuna answered with grin,
noticing how Maggie radiated happiness. “And Radha, you are
being loved and protected, even more than you realize.”
"
“Protected . . ?”
"
“So, here you are,” Arjuna continued, “I am ready. We
will proceed towards the Indus River, which begins not so far
from here and weaves south two thousand miles through
Pakistan. This is a most auspicious place in the world.” Arjuna
began walking. “Come. Father Sindhu waits.”
"
The caravan moved steadily north on the trail, and after
crossing the bridge over the Lha Chu River, we headed away
from the Mt. Kailash kora.
The sun was directly overhead when we stopped for lunch at a
clearing marked with prayer flags and a cluster of cairns, on the
banks of the swiftly flowing Indus River. The porters arranged
camping chairs in a circle, and it wasn’t long before the four of us
were served sweet black tea, heated biscuits stuffed with fried
eggs, with apple slices, cinnamon and honey for desert. After our
lunch Arjuna brought a fifth chair and joined us. “You remember
this very place, do you not, Master? Tell me, what is on your
mind,” he prompted.
"
I leaned back and removed my sunglasses, which I now
only wore in the direct sunlight, and looked around. Having
circumambulated Mt. Kailash twenty-two times early in my life, I
was thinking about the very first time I camped in the exact same
spot. I addressed my friends, “On Mt. Kurama, after our
encounter at the meditation hut . . . I was about to tell you the
story of when I first met an immortal master. I didn’t tell the
story . . . and now we know why . . . I failed to recognize him as
Arjuna. I also had no idea, of course, that we would be with him
here . . . at the very place where he and I had first met, seventy
years ago. Would you like to hear the story?” They nodded yes,
and welcomed another cup of tea.
"
“Here? This is where you first met him?” Maggie asked,
and after Robert nodded she paused to reflect. “I hate to confess
450
Archie, and I think I can speak for the others . . . up until we all
met Arjuna in Japan . . . we were . . . only half believing your
ramblings. An ex-guru? Shambala? Immortal masters? To us
these were wild stories and myths. Seventy years ago?”
"
Robert chuckled. “You might remember . . . I told you
that my parents left me in Lhasa with their teacher when I was
five years old.”
"
“The very idea that your parents actually did that, is hard
to believe,” Maggie interrupted again. “Now, of course, I believe it
happened . . . so you came here?”
"
“It was five years later, when I was ten. We left Lhasa in
a truck caravan and arrived a week later in Darchen which, by
the way, looked a lot different than it does now. There weren’t
any restaurants and lodges back then. I think our returning to
Shambala had something to do with the Japanese invasion
during the second world war. Anyway, I was traveling with my
master, many lamas, lots of porters and cooks, women and their
children, the whole ashram. Since we were a very devout
religious group, we did the full kora . . . and a half more . . . the
half we just walked. They told me that we were going to
Shambala, but like you right now, I couldn’t relate.”
"
“You’re telling us that a whole religious group, every last
one, left Lhasa with no intention of returning?” Howard asked.
“I’m sure your parents weren’t notified, and you going even
farther away from them would be upsetting. You must have been
a scared little boy.”
"
“My parents were a distant memory and . . . I was
obedient. Everything was explained and justified. I accepted my
fate. I was told that I was the special one . . . that my real home
and real family was in Shambala. I accepted that, and so there
were no surprises. We, as an extended spiritual family, prepared
for the day we would leave. So I remember my excitement when
we finally left Lhasa. For me it was something different, sort of
like a spring vacation . . . even though I was still under constant
protection. They made a tapestry-draped bedroom out of the
whole back of one Land Rover just for me, and when we started
the kora they carried me in a litter, a palanquin . . . all fancy with
451
little porthole windows. Now that I remember, this was the only
time I didn’t actually walk the kora. I rode the kora.”
"
“That sounds like the way to go,” Sopi offered. “I
wouldn’t have fallen off the mountain if I was being toted in a
basket. I’d rather be carried around. Isn’t that why they invented
cars?” She paused, “So it was quite an adventure for you.”
"
Robert loved his friends. They were honest and always
kept the conversations real. He collected his thoughts and
continued, “It was late spring . . . maybe a month earlier than
now . . . right at daybreak on the fourth day. I was wide awake,
so I stepped out of my palanquin, where I also slept. I looked
around and everyone was still sleeping. It was a rare opportunity
to do something without being watched. Do you know what I
mean?”
"
“Not really,” Maggie offered. “I can’t imagine not trusting
a child to run out and freely play. That wasn’t right . . . keeping
you under constant watch. My childhood was the total opposite.
My parents pushed me out the door . . . to go out there and
explore and get dirty and misbehave to my heart’s content. They
didn’t supervise. They trusted me.”
"
I gave her an appreciating smile, then answered, “My
parents were like that too, before they left me here in Tibet.
Ironically, the lamas chose me because they were attracted to
my play and care-free nature . . . and then, after my parents left,
they proceeded to take it all away.” I paused to reflect on my
childhood years, before continuing, “With the winter runoff, the
Indus was swiftly flowing.” I looked up and out at the river, not in
a rush to tell the story. “Quite a bit more than it is now. Anyway, I
just started wandering off, that way, along the bank. It was good
to finally be by myself.
"
“I remember thinking, ‘What harm is it, taking a little
walk?’ I didn’t go very far. I stopped and sat on the river’s edge,
took off my embroidered slippers, and wiggled my toes in the
cold water. When I did, this feeling came over me . . . I wanted to
jump into the river even though I didn’t know how to swim. The
thought excited and confused me at the same time.”
"
“You didn’t know how to swim when you were ten?”
Maggie asked, and then not needing the answer conceded,
452
“Since you had been so protected, did you have an
understanding of what was dangerous or not?”
"
“Honestly . . . no. I didn’t relate to free will. I was never
allowed in harms way, so I had no concept of being harmed.
Don’t you see, I had never experienced danger . . . and this is
why the thought of jumping into the river confused me.”
"
“You had no idea of the consequences . . .” Maggie was
beginning to feel compassion for the golden boy; her statement
wasn’t a question.
"
“I wasn’t a normal child, Maggie. In Lhasa all my time
was either spent in school lessons, religious study, exercising
with an ancient tantric martial art, more like tai chi, or in
meditation. I was aware that jumping into the river was surely
something my teachers would never allow. And I wanted to do it.”
"
“Even though at ten I knew how to swim, I would have
kept walking until I found a calm swimming hole,” Maggie
offered. “But you didn’t know . . .”
"
“You’re right,” I cut her short. She had triggered another
memory--the rest of the story. “I’m admitting to you I was having
these thoughts, but all I was actually doing was touching my toes
in the water. If you, or the lamas, would have seen me, you
would have guessed that I was simply meditating by the river.”
"
“So what happened next?” Sopi asked. “There has to be
more to the story.”
"
“The story is, or was, just beginning . . . After a few
minutes I sensed there was someone behind me, so I turned
around, thinking I would see my caretaker. To my surprise a
young man was sitting in the lotus position, staring at me. I didn’t
know this man, he wasn’t one of my people.” Robert looked at
Arjuna.
"
“Arjuna?” Maggie asked without being answered.
"
“The second our eyes connected the clouds parted and
a golden glow of sunlight bathed just us. We didn’t say anything,
and when people started leaving their tents, mostly the cooks to
begin breakfast, he got up and started walking on a path away
from the caravan camp. Without speaking he invited me to
follow. I wanted to, so I ran up next him.”
453
"
“You just took off and followed a complete stranger?”
Sopi asked. “I mean . . . you know who he is now . . . but you
didn’t then.”
"
“He was Arjuna . . .” Robert answered and paused, as if
that was enough of an answer.
"
Arjuna cleared his throat, getting everyone’s attention.
“You must understand . . . this boy was a pure soul. He had been
trained by masters in seclusion for five years. He was already
adept in reading energy and minds. So he felt my love and heard
every word I thought. It is true, I invited him to follow me, without
speaking.”
"
“What did you say or think to the boy while you were
walking?” Maggie was spellbound.
"
“I thought to him, ‘Young Master, I am inviting you . . .
into life. But in order to be alive you must first let go of all your
attachments. You must throw everything that fills your mind, all
your beliefs and serious notions, your attachment to being a
master, and even to living beyond this day . . . I am inviting you
to throw it all into this river.’”
"
“You were encouraging a naive ten year old who couldn’t
swim to jump into that river?” Maggie interjected, pointing at the
Indus. “I can’t believe you would do such a thing.”
!
“Never underestimate the intelligence of children . . . or
the human body. I did not encourage him to throw his body in the
river. He knew exactly what I was saying.”
!
“Yes, I remember this well,” I joined in. “It was a great
awakening moment in my young life. I had already been exposed
to sadhus with powerful siddhis, and to the great wisdom of my
master and the oracles. I grew up surrounded by remarkable
men and knew he was one of them--but then again different.
They were asking me to attach myself to the teachings, and this
young master was inviting me to detach myself from them. The
opposite. Arjuna told me that I would live a very long life . . . that I
didn’t have to metaphorically jump or detach myself today, or
tomorrow, but one day in this lifetime I would . . . that for me
jumping into the unknown was inevitable . . . and part of my
destiny.
454
!
“I was being groomed to be the next master of an
ancient teaching, and he was telling me that one day I would
have to abandon it. That thought never left my mind. I later wrote
about it in my book . . . about rebelling against the life others had
designed for me. This meeting, at age ten, was the introduction
to my book, Many Gods, One Heart.
"
“I remember the part I read about raging against a living
death,” Maggie offered.
"
“That was written at least twenty years later, but this is
where it began. Anyway, as we were walking the young man . . .
Arjuna here . . . turned and smiled at me, and said, ‘It is your
mind that keeps you from surrendering to the unknown. Don’t
listen to your mind. Listen to your inner knowingness and the
wisdom of your body. You will always be confused as long as
your mind goes back and forth with all its chatter.’”
!
“You were wanting a ten year-old to stop his mind
chatter?” Maggie remarked, staring at Arjuna. “No offense, but I
think an active mind in a child should be encouraged. You don’t
tell a ten year old student to give up his studies and go to his
room and meditate.”
!
“I am never offended,” Arjuna said with a smile. “You are
still wanting to compare him to a normal boy. We both knew
exactly what I was suggesting.”
"
“I was a Rinpoche, a recognized reincarnated high lama,
and therefore a monk from birth, at least in their eyes,” I kindly
offered. “The object of my meditation training was to stop the
mind chatter. This was normal and a requirement for my station
in life.”
"
“OK . . . I’m getting the picture,” Maggie said, humbled.
"
“To get back to the story . . . Arjuna and I kept walking. I
felt safe, and I trusted him, like an old friend. I remember thinking
that I could run back and wake up my beloved teacher Tenzin,
but then I saw him in my mind, smiling. He himself would never
expose me to anything that was a change from historical
requirements. He faithfully stuck to the curriculum, though he did
encourage a little mischief.”
"
“Wouldn’t your teacher be missing you by now?” Sopi
asked.
455
!
“Not that much time had passed. Once breakfast had
been prepared, my main caretaker would come to my litter. If he
saw that I wasn’t there he would then go to my teacher or not,
since the assumption would be that I already was with my
teacher. None of them would ever consider that I wandered off
alone,” I answered.
"
Arjuna took over when I paused, “While we were walking
I again reminded him that I was there to offer him his freedom.
Chogyal, that was his name, indicated that he did not know the
word freedom.” Arjuna stopped what he was about to say, and
turned to Maggie. “Krishna loved you not as a gopi girl, Radha,
but as a supreme goddess. Even though you were not officially
one of his sixteen thousand one hundred and eight wives, he
loved you most of all. You were freedom embodied. You laughed
and danced and played with wild abandon. You drove Krishna
out of his mind, and into the field of play, to lila. I told this boy
who he really was . . . you totally forgot this, did you not, Robert?
I told you then that one day you will again be driven out of your
mind by the love of Radha, and only then will you know the joy of
real freedom.’”
"
“That’s quite a love story. So you just kept walking
further away?” Howard asked, breaking the intensity of Maggie
and my stare-down.
!
“I did forget,” I responded to Arjuna, looking away from
Maggie and then to Howard, and Sopi. “I really wanted my
freedom, whether I knew what it meant or not. Even at my age I
had thought a lot about my confined and structured life. I was
now curious about what he meant by this word, and my intuition
told me I was about to be shown. We hadn’t walked very far.
There was this place around the corner up that way, where the
river bends, a calm water swimming hole nestled under the
shade of several big maple trees.”
"
“There are no big trees around here,” Sopi interrupted.
"
“There is also no bend in the river,” I answered before
continuing, “Just hear the story. It doesn’t need to make sense.” I
paused and glanced over at Arjuna, then smiled at Maggie, who
returned it with an expression of love, and then proceeded,
“Around the bend there was this wonderful swimming hole and I
456
was surprised to see other people there, people I didn’t know,
people with lighter skin like mine . . . in the water playing and
swimming and having fun, so early in the morning.” I paused
again. “One was a little girl, a bit younger than me. The water
wasn’t cold and she invited me in. We started laughing and
playing and enjoying ourselves . . . just being children.”
"
“That’s so odd,” Maggie interrupted. “Back when I was
growing up in Corvallis we had a favorite swimming hole under
big maple trees, just like you’re describing. I used to go there
with my parents, my friends and their friends. We always had so
much fun. What was Arjuna doing while you were in the water
playing with this little girl?”
"
“He just sat under the tree in the lotus position,
observing. Within minutes I was having more fun than I had ever
had in my whole life. While we were splashing the little girl asked
me where my parents were. I remembered the word Oregon and
spoke it and told her that I had lost my parents. She said that she
was from there too and if I wanted I could stay with her, be part
of her family until I found them. She said we could have fun like
this every day. I remember thinking that if I stayed there I would
be with her and find my parents and I wouldn’t have to study all
the time and be expected to be the next master. I could just
enjoy my life and play and have a whole lot of fun.”
"
“There you go,” Howard interjected. “That’s the best.
Children playing and splashing in the water . . . we had one of
those holes too, in Mississippi. We had a blast.”
"
“I could say that. I was having a blast. But then I stopped
playing for half a minute and started thinking. I actually thought
about not going back. I could be in joyful play forever, I thought.”
I stopped to have another thought, about what Arjuna had said,
about Krishna lost in God’s play, and Radha playing with him.
"
“Archie,” Maggie finally broke my thoughts, “your mind
went somewhere else. You were telling us a story.”
"
“Oh yes . . . where was I? . . . the happy little girl kept
splashing water on me, and told me to stop thinking. But I knew
what I had to do. I had to go back to my caravan. I was sure I
would never be the same . . . now that I knew what freedom
457
meant . . . to play like that and live in a world of love . . . but I
was still committed to my studies.”
"
“So what did you do?” Maggie asked. I looked her in the
eyes, and again felt the infinity eight circling my heart and hers.
“Did you just stop playing and walk away?”
"
“I told her I would come back for her. I promised that I
would return one day and bring her to my world, where we would
play together forever.”
"
“Did you come back for her?” I was surprised that Arjuna
asked that question.
"
“Every year when we returned to do the kora I went
looking for her, but there was no swimming hole, and I never saw
her again.”
"
“Never?” Arjuna asked. “You never went back to bring
her to your Shambala?”
"
“Oh my god!” I said, staring into Maggie’s eyes. “It’s not
possible.”
"
“That little girl couldn’t have been me,” Maggie nervously
said. “I grew up in Corvallis, Oregon. What are you saying?” She
addressed the question to Arjuna.
"
“I am saying that things are not as they appear. Perhaps
he was there, and also here. You think that you only have this
body living in this one place. But you must understand that it is
possible, it is true, that you can be here and somewhere else at
the same time, only by having the desire . . . It is also true that
most people do not see who they really are.”
"
“So you see me as that little girl?” She asked Arjuna,
tears forming in the corner of her eyes.
"
“Indeed. And there is no doubt that your Robert here was
that little boy, and you Maggie, the little girl.” He paused, and
then said, “You Master . . . You have kept your promise. This is
good.” He bowed.
"
With these words our hearts were overflowing with love,
tears rolling from our eyes. I stood and brought Maggie into my
arms, and we remained in a most tender embrace for the longest
time.
"
Finally Arjuna spoke up. “Please Master, there is more to
the river story . . .”
458
"
I looked up from my hug and into Maggie’s eyes. “It took
me seventy years to come back for her, and now she’s here in
my arms. I’m not thinking about anything else, except her.”
"
“I understand, Master,” Arjuna said in a kind soft voice.
“You are thinking that maybe it can not get better, and I assure
you it will. Much better. As I was saying, there is more to the
story. And it is not even the end of the story you were telling.
Remember, after you returned to your camp they were all waiting
for you. They only thought you went to the bushes to pee.” The
four of us chuckled, now entrained with Arjuna’s calmness. “That
morning you needed that encounter with me and Maggie, before
you were able to do something you had never done before. And
now you and I needed to tell Maggie, Howard and Sopi that
story, so they can now do something they have never done
before. Do you not see the perfection?”
"
“What did I do next?” I knew the answer as soon as I
asked the question. We needed to cross the river. There was no
other way around. The trail continued from there to the
Northeast.
"
“It is time to go, Father,” Samba said as he joined the
others. “Are you ready, Radha?”
459
52
Ignoring danger-the pure mountain pool
becomes the emerald sea.
High clouds dispersed exposing the pearl white twenty-two
thousand foot high Mt. Kailash in full glory. The altocumulus
clouds had dissolved, replaced by deep blue skies which spoke
of summer, though the noonday chill emphasized the reality of a
late Himalayan spring. Tibet ravens flew about hoping for leftover
scraps to eat, robins in their wings. The mountain winter runoff
filled the banks of the Indus, and although no ice was present,
the water was near freezing. Fifty feet separated one shore from
the other, and if one were to put a kayak in the rapidly running
water it would soon disappear downstream. Howard, Maggie and
Sopi looked across to the other side, contemplating an
impossible suggestion; there was no bridge and they somehow
needed to successfully reach the north shore. After the yaks
were packed and tethered in a line, the caravan was ready to
cross the Indus River.
"
I knew what to expect. After my second crossing at age
eleven, I never again considered the river an obstacle. Like the
uncomplicated mountain people, I simply walked on the Indus
River like a city dweller would walk across a bridge. I was well
aware that doubt is the saboteur of remarkable feats and
miracles--I wondered if my friends would be able to suspend it, at
least until they were safely on the other side.
460
"
I pray that we walk forward in wonder and oneness, with
winged canoes on our innocent feet, over the river with the
lightness of love.
"
Arjuna stood with his western friends, behind the yaks,
cooks and porters. He smiled at Sopi and his eyes twinkled as if
entrancing her with magical stardust. “You are a dear mother,
Sopi--innocent of heart and willing. I assure you that walking
across this river is not a problem. It is but child’s play. A game.
Follow the leader. It is that simple. In less than one half minute
we will be on the other side. No problem. I suggest you fill your
mind with the thought of being with your beloved Howard in your
beautiful home in paradise. Then this is what will be. Imagine
your wedding, your dress and the diamond ring on your finger. I
see it already, and it will be the most joy you can ever wish for,
very soon.” Sopi smiled. She loved it when Arjuna spoke directly
to her. “It is the same for you, Sudama. You will have your own
imaginings, and it will be very much the same. Just follow right
behind Samba.”
"
Howard nodded and then said, “Sudama?”
"
“Sudama was a friend of Krishna. He was very poor and
his wife suggested that he go to Krishna and ask for help. When
Sudama was in the presence of his lord he forgot what he had
come for. He returned to his wife to find that his home was now a
huge mansion--Sudama was supplied with all the riches and
everything he had ever dreamed of. And so it will be.”
"
He then looked into Maggie’s eyes with the same
twinkle. “Imagine all of your dreams coming true, Radha,
Maggie . . . your beloved’s arms around you, spinning you
around in a field of rainbow colored wildflowers and
butterflies . . . think of your perfect life’s dream, with your Archie
in paradise. Let nothing distract you. After crossing this river I
can see how very happy both of you will be on the other side.”
Arjuna’s calmness and surety comforted everyone, they not
noticing the first porter as he lead his yak straight onto the Indus
River.
"
In turn the other porters and yaks stepped on the swiftly
flowing river water and casually walked across, as if they were
461
walking on a smooth concrete bridge. Us four Americans did as
we were told, each focused on the head of the person in front of
us, dreaming of our life in Shambala. Arjuna walked behind me,
and I was behind Maggie. Arjuna held us all safe in his mind’s
eye, and didn’t anticipate a problem--or maybe he did.
"
By the time we reached the middle of the river, the first
porter was stepping on the north shore. Not more than ten
seconds had passed and Maggie’s mind was lost in marrying
me. I would be the husband she always wanted, and we would
live happily-ever-after in paradise. She thought back to my story
of the two of them, as children, playing in the water, under the tall
maples, splashing and swimming in the still river water. River
water. Her mind became distracted by those two words . . .
river . . . water . . . and rushed to present time, to the awareness
that we were actually walking on water. This was happening, not
in her dream but right here and right now, and it was impossible.
Doubt forced her mind into raw reality. She looked down.
"
At that very second it was as though a trap door had
been opened only for her, and Maggie’s body plunged into the
ice-cold, swiftly-racing Indus River, and was instantly carried
downstream. Arjuna didn’t react. My heart clinched at her scream
as I watched her head go under then surface again, her arms
flailing to right her body. I wanted to dive into the Indus and
rescue my beloved, but I knew I couldn’t. Arguna’s wisdom on
the roof in Darschen--that I wasn’t responsible for another’s
destiny, their life or death, filled my mind. Maggie needed to save
herself, or not. It took all my strength to not react, to turn my
head and continue walking across the river.
"
Maggie bobbed up and down, trying to somehow
physically stop what wouldn’t. Her initial intention was to
somehow over-power the river, but obviously she was much
weaker than the raging current. Split second thoughts of age and
limitations rushed through her consciousness, and the
impossibly dangerous situation she was in. Her whole life
instantly flashed by, followed by wondrous imaginings of her
future in Shambala with me, followed by the knowing she would
survive this and be with her friends in paradise--this was exactly
what she wanted--nothing would stop this dream from coming
462
true. Her endorphins were charged by her heart’s over-ruling
desire to be with her beloved; her body simply needed to
respond. We can do this, she thought to her body. We can make
it to the north shore, as soon as we figure out how not to drown
or freeze to death.
"
During the twenty seconds it took to walk from one shore
to the other Howard was oblivious to Maggie’s plight. His eyes
focused on Samba in front of him, his mind lost in wondering if
he could buy a diamond ring in Shambala, if they took Visa
cards, if they had bridal shops and how Sopi would look in a
white wedding dress, and so on. She was thinking the same
thing and so lost in her wedding dreams that she all but forgot
where she was and what she was doing.
"
Maggie was in the river for less than five seconds before
the past and future life flashes turned into full awareness that
hypothermia would soon paralyze her voluntary reactions. If she
didn’t do something to stimulate her blood flow in the next twenty
seconds she would suffer from cardiac arrest, lose
consciousness and drown. Using her arms as rudders to keep
her head above water, she angled just a bit closer to the shore.
She flashed back to a survival skill she had once studied, but
failed to master. Maggie sent the focused urgent command to
her cells and blood stream, to her heart and organs and to her
skin. Flow! Blood . . . hot blood. Everywhere, pump hot blood
everywhere! Heat my body. Flow! I am a heater. A hot blood
heater. Flow blood flow!
"
The change was immediate. Her heart command center
sent hot blood racing through her arteries and veins, to every
cell, turning her into a floating hot pad. Her skin tingled on the
outside, but on the inside she was almost instantly fine, her heart
was pumping at a reasonable rate; her fingers and toes
responding to command. She had no time to consider if what just
happened was possible or not, as she surrendered her body
temperature to auto pilot. Her focus was now on the north shore,
twenty feet to her right.
"
Once the caravan had arrived safely on the north shore
Howard turned around to make sure Sopi was safe. He picked
her up and spun around. “Heaven’s to Betsy, we did it,” he said,
463
catching her eyes. “Oh, my,” they said at the same time, seeing
the change. They kissed for a long time, as if they were alone in
the world, unaware that I had left the group and was hurrying
downstream on the north shore. When Howard put her back on
the ground Sopi looked around. “Where’s Maggie? And Robert?
Where did they go?” Arjuna was also missing.
"
Samba was there to answer, “They will be back within
the hour, Mother. The cooks will bring your chairs and some tea
while we wait. I am most impressed that you made it safely
across, as I knew you would. In a couple of days we will arrive in
Shambala, where you can go shopping for your wedding prizes.
You may not have been told that we only have one big store . . .
it is the same as in your country, no? It is called Walmart . . .
where you can buy wedding rings and a suit and a dress . . . and
discount finger food. I heard that you call them pu-pu’s.”
"
“Walmart?” Sopi said in disbelief. “You’re kidding?”
"
“Yes, I am only kidding you,” Samba replied with a
chuckle. “There are no stores in Shambala, but you will have
whatever it is that you desire . . . and it will be a most wonderful
wedding. Indeed.”
"
“Pu-pu’s?” Howard happily repeated.
As i hurried downstream I knew Maggie was safe--I would not
entertain one doubt. Both Arjuna and I had previously “seen” her
on the north shore. Since the moment I woke from my coma, I
saw all four of us in Shambala----I would not have undertaken
the journey otherwise. I thought about how Maggie had saved
our lives in landing the plane in Simikot, had saved Sopi’s life
with healing energy on the trail, and now I was positive that she
would be able to save herself. How? I didn’t know--I only knew
that she would, and in surviving the river Maggie would come
fully into her power.
Maggie thoughts were now on the feminine river, her body’s
oneness with nature--oneness with the water. I will not fight the
river--the water and its flow are on my side, they want me to be
safe. She exhaled and reached one arm out of the water and
pointed. Great mother river, take me safely to that shore. She
464
thought those words over and over again. She saw boulders
ahead and a tree limb wedged between--the next second her
arm hooked over the limb and stopped her forward progress.
Thank you, Mother. She carefully moved behind the boulder, to a
calmer pool and found a foothold. She could stand on the river
ground with her head above water. It took absolute concentration
using boulders for support, and before long she was standing on
the bank of the Indus River, safely on the north shore.
"
The afternoon sun was a healing balm on Maggie’s skin.
She removed her boots and rung out her socks, draped her
jacket over a boulder, took off her pants and shirt, placed them
on the rocks and relaxed, knowing there was no hurry. I was on
my way, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind. Although it seemed as
if the whole near-drowning experience happened in no-time, a lot
of space was covered. Scanning the area, she was now viewing
Mt. Kailash from a different angle, having been carried quite a
ways down stream, possibly a mile. Leaning back against a large
boulder, her mind was filled with gratitude--for the many blessing
in her life before and her life to come.
"
Hurrying downstream, I didn’t know in what condition I
would find her--bruised and battered, maybe cut and bleeding, or
experiencing the pain of broken bones--I prayed not. In haste I
had left the caravan without first aid equipment, or the assistance
of a porter or two. Blinded from logic, I was convinced that my
love for her was all I needed.
"
A half hour passed. Maggie put on her still damp socks,
pants, shirt and boots, tied the down jacket around her waist,
and headed upstream.
"
Five minutes later we saw each other from a distance,
and began running. I’m running, we both thought, wondering why
it wasn’t a problem. We were over-joyed at the sight of each
other, and when ten feet away we both stopped, as if making
sure the sight of each other wasn’t a mirage. We then rushed to
the embrace--every bit of body straining to connect.
"
I leaned back and inspected her whole and complete
body, without a scratch, clothing nearly dry, and smiled. We
shared a knowingness as we looked deep into each other’s
younger eyes, and for the first time our lips met. Our hearts
465
connected--no place or no other person existed--the reality of our
love was exposed for all to see, finally. Her words were the
words I, for so many years, longed to hear. “I love you, Arch . . .
Robert.”
"
“I love you, Maggie.”
"
She searched deep into my, her beloved’s eyes, saw
and felt the radiance; the truth. She then stepped back to inspect
me. I appeared to be no more than fifty-five years old. The
difference in physical appearance between the man in front of
her and the eighty year-old Robert St. Clair from Portland, was
startling. Touching her smoother feeling face, she wished she
had a mirror, for by the look in my eyes she now realized that
she had become younger too.
"
Hand in hand, stopping often to hug and kiss, we
continued upstream until we reached the caravan, and rejoiced
in reunion with the others, before continuing on the path to
paradise.
"
466
53
Red wine.
Left to breathe-the lovers sigh.
Thursday - Khawa Karpo:
The trail from Chubela to Ladu was mostly downhill and ended at
a tiny village on a high mountain plateau, with a spectacular view
of Khawa Karpo. The porters found a place to rest the yaks;
Tenzin told us to continue on to the village--where we were
greeted by a local man in his mid-forties. “Namaste,” he said with
a bow, “and welcome to Ladu. We have very few chi-gye who
come here, and not the conveniences you are used to. We do
not have wifi, and there is no cell phone reception. It was only
ten years ago that this village got electricity and running water.”
"
“All I really want is a hot shower,” I responded. "
“We do have that . . . and a mineral hot spring for
soaking.”
"
“Now you’re talking,” Lucky broke in. “Oh, My name is
Lucky. This is Taylor. Jane. Jimmy.”
"
“My name is Samba. Come I will show you to the bath
house.”
"
After a hot shower Samba provided us with towels and
slippers--and led us along a trail to the mineral baths. Though it
was awkward for each of us, we removed our towels and slipped
467
our naked bodies into the steaming water, where we each ooh’d
and aah’d in the simple luxury of the natural pool. "
After the soak, Samba led us to a room with four
reclining cushioned chairs; four girls began hour long foot, leg
and shoulder massages. This was followed by lunch, which
came without being ordered. "
After lunch Samba took us back out into the village. The
sky was clear and cloudless, the air crisp and exhilarating. I took
photos, not only of the mountains, but the colorful village people
and Samba, whom we now were happy to know. "
After returning to the caravan Samba instructed two new
porters, who were loading three mules, on how to secure the
long poles, which connected the mules to trailers with mountain
bike wheels--carrying large draped loads. Tenzin was nowhere in
sight. "
“I will come with you,” Samba said to us “I am very
familiar with the trail to where you are going.”
"
“I thought only Tenzin knew the way. Where is Tenzin?”
Jimmy asked. "
“He is here and you are here and I am here and the path
is here. There is no thing to worry about. We will be on our way,
yes?”
"
With Samba in the lead, we continued on to the edge of
the village and stopped at a mani lhakhang, a small shrine
building with a row of brass prayer wheels. We joined the porters
in spinning the mani--a life cleansing ritual. After clearing a few
lives, and with no information otherwise, we headed off the kora
trail--continuing northwest along a pine lined river for several
miles. "
The level four foot wide path appeared to have rarely
been used; its moist dark brown soil base was littered with pine
branches and fine needles. Birds glided over our heads, while
busy squirrels bolted up and down the sides of the tall
evergreens, animating the landscape with life. An occasional
deer crossed the path and chicken-sized, reddish-orange whitespotted temmicks tragopan were a delight to see. The odor of
fermenting wood competed with the pure Himalayan air, and as
the caravan quietly continued on we were serenaded by the
468
tumbling rock river rush. We finally stopped at a clearing
bordered by pine and spruce and a bend in the river. Wood was
gathered for a fire and the porters set up camp for the night. "
It was now late afternoon and the sun was warmer than
usual. Four camp chairs were placed in a front row. Not needing
to be asked, Jimmy, Jane, Lucky and I took our seats, and within
minutes Tenzin appeared, ready for the next lesson. Samba
joined us.
"
“Good afternoon,” Tenzin said with a broad smile.
Although we didn’t know it, his transformation was complete. He
now had long white hair, and a full white beard that met his heart.
He was in his mid-sixties. “We are very close to our destination
and this may very well be your last lesson from me. Yesterday I
was illustrating that things are not always as they appear. I was
trained as a fakir. Not as you say in the west, a faker. I am not
faking. And I am faking.” Tenzin and Samba both laughed at his
humor. “A fakir is a magician. An illusionist.”
"
“That’s what we call them in America,” Jimmy offered.
"
“Very good . . . now I will begin. Jimmy, will you please
hand me the coin you have in your pocket.”
"
“I don’t have a coin in my pocket,” he answered.
"
“Please. Hand me the coin.”
"
Jimmy dug in his pocket and produced a copper coin the
size of a fifty cent piece. Surprised, he handed it to Tenzin.
"
“See, this is a real coin.” He twisted his wrist and the
coin was half the size. Another twist and it was double the size.
Then he opened his palm and it was gone. Then he closed his
fist. He opened it and the original coin was there. Then he flipped
it into the air and it disappeared. He then asked Lucky for the
coin, which was now in his pocket. For the next half hour Tenzin
went through a series of illusions, each one leaving us, his
captive audience, in disbelief.
"
“I’ve watched Chris Angel and David Blaine do amazing
magic like this,” I finally interrupted. “They do coin tricks and card
tricks. Chris Angel will do things like swallow string and then pull
it out of his belly button. I don’t know how they do it.”
"
“I’ve watched them walk on water and levitate,” Jane
remarked.
469
"
“Like this,” Tenzin said, floating six inches above the
ground.
"
“But that’s you,” Jimmy said, amazed, but appearing not
to be. “How do they do it?”
"
“Please, do not ever forget. We are all human. Whatever
one can do, everyone is capable of doing.” "
Samba stood up and levitated next to Tenzin, and then
added, “You can walk on water or levitate and project your body
from one place to another . . . or be in two places at the same
time, as I am now.”
"
“What?” I wasn’t willing to believe what he had just said.
“There’s no way.”
"
“It is simply a matter of knowing you can do whatever it
is you imagine,” Samba concluded. “Everyone is happy, by the
way.”
"
“I was watching a program one night,” I offered, wanting
to open my mind to all possibilities, but still not able to believe
two places at the same time. As a detective I was fascinated with
solving mysteries and loved magic, but not enough to study the
science of it. “There was a fakir from India on the show. This
dude took a knife and stuck it through his throat, and he didn’t
bleed. He talked to the host with the damn knife in his throat and
when he pulled it out there was no scar. Freaked me out.”
"
“A knife like this,” Samba said, producing a six-inch long
blade. Without hesitating he jammed the blade into his neck,
between his chin and adam’s apple.”
"
“No!” I screamed. “You didn’t just do that?”
"
Tenzin smiled. The black handle was protruding from
Samba’s neck, but he wasn’t bleeding. “I want you to tell me
what just happened,” Samba spoke, affecting a gravel voice, the
handle moving up and down as he did.
"
“It’s only an illusion,” Lucky guessed, though pretty
disgusted with what he saw.
"
‘You saw him put that knife in his throat,” Tenzin said.
“Tell me, how can this be an illusion?”
"
“There’s not really a knife?” Jimmy offered his wise
detective surmise.
470
"
“That is correct.” Tenzin answered. “But you all agreed it
is a knife you are seeing. Is this not true?”
"
“Well . . . yeah,” I replied, still looking at the knife in
Samba’s throat. “It looks like a knife. Why would we think it isn’t?
I don’t get the illusion.”
"
“Because you think it is, therefore it is. You told a story of
a fakir and a knife. You produced a powerful image and put it in
everyone’s mind. Samba only expanded the image. You saw
exactly what you wanted to see.” Tenzin brushed Samba’s throat
and the knife disappeared. “There was never a knife. Your
collective minds made it up.”"
"
“I think I’m beginning to get the point here,” Jimmy
offered. “You’re saying, along the same lines you presented the
other day, that our collective minds will either make up
Shambala, see it on this dimension or another, or not.”
"
“It’s either an illusion or it’s real,” Jane, the scientist,
broke in. “And the difference has to do with what we all believe is
true. Taylor always believed that the fakir actually put a knife in
his throat. She stuck to that story. That’s what we all do. We
believe something is real and true, until science, or an alternate
experience, proves it isn’t. Now Taylor . . . all of us, have a
different story. We saw through the illusion. It wasn’t real.”
"
“If that’s the case,” Lucky said, enthralled with the
teaching, “then how will we know whether Shambala is real or an
illusion?”
"
Tenzin was pleased with the conversation. “Ah, you will
always believe what you want to believe, and if the group mind
also believes the same thing, then you are sure it is true. But
then you are also believing what the collective mind believes,
when maybe it isn’t true.”
"
“Will you give us an example?” Jane asked.
"
“Imagine you are walking along a trail and your friend
falls off a cliff.,” Samba answered. You go down and see the
body. She is dead. Others come and look at the body and you all
agree. No pulse. Dead. What you do not see is the spirit of that
person you call dead. She is standing there looking at her old
body. Maybe she was your mother. You are crying. She is
laughing. ‘I am free of that old body. I do not have to have it
471
anymore. I am going to go get myself a better body. I think I will
be a man. Yes, being a man will be better. I will no longer have
these big breasts. I am happy. Why are they crying? I am free.
Can you not see that a lingam is better than a yoni. I am so
happy! I will be a handsome man. But maybe I’m not finished
being a woman. I need to be a woman for a few more years.
Now she’s not dead.” Everyone chuckled at Samba’s story, not
knowing it was partially true.
"
“All right,” I concluded. “I think we all truly want to see
Shambala. I actually don’t care if it’s a collective illusion or it’s
real. Let’s agree to see it.” I put my hand out, and we all joined
hands together. “Shambala!” we shouted, satisfied.
"
“So . . .” Lucky eased back in his camp chair, “the night
is young. Dinner, then what? Dancing? I’m all into an imaginary
bottle of local wine . . . a real one or two would be better . . .
campfire stories . . . maybe a little smooching behind the tree
over there.”
"
“You and me?” I asked. “I’m ready whenever you are,
Quanah. What about the black man and the China girl?”
"
“China girl?” Jane laughed. “I think Jimmy knows what to
do.”
"
“Yes, you all know what to do, but you do not know how
to begin,” Tenzin said, bringing our attention back to him. “So . . .
Samba and I have created a place for you. If you will look behind
you, there are two tents.” We turned our heads and saw new wall
tents, cute little one-room canvas cabins, set thirty feet apart,
and well away from the porter tents. “Jimmy and Jane . . . Lucky
and Taylor . . . you have not been truthful with one another.” He
paused, giving us the look of a stern professor. “You are playing
games, and there is no more room for that. You cannot enter
Shambala until you are at a high frequency vibration, like I told
you before. That frequency is equal to the sincerely expressed
energy of love. Do you know what I am talking about?”
"
I looked at Lucky with quickly an unconfused knowing
expression. Jimmy and Lucky were visibly squirming. Lucky and
I were grinning. “I do,” I answered. Jane nodded with a smile.
"
“Jimmy. Lucky.” Tenzin looked at the men, now with a
fatherly seriousness. “This is what I mean about truth. You are
472
two grown men. These are two beautiful women. Is it not obvious
they love you? You know what you want, there is no illusion here.
The women know what you want, and they want the same. You
cannot pretend. Love does not want to wait; it is always desiring
to be expressed.” He paused for the words to settle in, and then
pointed to the tents. “There is no reason to think about anything
else today. Love is all that matters. You can go.”
"
“You’re sending us to our tents? Making love is our next
lesson?” I blurted out, which made Lucky laugh.
"
“Indeed,” Tenzin replied with a nod, and a contented look
on his face. “The porters have drawn baths for you. When your
body’s are clean then you can get busy.”
"
“Get busy?” Jimmy responded as we all laughed.
“Sounds like you’re inviting us to paradise before we get there.”
He winked at Jane. “I’m ready to get busy whenever you are.”
"
“You’re on, cowboy.” Jane said. Taking his hand, they
headed toward the little bath huts that somehow appeared on the
bank of the nearby stream.
"
Bathed, Lucky and I walked to our tent and stood
outside. He blushed while staring into my eyes, I in return. Lucky
was selective in the sharing of intimacy, and hadn’t slept with a
woman in years. I was tired of always choosing the wrong man.
What hadn’t been right before was right with us, one the perfect
match for the other. “Little White Dove . . ,” Lucky began as he
brought me into his arms, “Running Bear’s got a love as big as
the sky. You ready for me, squaw?”
"
“Shut up!” I laughed, loving him more than I’d ever loved
a man before. “Let’s go rub noses, my brave Hiawatha.” "
To our surprise, the inside of our tent (like Jimmy and
Jane’s) was draped with Tibetan tapestries, beside and over the
full beds, which were dressed with silk sheets and embroidered
covers. Persian rugs concealed the dirt floor. On seeing this, our
hearts beat a little lighter, our joy more complete, the illusion, if it
were indeed one, a perfect reality. An opened bottle of Nepalese
Red sat on a side table, next to a platter of cheese and crackers.
With two silver wine goblets in hand we felt like royalty; blessed,
loved and seen. Candles and incense completed the ambiance,
and soon I was lost in the arms of my entirely unexpected
473
beloved. As with Jimmy and Jane, our love story entered another
dimension.
474
54
A lady hawk-gliding down from silken clouds,
sips from the river.
The north shore of the Indus River:
Howard and Sopi were relieved when Maggie and I returned to
the waiting caravan. A tent had been set up for Maggie, and by
the time she rejoined us a small table was set with four chairs
and tea was served. The reunion was punctuated with talk of our
obvious loss in age, our renewed energy, and walking across the
river. Maggie, more than the others, appeared absolutely radiant.
"
“What happened?” Sopi asked, staring at Maggie, now
attired in fresh clothing--blue jeans and a white long-sleeved
cotton shirt with three buttons opened, revealing her well-formed
cleavage--all smartly accentuated with red lipstick and shoulder
length brown hair pulled neatly back in a pony tail. “You fell in the
river, didn’t you?”
"
“Yes, and you didn’t!” She said with an upbeat, waiting
for a response from Sopi. When one didn’t come she continued,
“I started thinking about it . . . the water . . . and fell in.” She
shrugged. Many of her life-long healing questions had been
answered in the experience--a new realization was infused in her
being, and she wasn’t sure she had the words to explain.
"
“And you’re OK . . . I mean you look great . . . you almost
drowned, didn’t you? What happened? That water is freezing . . .
you should still be shivering if you fell in . . . but you’re not.”
475
"
“Oh, Sopi . . . you’re right . . . I could have drowned or
died of hypothermia. I didn’t. Here I am.”
"
“How?”
"
“How what?” Maggie paused, realizing it was a
necessary question, that there was no way around expounding,
“OK . . . It’s hard to explain . . . I was able to heat my body, to
keep it from freezing.”
"
“Heat your body?”
"
“This morning Archie reminded me that our bodies have
their own consciousness. So, knowing about hypothermia, I
commanded my body to get into action, to be a heater. I studied
a body heating technique years ago, but I forgot how it
technically works.” Maggie now realized that she would much
rather be in a tent, loving Robert, resting; anywhere but in her
analytical mind. “Can you explain it, Archie?”
"
“Sure . . . from another angle . . . the human body is a
battery . . . running on less than ten percent of its available
power. Often in life threatening situations, even sports, the
battery will boost its power in order to overcome death or defeat.
I spent my younger years, through meditation, martial arts and
other body-over-mind techniques, learning how to boost my
battery . . . the ultimate goal was to be a master like Arjuna, who
has unlimited battery life and power.”
"
“Is this why you were so successful in business?”
Howard asked.
"
“Yes and no. I was only maybe eleven percent
successful. Successful in business, but not in love. For a battery
to consistently work correctly at maximum efficiency, its
masculine and feminine polarities must be balanced. Of course,
like most men and women, I was a mess of unbalanced
masculine energy, which unfortunately is how our world society
is structured. When I entered the business world all my
education and my knowing the answers and holding my position,
fighting and arguing to be right . . . to be in control . . . was all
about being stuck in the masculine. Ironically, the more
stubbornly stuck you are, the more you’re rewarded in the
corporate world. But in doing this the sacrifice is love, real true
love. I was smart and stupid at the same time . . . I mean, how
476
could I possibly be with a balanced woman, when I wasn’t
balanced myself?” I concluded by softly saying, “I’m working to
find the balance.”
"
“I see,” Sopi responded, then turned to Maggie. “So in
the river your battery took on more masculine energy? Or
feminine energy? I’m confused.”
"
“I agree with the body having consciousness and
Archie’s battery explanation, and his sweet transparency . . .”
She stopped to give me an endearing look. “That’s another
reason why I love you so much.” She sipped some tea, moved a
log in the fire, then leaned over and gave me a kiss, before
continuing, “But let me tell it in my words. I was rushing
downstream, out of my mind. He’s right, something happens
when faced with imminent death. Thinking takes too much time
and effort, so I surrendered to my body intelligence.
Surrendering is feminine, and I also commanded it, which would
be masculine . . . therefore the balance Archie was talking about.
I demanded that my internal heater heat my body and it
responded--my body temperature rose. All I know is that
something extra-ordinary happens in a sort of out-of-control freefall surrender. If fighting it is a masculine response, I didn’t do
that. I pointed to where I intended to go, and then surrendered to
the feminine flow. Almost immediately I felt like I was one with
the feminine river energy . . . I gave myself to the Mother and
asked her to guide me to the shore. Within seconds I was were I
wanted to be . . . I guess where I was supposed to be . . . alive,
not dead. Going back to what Archie was saying . . . I now see
that my life works when balanced in the middle of the masculine,
feminine polarity. And look! I’m somewhere around fifty years
old . . . in my true middle age. My life isn’t just beginning, it’s a
long way from ending . . . it’s wonderfully in the middle.”
"
“You have finally discovered what it is to be a woman,”
Arjuna injected, having appeared out of nowhere.
"
“I never thought I wasn’t one before, but now I know I
am. I had no idea how off-balanced into the masculine I was . . .
and now I feel balanced. Whole. You’re right, Arjuna . . . I am a
woman . . . I feel it in every cell of my body. I am my woman . . .
477
and can say that it in joyful and powerful abandon, and at the
same time . . . I am Archie’s woman.”
"
“Archie’s woman?” I laughed. “OK . . . I will be your
Archie. But you know, the fictional detective Archie Goodwin was
too independent to ever marry.”
"
“Are you?”
"
“For heaven’s sakes no . . . where’s the minister?”
"
“I do not think that will be required,” Arjuna responded. “I
believe that the Father river just remarried the two of you; there
never was a divorce. Of his fifteen thousand one hundred and
eight wives, Radha was Krishna’s favorite, and always will be.”

After the yaks were re-packed, the caravan continued on in
silence. I had been forced into the remembrance of how in the
past I had abused my power, and how this time I rejected the
impulse to interfere with my dominant masculine. I could have
jumped in and tried to save her, I thought. Maybe we both would
have drowned if I tried to be the hero. She had a lifetransforming experience . . . all on her own. I would have taken
that from her. Saving herself rejuvenated her . . . her whole being
is young again, she’s lighthearted and she loves me even more
for not being the hero. As if reading my mind, her hand squeezed
my inner elbow--walking the dirt trail like she was my queen in
parade. Howard and Sopi were also more in love than before,
they held hands as they happily strolled along on a rocky trail
which still appeared to be far from our destination.

As we continued on, lost in thoughts of love, the sandy brown
hills began to take on color. The brush became greener, thicker
and taller, pine and spruce appeared, and soon the distance
between the trees shortened, forming hillside forests. We
entered a small valley, just wide enough at the bottom for a little
brook and a ten-foot-wide path. Before the sun rested behind the
mountain tree tops, we came upon a clearing surrounded by
478
oaks, maples and flowering rhododendrons, where the caravan
was waiting, having already set up camp for the night. Squirrels
and raccoons watched from the bushes, as Himalayan hawks
swooped down to welcome the now weary travelers. A fire was
blazing and as soon as we sat a hearty stew appeared.
"
During dinner our hearts were each bathed in sweet
serenity; without want or desire, we were simply happy to be
there, alive and in love. Full and content we sat back and cozied
by the fire with a tasty cup of chai. The cooks placed buckets of
hot water, lemongrass and limes in front of each of us, and
began massaging our feet. Guitar music and the songs of
cicada’s added to the most relaxing ambiance. Before the sky
went dark we retired to our tents and snuggled in each other’s
arms, drifting into a sound sleep.

After breakfast the next morning we realized we hadn’t seen
Arjuna since the conversation at the Indus River the day before.
As soon as the words “I wonder where Arjuna is?” came out of
Howard’s mouth he appeared in front of us. My bemused
chuckle put everyone at ease.
"
“I am here as you command,” Arjuna said with an
exaggerated bow. “You do not see me, now you do. How do you
say? Peek-a-boo.”
"
“Yes, we say that . . . but why do you do that on this side
of the river, and not before?” Maggie politely asked, surprised to
not be blown away with the materialization.
"
“Before you crossed the river you were attached to that
which you call phenomena. Now you are not. You are beginning
to see the miraculous as ordinary.”
"
“But I’m still questioning it. Can we talk?”
"
“Certainly. The porters will leave without us. They will
have your lunch ready when we arrive.”
"
“That’s my first question,” Maggie said, quite aware she
was drifting back into her mind, one seeking closure to lingering
questions. “Maybe more than one question. You didn’t just
randomly select some cocks and porters off the street at
479
Darchen, did you? One’s who just happen to know how to walk
on water . . . I don’t think so. They can appear and disappear like
you do, can’t they? If so, why do they pretend to walk at our pace
when they can get to where they are going the same way you
just got here? . . . What do they call it, Archie? Bio-location?”
"
I laughed. I was more than pleased that Maggie, Howard
and Sopi weren’t overwhelmed by the miraculous. “That’ll do,” I
answered, aware that the river crossing had forever altered their
perception of reality.
"
“Does it really matter?” Arjuna answered.
"
“Maybe not. But maybe I would like to know the trick, if
there is one. It certainly is an easier means of transportation,”
Maggie said with a smile. “We talked about the body having it’s
own consciousness, about masculine and feminine polarities,
and our batteries being ten percent charged. There must be
some mechanics to bio-location and immortality. Does your trick
have to do with knowing how to continually recharge your
battery?”
"
“The recharging is automatic,” Arjuna answered with a
laugh.
"
“So you don’t have to plug in somewhere?” she asked.
"
“Plugging in is a choice . . .”
"
“You choose to be immortal? Always plugged in? How?”
"
“Of course I am always plugged in. Have you seen a
recharging station along the way?” He grinned and then stared at
Maggie with a questioning look. “Do you think that I am not a
human being?” When she shrugged he continued, “I am like
you . . . I chose to create my own alternate reality,” Arjuna began
in a soft voice and then looked around. “Tell me Maggie, did I
create this reality or did you?”
"
“Is that a zen koan?”
"
“If we are all seeing the same reality then obviously it is
a shared creation, would you not agree?” We nodded. “And yet
we all see it from a slightly different perspective. I live in an
alternate reality that is unique to me. It is the same for all of us
on this planet. You Maggie are free to choose a similar alternate
reality to that of Robert, though you will always be living in your
story. You could have chosen a crashed airplane story, or death
480
in a ditch or drowning in a river, but you did not. The four of you
chose to be in an alternate reality similar to mine . . . the
resurrection into a longer life of love.”
"
Arjuna paused to let his words sink in, before he
continued, “I will let you know what I already told you, and maybe
now you will believe it is true. I am Arjuna, the Arjuna they wrote
about in the Bhagavad Gita. When I was with Krishna, who had
chosen the alternate reality as a god incarnate, he told me the
same as I am telling you. When you put your consciousness into
each and every cell and create the reality where they were
regenerated, charging the batteries one hundred percent as you
say, then you will became younger, the age you wish to be. This
is my ideal age. I am fully human, as man was designed to be. I
am not more masculine or more feminine . . . I am balanced in
the middle, fully charged.”
"
“Is that even remotely possible for an old coot like me?”
Howard asked.
"
“Are you the old coot you were last week?” he answered
with a grin. “And who will you be next week? How do you say . . .
a young buck?”
"
‘But how does this happen? he asked.
"
“All the avatars of the religions point to this place of
human divinity. God is not human . . . they all agree. But they all
do not see God as the source of what powers the battery, and
also the battery, and the minute matter that makes up the battery
in each one of us. So you see, when you take it all into a
quantum understanding, every little tiny bit of everything that
makes up your body and my body is the very vibration of God.
You are made up entirely of God. Divinity in form. This is your
birthright.”
"
“Is this why some gurus say they are God?” Howard
asked.
"
“They say that, and that is the alternate reality they
choose to be in. They understand what I just said, that
everything is what you term God, there is no separation between
what is that and what is not that. It is simply a matter of what
reality one chooses to live in. Joy or sorrow are choices, as are
living and dying.”
481
"
“So, I’m someone who doesn’t totally believe that I’m a
divinely realized being. How was I able to walk on water?”
Maggie asked. “And why would I choose this alternate reality
when I was thoroughly enjoying the one I came from?”
"
“But you were not . . .” Arjuna stopped to give Maggie a
serious stare before continuing, “and it is not a matter of your
mind believing one thing or another. Your being, your divinity
knows what it wants. The who you really are chose to be here,
intended to be here with friends who also agreed to this alternate
reality. You ask about walking on water . . . all of us, myself
included consciously or you unconsciously, agreed to vibrate at a
frequency higher than the water. But when you, Maggie, looked
down, you made a different choice, to became the vibrational
reality of the river, and one with that alternate reality, so to speak.
Fortunately you were then able to use your oneness-with-thewater to your advantage. You made the correct choice in that
reality--it is always a matter of the right use of energy in
whatever frequency you find yourself.”
"
“So I was resonating in the caravan’s frequency until my
mind, I guess my ego, identified with the water, and resonated
with that frequency.”
"
“Exactly. Your mind is quite familiar with the third
dimension, and while lost in self-awareness your mind will
choose what is familiar. All the porters were not in their minds,
but in the frequency of love and trust in the fifth dimension. In the
third dimension people most often sabotaging their pleasure to
have a learning experience. Apparently your intention was to
have a learning experience. It is not a problem. It is but a choice.
So now we are talking about this learning experience. From it
you can have a new desire, you can choose an alternate reality.
If your intention is to choose love, then love becomes your
frequency. When you have no desire to test your love with
learning experiences, then love will be all that is. You are feeling
this alternate realty of love right now, are you not?”
"
“I am,” Maggie agreed.
"
“I am, too. Is this why we’re becoming younger?” Sopi
asked.
"
“Love does not have an age,” Arjuna answered.
482
"
She looked at her beloved with a big smile. “You’re right.
My love for Howard is so huge now, it doesn’t matter if I’m
eighteen or eighty. He’s always been my young buck, and I even
loved him more as I got older.”
"
“I agree,” Howard offered. “With Sopi I’ve always felt like
a teenager in love, and more so every day. I do like these
younger bodies, I must admit. You didn’t answer Sopi’s getting
younger question.”
"
Arjuna smiled and then explained, “The molecules in
cells have emotions. When you raise your frequency to one of
continuous happiness and pure love, your molecules are
overjoyed. It is like the amrita water you drank at Manosarovar
Lake. The molecules experience an ecstatic rush where they
rejuvenate and revitalize themselves within and without you,
creating this outward beauty you see as youth.”
"
“So are you always experiencing this ecstasy in every
cell of your body?” Maggie asked.
"
“Indeed. My cells are forever young, and so you are
witnessing my eternal youth. Now, every time you do something
that you call miraculous, you realize that I am quite at ease and
familiar with that miracle, and then you intend to be as familiar.
You are reprogramming your cells, charging your batteries,
choosing an alternate reality, to be more like me. But do you not
see that I am not doing this for you. It is all your doing . . . your
choice to create the alternative reality of love.”
"
“But I don’t know what being in love, like Howard and I
are, has to do with making your body disappear and reappear. I
don’t see how they are related.” Sopi still wanted details.
"
“It is a simple matter of vibrating frequencies, Sopi,”
Arjuna answered. “You are limited in the third dimension,
whereas the limits become less as you raise the frequencies. It
would be like the difference between writing a letter or saying the
same thing with your cell phone. It is the same communication
but at a higher frequency, and much faster. As Maggie said, you
are using less than ten percent of your battery power. When you
exist as the lower third dimension frequency then you do not
know about what you do not see. Actually you only see a very
small percentage of what I see when I look out there.” Arjuna
483
waved his arm to indicate everywhere. “When I vibrate at a
higher frequency or dimension, then you do not see me. I may
still be here, or not. At the higher frequency I move much quicker,
and can be here or there in the blink of an eye, just like a cell
phone call.”
"
“So that answers my first question,” Maggie offered.
“The porters disappear from here and end up there. And that’s
what happens with you every night. You go wherever you want to
go.” She stopped and thought about it for a few seconds. “I want
to do that. Wouldn’t that be great to just think somewhere and
there you are? I guess you’re implying that if we knew how to
increase our frequency then we wouldn’t need to walk to
Shambala, we’d just be there.”
"
“This is true. But taking the small steps is very important
right now. Some more things must happen before you will be
able to raise your vibrations and see Shambala. We are very
close, and you are not quite ready. But I assure you, I would not
be taking you there if I did not think you would be ready when
you arrive. So that is enough talk for now. We will walk for a
while longer and then have lunch. This has been good, no?”
"
We all nodded our heads yes, and had lots to think
about during the miles ahead.
484
55
Holes in the curtain;
Light shining through
the illusion.
After an hour on the trail we came upon a meadow, and rested in
the shade of a towering oak. When the first minor earth tremor
hit we looked at each other, but didn’t react. Then another came,
and another. Each one was more intense, and soon the trees
were pitching and boulders were rolling down the side hills.
"
“What’s happening?” Sopi asked Arjuna. He didn’t
answer. His eyes were closed, as if he were napping.
"
The ground began to rise and fall and the four of us
rushed to an open clearing and huddled together, hoping it was a
safe place to ride it out. Not one of us was afraid, we were only
curious that such a thing was actually happening.
"
“This is a test,” I whispered. We all decided it was
probably orchestrated by Arjuna, who moved with us to the
clearing and sat in peaceful meditation. We decided to follow his
example, closed our eyes and for the next ten minutes rode the
earthquake out with confident smiles on our faces.
"
Once the earth settled we stood up. “This was a very
destructive earthquake,” Arjuna informed us. “I am sorry to tell
you that it has caused a problem with our path. Come with me
and I will show you.”
"
After a short walk the trail ended at a cliff edge--a deep
crevasse at least seventy-five feet wide and deep extended
several miles from up one mountainside to the other, with sheer
drop-offs on either side.
485
"
“There is no way around,” Arjuna yelled from across the
rift, having instantly rematerialized there. “This is your only
option, unless you wish to return to your Happy Acres.”
"
“Our only option is to do what you just did?” Maggie
yelled back. “I don’t know how to do that.”
"
“It is and you do.”
"
I knew it wasn’t what it seemed, and told the others. But
when Howard threw a rock into the crevasse, it all seemed as
real as could be. “If it isn’t what it seems, what is it?” he asked.
“We’re supposed to bio-locate? Is that even possible? This isn’t
exactly Star Trek.”
"
“Maybe it is,” Sopi said with a smile. “I’m ready to be
beamed up and over to the other side. Why not?”
"
“Yeah, why not?” Maggie agreed. “Arjuna has been
doing it freely since we’ve been on this side of the river. Maybe
it’s possible over here. We haven’t tried it yet. What do we have
to lose?”
"
“Falling in there,” Howard answered, kicking a rock over
the side.
"
“Oh sweetie,” Sopi said, “It’ll be OK. We’ll do it together.
We just decide we’re already over there. Isn’t that the way it’s
done, Robert?”
"
Scanning the area, I now realized we were very close to
Shambala. I recognized the spot. Although the trans-portation
skill could be easily taught, only those who needed it, like the
porters, actually used it. Fortunately his teacher, Chopa Tenzin,
had taught him the skill Arjuna was demonstrating, having
instructed their future guru on how to master time and space. But
in the present moment I was unwilling to rescue my friends. I
was at a loss on how they would get across without my help.
“You’re right, Sopi” I answered. “We’ve all done that before . . .
deciding that it’s already done, and then it is.”
"
“Not like this,” Howard injected.
"
“Why not like this?” Sopi shot back. “Back at the river I
semi-consciously walked on water. I’m totally awake and fully
conscious now. I know we can do this.”
"
Howard listened to the Sopi’s words, but they didn’t
register as realistic. To cross the river he put himself into a
486
focused trance and did as Arjuna suggested, but now it was
different. Bio-location made no sense to him. An immortal master
appearing on the other side was one thing, but he was a mere
mortal and in his mind he couldn’t imagine doing the same.
“What are you suggesting, Sopi?”
"
“Well . . . I don’t know. There isn’t a Starship to beam us
over. So we will have to be our own Starship. But you know how
they did it . . . they clustered together . . . come on . . . let’s all
crowd into this spot here.” She drew a circle on the dirt and
invited everyone in. “We are going to project ourselves over
there.” She pointed to the other side. “We’ve come this far.
Shambala is near. I know it is. We’ve come too far to let this little
obstacle stop us. I’m sure we can transport our bodies over
there. Why not?”
"
“I still have some doubt about getting myself over there,”
Howard admitted. "
"
“Oh hush. We’re together now. Nothing will stop us,
sweetheart. We will go as one.” She gave him a hug and kiss.
“Look over to where Arjuna is standing. Imagine us standing over
there with him. All we have to do is imagine ourselves standing
next to Arjuna. That’s all. Now let’s close our eyes and keep
imagining that we’re standing next to Arjuna." We closed our
eyes, huddled together. "Now relax. We know how to do it. We
breathe in and breathe out. So easy. We just float and now we’re
all seeing ourselves next to Arjuna. Nothing else . . . we can hear
Arjuna breathing. I can hear him breathing. He is next to me.
Now, let’s open our eyes.”
"
When we did, we were all standing next to Arjuna.
Except Howard, who remained alone on the other side.
Maggie and Sopi were excited to have bio-located across the
crevasse, but when we looked around and realized that Howard
wasn’t with us, our excitement turned to upset, especially for
Sopi.
"
“Why didn’t he come with us?” she asked Arjuna.
"
“You know why.”"
"
“Because he had doubts . . . but I don’t understand. You
said at the river we entrained with the frequency, which is why
487
we were able to walk across.” She paused to think. “Except for
Maggie, who broke the energy field.”
"
“Howard never accepted the energy field,” Maggie
offered. “You knew it would happen the way you envisioned. I did
too. And apparently Archie.”
"
“So how are we going to get him over here?” Sopi
asked.
"
“I’m afraid he will have to do it himself,” I answered.
"
“Well, I’m not going to do nothing,” she replied as she
looked over the crevasse and shouted, “Close your eyes Howard
and imagine being in my arms,” she paused and when he didn’t
reply she continued, “You can do it . . . if I did, you can . . . you
know that. Come to me, sweetheart. Just close your eyes and
imagine being here with me.”
"
“OK.” He yelled back and remained quiet for several
minutes--nothing happened. Maggie also shouted instructions to
no avail. Arjuna had disappeared, so we were on our own. Hours
passed. We sat at other sides of the crevasse looking over at
each other.
"
Finally cooks and porters appeared at each side of the
crevasse and began preparing meals. The porters set up two
tents on one side and one on the other for Howard, who was
methodically looking for a way to walk across. Maggie and I had
dinner. Sopi wouldn’t eat, nor did Howard. By the time the sun
set Howard gave up trying. Fires were made and after a few
hours of inactivity we retired to our tents to sleep--though sleep
was difficult.
"
During the night Howard thought about all the years he
spent on his farm in Mississippi, eking out a meager living while
living alone. For most of those years he imagined he’d always be
poor and lonely--a single old man dying on his land with no one
to comfort him--the last of the black St. Clair’s. He remembered
the day Robert St. Clair appeared and took him away from that
life. And the day, several years later, when he met Sopi in
Australia. How his life had changed. But here he was again-alone in a tent, away from his best friend, away from his beloved.
Is this how it’s going to be? he thought to himself. Am I going to
live out my fear of dying alone? Or am I going to find a way to be
488
with Sopi. I have to get across. I have to. Howard fell asleep with
that mantra. He woke in the night and began it over and over
again. I must be with her. I am there with her. He saw himself in
her arms, snuggling in the tent bed, and kept repeating, I am
there. I am there. I am there.
When Sopi and Howard emerged from her tent the next morning,
Maggie and I were overjoyed. The two women jumped up and
down, squealing like school girls. Their excitement wasn’t just
about Howard having transferred his body to the other side of a
ravine sometime during the night, it was about all our bodies,
which had just lost nearly ten years in age. We were now in our
forties, feeling as young as Easter bunnies on a spring morning.
The women went to their handsome young men, and embraced
us with a strength they had long forgotten. Maggie was now
forty-three, and wondered how she had ever considered it old.
Sopi laughed when she thought of her daughter Jane, who was
now fourteen years older than she. I felt better than I could ever
imagine. Howard was still shocked that he was actually there,
wondering if he had ever felt happier.
After breaking camp we continued down the path. The morning
trek was easy and we were full of energy when we arrived a little
after noon at the place we were supposed to be the night before.
This camp was in a park-like setting, bordered with Himalayan
maples, birch and cedar, butterfly bushes, orchids and blooming
flowers of every hue. It was closer to Shambala than the other
three could imagine; close enough for me to be anxious and
excited about what the next day would offer.
"
The porters had no intention of continuing on that day,
and after serving lunch they retired to their tents and began
playing soft music. The sounds stimulated a certain passion,
which wasn’t difficult to do, and soon the we found our two tents,
which were now larger and supplied with beds, layered with fresh
linen and down quilts, all in silk and kashmir with exotic designs.
With our renewed energy, we rejoiced in the pleasure of our
younger bodies. And, except for a light dinner break, on trays
489
discretely slipped through the tent flaps, we remained lost in the
arms of love until the next morning.
"
When the morning arrived I realized that I wasn’t anxious
to go anywhere, nor was Maggie. The four of us lounged around
all day, received massages whenever we desired, and delicious
meals materialized from the camp kitchen, as if prepared by the
finest chef. We spent hours in our beloved’s arms and made love
several times during the day. As if time had no meaning, three
days drifted by.
490
56
Innocently postured,
doves at the window-cooing.
A much warmer than usual sun had risen over the eastern
mountains on the forth morning--the deep blue sky revealed a
lingering almost full waxing gibbous moon. Morning dew-dropped
maidenhair ferns, colorful blooming rhododendrons, iris and red
roses, plus exotic orchids were abundantly scattered amongst
the pine and cedar, maple and oak. Multi-hued birds happily
chirped, talking to the squirrels, all scurrying about as if
something exciting were about to happen.
"
Maggie and Sopi answered the morning bell as usual,
but this day was apparently special. Their teenage serving girls
arrived formally dressed in well-pressed red sari’s, hair set,
make-up and lips colored to match their dresses--each carried a
small perfumed basket. With more excited energy than before
they led the older women to the river-side bath house. Once
inside, Sopi and Maggie sat on cushioned chairs and
surrendered as the girls washed their bodies with fragrant
lavender soap, brushed and shaped their full dark hair. The girls
laid out an assortment of rouges and pencils and began applying
eye-liner and make-up, followed with dabs of sweet smelling
jasmine perfume. Maggie and Sopi looked at themselves through
hand mirrors; they were more beautiful then they ever
remembered being, and since it was no longer cold, they quickly
accepted the offer to trade their unglamorous trekking clothing
for lovely, finely stitched silk saris--allowing the girls to dressed
them. Once Maggie and Sopi were properly clothed and
491
primped, they modeled in front of the mirror. The young girls
giggled with the two older women, who now delightedly accepted
their renewed youth and beauty. To complete the portrait, bright
red-lined thin gold robes were draped over their sari’s, long
golden baubles were dangled from their ears, and richly
embroidered slippers, peeking under the flowing robes, covered
their polished toes.
"
“I can’t remember ever being made up to look so lovely,”
Sopi said.
"
“Me neither,” Maggie agreed. “I can’t wait to show off to
the men.”
"
While the women were being attended to, Howard and I
had been shaved and groomed, then dressed in maroon and
gold dhoti kurtas. We waited under a tree for Maggie and Sopi to
appear.
"
When the transformed women strolled like runway
models out of the riverside bath house, Howard and I
disregarded our own elegant attire and stood in amazement. The
cooks and porters clapped and laughed as if the most wonderful
thing was happening--the women performed in style, wrapping
silken arms around their handsome men, placing kisses on our
lips.
"
Samba appeared, dressed like a maharaja, and lead the
four of us to our table under an elaborately engraved wood
canopy. Once seated on silk cushioned wooden chairs
surrounding a white clothed table, four male servers, dressed
like five-star waiters in clean white dhoti kurtas with gold striped
pants, placed mugs filled with fresh brewed coffee in front of their
guests.
"
Not expected, Samba sat at the head of the table. “It is
my good fortune to travel with you and now enjoy a meal with my
favorite people.”
"
“Your favorite people?” Maggie questioned, then
considered. “When we first met you called us by Hindu
names . . . at least you did for Howard and I. You called Sopi
Mother and Archie Father. Why?”
"
“Arjuna told you that he is the Arjuna in the Bhagavad
Gita. Robert was Krishna and you were Radha, now in this
492
current form. Howard was Sudama, a friend of Krishna, and Sopi
was one of Krishna’s sixteen thousand one hundred and eight
wives.”
"
“You’re kidding,” Maggie exclaimed. “How in heaven’s
name can one man have that many wives?”
"
“He actually only had eight principal wives. He rescued
sixteen thousand one hundred women who were trapped in a not
very good harem by marrying them all. Sopi was one of his eight
important wives, and had many children.”
"
“I was married to Robert?” Sopi said in mock shock.
"
“Was I one of his wives?” Maggie asked.
"
“You were his first love, his joy and inspiration . . . his
best friend, and also a supreme goddess . . . the relationship
was and is an eternal love.”
"
“And who were you in all this, and why did you call me
father?” I asked.
"
‘Ah, you have forgotten, Father. You wanted a son so
much that you went into seclusion. You covered your body with
ash and prayed for many years . . . for Lord Shiva to materialize,
to ask him for this boon. Finally Lord Shiva and Parvati
appeared, and what did you say? You said that only he could
fulfill your desire . . . that you wanted a son to be exactly like
Lord Shiva or you wanted no son at all. He granted the boon and
in time your wife Jambavati gave birth to a son, which you
named Samba. I grew up to be a very handsome man.”
"
“You’re my . . . I mean Krishna’s son?”
"
“Indeed. But I must tell you . . . I was not like Lord
Shiva . . . or maybe I was since Shiva is the Lord of Destruction
but regardless, I did things that you disapproved of . . . so you
gave me leprosy and took away my handsomeness. I was
cursed. It has taken me countless lifetimes to find you again and
ask for your forgiveness. If it pleases you.” Samba put his palms
together and bowed.
"
“My god! Of course . . .” I didn’t quite know what to say.
“Yes . . . by any power I may have in this or in any other lifetime I
forgive you, Samba.”
"
“And so it is, Father.” He bowed again and left the table.
"
493
"
After Samba was gone we looked around in wonder--at the
trees, the sky, the cooks and porters--it seemed to us that
everything and everyone, even the very air we were breathing,
was shimmering. We felt like royalty anticipating a feast. The
usual trail breakfast porridge mixed with nuts, raisins and
cinnamon spices had turned into eggs benedict, home fried herb
potatoes, hot bagels with cream cheese, and fresh tropical fruits
served on the finest china. White cloth napkins, real silverware, a
crystal vase bursting with a spray of fresh lavender Hardy
Orchids, and crystal wine glasses filled with fresh squeezed
orange juice completed the table. We contentedly smiled as we
wiped the coffee’s cream from our lips, then enjoyed every bite
of the morning feast.
"
When the meal was complete a server refreshed our
cups with more hot coffee, then disappeared with the others to
their tents. Arjuna appeared. “Good morning,” he said with a
broad smile. “You women look very lovely, indeed. From this
moment on your lives will only get better, you will see.”
"
“I can hardly believe it will get any better than this,”
Maggie offered. “Are we in Shambala?”
"
“We are very near the valley. The days here have been
intentional. I wanted to see how well you can sustain this
frequency, and for you to experience the wonder of living in a
world of unceasing love and beauty,” he said and then pointed at
the elegant saris, “But first before we enter Shambala you must
settle your account. You women will need to pay me one
hundred thousand Yuan each, for your clothing, and then I will let
you in.”
"
“You’re kidding?” Sopi commented. “One hundred
thousand Yuan? All I have is one hundred thousand Dong . . .
will that do?”
"
“No,” he answered in feigned seriousness, “that is only
five U.S. dollars. Oh . . . you are kidding to my kidding. This is
good.”
"
Maggie giggled at the immortal master’s joking, realizing
that she loved him, not as she loved Robert, but with the deep
agape love of a sister to a brother you always and forever want
494
to be a part of your life. She wanted to hug him, so she got up
and held out her arms. Although surprised, he accepted this rare
gesture. With her arms around him, she immediately felt a jolt
rush through her body. It was similar to the sensation of making
love with Robert, but different. She blushed, as she stepped
back, suddenly feeling like a Gopi girl, maybe Radha, elegantly
dressed as she was in the white and orange sari under gold,
positively in love with the man whom this man in front of her had
called Krishna. “Arjuna,” she began, as she stepped back and
slightly bowed in respect. “You told us that you really are the
Arjuna from the Bhagavad Gita. I believe you. Samba just told us
his story, supporting your truth that I’m Radha and Robert,
Krishna. I believe you, but how can this be?”
"
“When Robert first came to the Potola Palace in Lhasa
he was a glowing white child with deep blue eyes. Compared to
everyone else there, he appeared as a blue child. I immediately
recognized him, so did his master.” Arjuna looked over at me and
continued, “This is why you were told to stay.”
"
“If I were the incarnation of Krishna,” I politely and
humbly responded, “then why didn’t anyone tell me, and why
was I so compelled to leave? And if you’re immortal, wouldn’t
Krishna be immortal too? As you know, I was born.”
"
“Nobody told you . . . because as you grew older you
had a far-away look in your eyes . . . always. Your master, your
teacher and I knew that one day you would leave in search of
her.”
"
“In search of her?” I asked.
"
“Indeed. Krishna was an immortal as I am. But Radha
was not. He loved her more than anyone or anything . . . As
Samba told you, Radha was his eternal love. I do not use either
word lightly. You must understand, you can be a god and still
love deeply, but it is unreasonable to be an immortal and have
such love for one who is not.”
"
“What did he do?” Sopi asked.
"
“There is no greater love story,” Arjuna began with a
wink to Sopi. “After many years and many wives, Krishna
realized that he did not want to live without his best friend, his
beloved Radha. He was sometimes quite impulsive, and
495
certainly not attached to the illusion of a physical body. So one
day long after she died, he willed himself to join her in her
afterlife.”
"
“He killed himself for me?” Maggie was enthralled.
"
“Not literally. He simply let his body go. When he did, he
re-entered samsara, the cycle of birth and death, innocently
believing he would easily find his beloved. But unfortunately she
wasn’t waiting for him in a heavenly paradise as he had
envisioned.”
"
“What did he do?” Sopi asked again, enraptured with the
story.
"
“He spent countless lifetimes looking for her.”
"
“What a beautiful story,” Maggie said. “But if Krishna and
Radha, being who they are, finally met in this lifetime, you would
think that the energy in the room would be so intense . . . even
as mere mortals we would know, wouldn’t we? I mean, I can
imagine how strong the chemistry would be. If we are them as
you say, wouldn’t we have at least fallen in love with each other
long before now?”
"
“Unfortunately that is not how it is with incarnations. We
have so many lives and in each we choose a different costume.
Sometimes we are male, sometimes female . . . the mother or
the father, the brother or sister, the employer and even the
enemy. We play these different roles always for the highest
good . . . to help ourselves and each other to remember our
divinity, to find self-realization. When two people come together
and what you call fall in love, the growth lessons are very
intense, or maybe it is a pleasant vacation. One way or the other
it is very fortunate to have a shield . . . so you don’t see your
lover as your mother or father or your enemy from a past life.
That would be very confusing and difficult. The shields are the
most potent amnesia.”
"
“I supposed I wouldn’t have been attracted to Robert if
he showed up as Krishna.”
"
“Indeed. What would you want with a grown man who
always wants to dance and play the flute in the park . . . a man
who also has eight principle wives, and sixteen thousand one
hundred other ones?”
496
"
Maggie laughed. “But he loved me most of all.”
"
“The moment I saw you I knew we had a very old
connection. I had this vague knowing about you . . . but never as
Radha,” I offered.
"
Arjuna move his chair to front me, our knees almost
touching. “Like Krishna before, you thought that you had the
power to find your beloved.” He paused, then reached for my
hands, drawing me into unblinking eye contact before continuing
softly, “It is almost impossible to consciously find someone from
another life . . . but the love of Krishna is beyond
comprehension.”
"
“But me being me, without Krishna consciousness . . .
how did I ever find her?”
"
“You were in a coma for a month, were you not? You do
not remember what you were doing for that month but I do,
because I was with you.”
"
“With me? Where?”
"
“At eighty years old you thought there was only one way
to return to Shambala . . . and that was to die and be reborn
there. But while you were in your coma you went back . . . to ask
your teacher if there was another way. While there you were the
very same age as when you left forty-five years ago. Everything
was the same but different. This time you saw the holographic
future of yourself there with your beloved. And, of course, you
recognized who she was. While there you realized that you were
also somewhere else, indeed still alive. From that point of view it
was quite reasonable . . . all you needed to do was to wake up
and take her there.”
"
“Both you and Tenzin were in Shambala . . . in my coma
dream . . . and that’s why Tenzin came to Portland . . . to help me
to return?” I asked in realization, then looked away. Flashes of
remembrance raced through my mind, but I couldn’t differentiate
the remembering from forty-five years ago from the remembering
that might have occurred two months ago as I was waking from
the coma. Even for me, the stacked concepts of reverse aging,
bio-location and parallel lives were almost incomprehensible,
especially after spending half-a-lifetime in the pragmatic western
world.
497
"
“Indeed.”
"
“So let me get this straight,” Maggie cut in. “While in your
coma you went back to Shambala and I was with you there . . . in
your holographic future, but it couldn’t really be the future
because we were young . . . and it now could be since we have
gotten younger . . . and then you woke up . . . and realized that
you had to somehow bring me back with you even though I was
this old woman with dementia . . . but you knew that your life
would never be complete if you didn’t do something . . . if you
didn’t at least try to bring me back. So you woke yourself up and
hatched an elaborate plan.”
"
“The elaborate plan part is true,” I said. I turned my chair
and held Maggie’s hands and looked deep into her eyes. “My life
never was complete. I spent years in Shambala missing what I
didn’t have. I was to be the next master. The lamas didn’t want
me to even talk to a woman. It was an impossible situation and
after about age sixteen I wondered what good was paradise
without sharing it with the woman you love? I didn’t know I was
Krishna looking for Radha. It wouldn’t have mattered if I did. I
knew I would have to leave one day to find her, you.”
"
“I thought they arranged marriages,” Sopi interrupted.
"
“That was the problem. As the next master I was
required to take the bhiksu vow not to marry, a vow of celibacy,
and this was very difficult for me since I was always thinking
about finding and marrying my beloved.”
"
“You’d think that if they had recognized you as Krishna,
who had sixteen thousand wives, they’d at least give you one
this time,” Howard offered.
"
“Religious logic often gets convoluted, my friend. But
regardless, after thirty years of work toward mastery in
Shambala I knew it was time to leave and find her, and to also
find my parents. I longed for family. So I ran away . . . went to
Oregon and started a new life. Once there I told myself that I
was free of the monastic life, free of my bhiksu vow . . . but in
reality I remained celibate. I could not think of loving anyone but
my beloved . . . the woman I couldn’t find. It took me another
fifteen years to want to lose my virginity, and I did it only because
498
I believed it would finally free me from the vow, to finally see
myself as a carnal man. It wasn’t about that girl.”
"
“That is what began our first real conversations,” Maggie
said in remembrance. “It was when we became friends . . . you
confiding in me about your first sexual experience. It was a very
intimate confession.”
"
“I was surprised to have met you when I did. You were
so sweet and loving. I was drawn to you . . . and wondered if
maybe you were her. But, you were unavailable. Maybe it was
because of all your husbands or maybe it was me with my
inexperience with women . . . and yes . . . my human doubts . . .
and because of all that, our love never blossomed. And, the truth
is, I thought about you almost every day during those fourteen
years we were apart, before you came to Happy Acres.”
"
“Me? I thought you had forgot about me. I was just an
old body worker. Honestly, I didn’t see or feel romance coming
from you, toward me. And I probably wouldn’t have believed it.
What I saw was a man who could choose someone much
younger . . . like that beautiful massage therapist you slept with. I
couldn’t imagine you choosing me.”
"
“That was my inexperience with women showing. Proves
you can be one of the brightest people in the world and still be a
child when it comes to love and romance. Maybe Krishna was
also that innocent. I wish I could do it all over.” Robert thought
about it a second. “I guess we can.”
"
“So Krishna, your Gopi girl has a question. What do I do
now?” Maggie asked, more than ready to begin a new life with
her Archie, or Robert, or Krishna. “Find myself a bunch of cows
to herd?”
"
“You? What about me? Am I going to turn blue and
dance, and sing hari hari, and play my flute all day? Do I even
know how to play a flute? This is going to be interesting. I
promise I’ll do it different this time? No other wives. Just you and
me together forever in paradise. OK?”
"
Arjuna smiled. “I think that is the point, Master. Krishna
finally returns with his beloved so they can live together forever.
Is this not what you have spent your life dreaming of?”
"
“It is.”
499
"
“So you will have plenty of time to learn to play the
flute . . . and dance. And Maggie . . . you are no longer a gopi
girl, but a supreme goddess. LIke Radha you will be his best
friend, companion and wife.” Arjuna touched her softly on her
cheek. “Is this not what you have always wanted?”
"
“To be a supreme goddess? I’ve joked about it. Is having
a man like Archie what I always wanted? . . . I guess, though I
never thought I deserved to be happy in love . . . or that my love
dreams would ever come true.” She paused to think about what
she just said. “I guess I’ve always sort of been a simple cow
herder girl, better off doing my job . . . I’ve never been so good
with romance. I don’t know Radha’s story, but I imagine it took a
while before she decided she deserved to be the consort of
Krishna, to be equal with this handsome god. For him to love her
more than anything . . . and even die for her . . . now that’s
something.”
"
“I couldn’t die because of you,” I offered. “We both spent
a lifetime denying ourselves the pleasure of true romance . . .
and now . . . it looks like we have plenty of time to do it right.”
"
“Talk about waiting until the last minute to be romantic.
What were you waiting for at Happy Acres? I like being young
again, but once I was over my dementia I probably would have
loved you until the day I died, right there in that home.”
"
“I’m not sure about that,” I answered. “All that has
happened on this adventure has brought us closer together, no
doubt. What was I to do back then, announce that you’re my
beloved while I was trumping you at bridge? Imagine me, an
eighty year old man, saying that to any woman? You? You would
have just rolled your eyes. My only recourse was to invite you on
a grand adventure, and hopefully, finally, you would come to love
me. I didn’t foresee us getting younger, but I knew this trip would
expand our life expectancy. Love has a way of doing that, you
know. So once I set the stage there was no turning back. Look at
all that has happened which has changed our lives . . . events
that would have been impossible to arrange in Portland, even
with all my money. We had to get away from that old life and
world . . . even if our forever meant a couple more months or
years of life together.”
500
"
“Hmmm, I see what you mean,” Maggie considered.
“You’re right. Back at Happy Acres I’d of thought you were a dirty
old man . . . but you never know . . . a little good old hanky-panky
might have been what the doctor ordered. And you’re also right
about the events . . . walking on water and then falling in the
river was an epiphany for me . . . It wouldn’t have worked on the
Willamette. Of course, my love for you has grown immeasurably
since we’ve been on this trip . . . and with these new bodies . . .
this could never have happen in the U.S. My nephew would have
a heart attack if he saw me like this. And the sex . . .” She gave
me a wink, I grinned, then she turned to Arjuna. “It appears as
though my dirty old man is as ready for some more hanky-panky,
as I am. How far to the Shambala Hotel?”
"
“You mean, to your palace? Tonight you will be there and
your dreams will have come true. I have called ahead and they
have changed the sheets.” Arjuna looked please with his humor,
and then continued, “Mother and Sudama have gone ahead. You
must not get too far behind them. Please, let us continue.”
"
501
57
He changed channels.
Another life
commanding attention.
Howard and Sopi were about ten minutes ahead of us, walking
the trail alone. “I was thinking about how much older we were
when you and I first met, older in every way,” Sopi began, then
stopped and looked Howard in the eyes. “Now that I’m younger
and wiser I can say it . . . I’ve always thought of myself as your
wife . . . I would have said yes to marrying you after the first
week we met.”
"
“Why didn’t you say so?”
"
“I don’t know . . . I guess it was my culture . . . the
woman waits for the man to initiate.”
"
“My, you’ve had to wait a long time. . .”
"
“Why?”
"
“Back when we met I was new at my job . . . Robert was
putting a great deal of trust and faith in me. Back then I was so
wrapped up in it . . . you know me with my tunnel vision focus.”
He was hesitating, a bit embarrassed with his past, but
continued, “I’ve never been good with women . . . I guess I
thought if I married you I’d always be distracted . . . put you
above everything else. You do that to me, you know . . . I didn’t
see how I could do my job and love at the same time . . . silly of
me I admit, naive . . . It’s just . . . I thought with you around . . . I
was afraid I would let Robert down . . . and turn into one lousy
farmer.”
502
"
“Oh Howard . . . you’re so cute . . . you thought you
couldn’t plant seeds in the ground during the day and in your
wife at night? Maybe you highly underestimated yourself.”
"
They both laughed. “Seriously, I regret not giving us a
go. My greatest regret. But . . . there never was another . . . you
were my one and only love.”
"
“And you mine.”
"
“I wish I would have known.” He paused to think of the
many times he wanted to tell her his truth, but didn’t. “By the
way, I did know one of your secrets.”
"
“What?”
"
“That you didn’t have dementia.”
"
“How could you have known that?”
"
“I wasn’t out of my mind all the time. You obviously
moved in to be with me . . . When it came to the obvious my
brain wasn’t malfunctioning. Since that day I’ve been heads over
heals in love with you.”
"
“Now look at us. Young and in love. Oh Howard, I don’t
care about Vietnamese customs . . . will you marry me when we
get to Shambala?”
"
“Hmmm . . . what about me getting down on my knees?”

Howard had spent the first fifty years of his life on the family
farm, known as Reginald St. Clair. He was only seventeen when
he, his mother and common-law stepfather, drove to Monroe,
Louisiana, the trip which led to the older couple’s deaths. Several
months after he returned to their Jackson, Mississippi farm he
found out about his mother’s murder which, as far as he knew,
made him, and his estranged father, the only two surviving
members of the black St. Clair family. He never expected to see
his father again and since he had no money and the two acres
needed to be planted, he got to work. For the next thirty-three
years he continued on, struggling to make a living as a poor
Mississippi farmer, moving farther in to resignation and
depression.
503
"
Meeting Robert St. Clair drastically changed Howard’s
life. Because of Robert he went from poor to rich literally
overnight. From then on, in humble gratitude, he did what Robert
asked, and excelled at his new job. As an executive tribal leader
with Shambala Foods Howard proved to be a brilliant organic
farming expert, one who never needed to prove his authority.
Every employee honored him as an expert and a farming
scholar, one who rarely offered extraneous, off the subject,
comments. Like me, he avoided social activity and mostly kept to
himself.
"
In the years preceding Happy Acres Howard never
dated--his Troutdale home was akin to a monastic retreat. He
had become quite comfortable living alone, to everyone a
confirmed bachelor who in many ways mirrored my seclusion.
But unlike me, he was a face to be seen, a leader with carte
blanche authority only second to the recluse owner.
"
He met Sopi while on his first business trip in Australia
and was immediately attracted to her, though he was confused
about romance, expressing desire, or how to mix business with
pleasure. Instead of buying her a dozen roses, he bought her a
“company” home in Melbourne, and hired her as a “work at
home” consultant in their new Australian office. Howard traveled
there often, and as the years passed they maintained an
unspoken, arms-length attraction for each other, their love never
expressed. It was only when she came to Happy Acres that the
attraction became child-like, when they were finally able to laugh
and play and thoroughly enjoy one another, in spite of his
dementia, and her cancer.
"
“I’m curious, Howard,” Sopi continued, “about your past.
You know how Maggie calls Robert Archie . . . your real name is
Reggie . . . I just can’t get myself to call you Reggie. You told me
that your mother was murdered. Maybe still being Howard helps
you to forget about all that, that it happened to Reggie, not
Howard. Would you like to talk about it?”
"
The hills on both sides of the path were crowded with
trees, but they left room for a small stream which trickled steadily
by, its banks alive with orange tiger lilies. Howard and Sopi
strolled hand in hand, he hesitating to answer her, content
504
listening to the chatter of birds, enjoying being with his lovely
forty-one year old Vietnamese beauty, preened as she was in the
stunning yellow sari. “There was, still is, a story,” he finally
rejoined, “about an empire in Louisiana called the Washitaw
Nation. The people there were all black, originally from Africa.
They arrived in the new world, settling in the region which was
later called the Louisiana Territory, around three hundred years
before Columbus discovered America. The Washitaw Nation,
which was ruled by a king and a queen, was a true empire . . .
before the French conquered it, basically claimed it, stole it, and
settled on the land . . . forcing many of the proud people into
slavery.”
"
“So the black people there were completely different
from the blacks who came to America as slaves?”
"
"
“And what does this have to do with you?”
"
“My father was told of our Washitaw genealogy from his
grandfather, the bloodline story passing from generation to
generation. He left my mother and I when I was fourteen and he
headed to Louisiana to establish his, my rights. My mother took
me there when I was seventeen--to discover the truth of my
lineage herself, since my father had never returned. Secretly she
went there to find him. He was the true love of her life.”
"
“Did she find him?”
"
“She did, but when she admitted it to my common-law
step-father--that she had a real husband she loved more--he
began his brutal rage.”
"
“So it was your father who . . .”
"
“I suppose . . . I didn’t stick around for all that, and I
never did see my father again.”
"
“That’s too bad. What did your mother hope to find out
about your linage, about you?”
"
“My father named me Reginald because he thought it
meant king. He was convinced that I was the rightful heir to the
Kingdom of Washitaw, that I would be the one to unite our
people, that we would finally be recognized as a legitimate
nation.”
505
"
“You’re saying that you’re the king of the Washitaw
Nation?”
"
“Could have been, maybe.”
"
“Well, there’s no could have been maybe here. You’re
my king.”
"
“Would you like to be my queen?”
"
“I already am . . . Reggie.”

One hundred yards ahead, contrasting the green grass with
galloping orange and black on cream, four royal Bengal tigers
were charging straight toward Howard and Sopi. Neither reacted
in alarm. He simply sat on the grass, not thinking about the
danger, and motioned for her to sit behind him. He opened his
arms, as if inviting the tigers to come in for a hug; she propped
her chin on his shoulder--the essence of the amrita from
Manosarovar Lake filled her being.
"
Rays of the sun gleamed light off white razor-sharp
fangs--sparkling tinkles accentuating the beauty of the beasts
which raced at full speed toward their apparent prey. As they
approached closer and closer, neither Howard or Sopi moved an
inch. His hands remained extended as his smile broadened.
Intended reality contained, big happy tabby cats were coming to
play. She took the opportunity to plant a quick kiss on her king’s
neck.
"
Almost upon them, the tigers slowed down. The lunge to
gorge upon the prey became a playful roll, which ended with a
belly in front of Howard, inviting a rub. The second tiger rolled in
front of Sopi, and with the happiness of children they began
rubbing tiger bellies, then hugging and rolling in the grass with
the loving beasts.
Robert and Maggie, who weren’t that far behind, saw that
something was happening ahead and began running toward their
friends. They didn’t sense danger; both were excited they could
run at a fast pace. As soon as he saw them Robert knew the
tigers were tame, and reached out to stop Maggie. Slowed to a
506
walk he told her the story of how they had roamed up from India
many centuries before, and had appointed themselves the
guardians of the gateway to paradise. They reacted to energy,
he explained, and only those who carried a vibration of love
could pass by.
"
Maggie, who had been raised with a menagerie of
animals, squealed with happiness as they approached, and
rushed to hug one of the huge cats. Soon they all surrendered to
laughter, rolling and romping in play.
"
Safe to join their mothers, two baby tigers frolicked up to
Maggie and Sopi. As the women cuddled the adorable kittens,
they looked at each other, and then at their men. It happened
again. Robert was now thirty-five, the very same age when he
had left Shambala forty-five years ago. Howard and Maggie were
thirty-three, and Sopi was thirty-one. Tears streamed down their
cheeks and though they didn’t realize it, or care, they had now
reached their perfect age. The men were as handsome as they
had ever been, the women even more beautiful; their bodies
strong and in vibrant health.
"
They all got up, wiped the grass off their clothes, petted
the tigers goodbye and continued down the trail. Up ahead
Arjuna stood at the edge of the woods, smiling. Krishna and
Radha . . . Sudama and Susheela . . . this is good.
Robert sensed the immortal master’s presence and stopped,
looking around in search of the invisible man. “Arjuna,” he said in
a louder voice. “I have a few more questions.”
"
He immediately appeared in front of the four and they all
continued down the path. “Yes, Master. What would you like to
know?”
"
“You indicated that you were near me during those thirty
years in Shambala. Why don’t I remember you?”
"
“Sometimes it is much better to blend in, to be one
ordinary monk among many. You know yourself that it is not so
important to be seen, until it is. You didn’t notice me, and I didn’t
wish to be noticed, until now. One way or the other, Master, I was
always near.”
"
“Always? Did you go to New York City with us?”
507
"
“I was there. A most inspirational talk, indeed. The
lama’s were pleased, but only Chopa Tenzin and I knew what
you were about to do.”
"
“You knew?” Robert was surprised. “And you didn’t say
anything?”
"
“You were following your inner guidance. It would not be
right for anyone to interfere. But I was also surprised.”
"
“That I actually did it?”
"
“No. With who helped you. I recognized the young man.
He was once a much loved and powerful emperor of Japan who,
for who knows what reason, incarnated as a poor black man in
Harlem. He needed a new place to be, where his power and
leadership would be recognized. So I invited him to your
room . . . he didn’t hesitate.”
"
“What? That boy? You set him up to go with me? What
was his name? Louie? Something like that. An emperor of
Japan? Did you gave him the money?”
"
“Money is immaterial. It was obviously time for both of
you to go, and it proved to be most convenient.”
"
“I can’t believe that Chopa Tenzin knew. That he let me
go. I missed him terribly, you know . . . I’ve thought of him my
whole life. He was like my second father . . . Do you know when
he died?”
"
“He did not die, Master.”
"
Robert was shocked. “He’s still alive? He’d have to be
around one-hundred and twenty years old. He can’t be?”
"
“Yes, it is true.”
"
“But how could he still be alive?”
"
“You know quite well that the rules of one dimension do
not apply in another. You were taught that aging is an option, an
illusion . . . but perhaps you forgot, or maybe you never gave it
any mind while you were there . . . but look around. Are you or
are you not still eighty years old?”
"
“Where is he?” Robert could only think of his beloved
teacher.
"
“He is with the others.”
"
“The others?” Robert asked. “Do you know about the
others?”
508
"
“Of course. They are right behind you, as you wished.”
"
“Who are you talking about?” Sopi asked.
"
“Your daughter . . .” Robert answered, not wishing to
prolong the secret, though his mind was filled them.
"
“My daughter! Jane is following us? You’re kidding?
Alone? No, she wouldn’t be alone. Who else?”
"
“Well . . . two Portland police detectives.”
"
“Police detectives? We’re being followed by the police?
Why?”
"
“One of them is my daughter.” Robert admitted, enjoying
Sopi’s surprise, but not sure about the timing of the revelations.
"
“You have a daughter?” Maggie broke in, totally blown
away with that answer. “When did you have a daughter? Your
daughter? Not adopted? She’d have to be adopted. Where’s the
mother? Why didn’t you tell me? Where did you hide her all
these years?”
"
“Yes, she’s my real daughter, though she doesn’t know.”
"
Arjuna smiled and spoke, “She knows.”
"
“You told her?” He joined in the volleying of shocks and
surprises. “When did you tell her?” He thought for a second
before answering his own question. “You stayed at Mt. Kurama
until they arrived. Where are they now?”
"
“It is time to show your friends where you came from. I
will see you soon,” Arjuna answered as he pointing down the
path, then disappeared.
509
58
Many roads,
there is only one to choose-the way.
Friday - at the end of the Path:
The next morning two young maidens rattled little brass bells
outside of our tents. After a pause the girls said the same thing,
“Please, miss, it is time for us to dress you. If you will come with
us, we will make you more beautiful.”
"
Although thirty feet away from each other, Jimmy and
Lucky had the same reaction. Neither wanted to let go of their
women, having just experienced a most perfect night, and they
could not imagine us more beautiful than we were at that
moment. Nevertheless, they knew it was time to rise. Cheese
and crackers were hardly a substitute for the dinner they happily
missed the night before, and they were hungry.
"
Jane and I were curious as to what dressing us would
mean, thinking back to the fun we had in Hong Kong with the
make-up. Though remaining in our man’s arms was tempting, we
ignored Lucky and Jimmy’s sighing whimpers, draped ourselves
in the bathrobes that came with the tent and went out. We were
curious of the balmy weather, it wasn’t the least bit cold.
"
The sweet Tibetan girls led us to a new tent, not too far
away, where they sponge bathed and dried us--two happy
women. The girls proceeded to apply makeup, to which Jane
and I surrendered whole-heartedly, and when that was complete
we were dressed in elegant cheongsams and presented in front
510
of a full length mirror. There was no doubt our men would be
quite pleased with the stunning transformation.
"
While this was going on, two young men led Lucky and
Jimmy to a hot water shower. Jimmy tried not to think of where
the plumbing and water pressure was coming from, and all the
other luxuries he was thoroughly enjoying. He finally decided that
he deserved it--whether illusionary or real, he was having the
time of his life. As for Lucky, he was still overwhelmed by his
great fortune in finding Taylor in Mandalay, and had to keep
pinching himself--he too enjoying every minute.
"
Following the shower, they were led to a tent where they
were both given a fresh shave. They too surrendered to the
pampering and were soon dressed in the clothing of a maharaja;
gold and maroon silk pants and sherwani jackets, clothing fit as if
tailored just for them. They readily accepted this refined
elegance--both feeling defined by nobility.
"
Although Jimmy again wondered where the grass, the
tent, full beds and bottles of wine came from, he remembered
the speech he gave me about surrendering into the void,
accepting an unknown reality. Waking up to a freshly mowed
grass lawn instead of a muddy field made total sense. Fine wine
in the Himalayas, of course. Full beds with silk sheets, yes. A
beautiful woman, ahhh. New finely tailored clothes, no problem.
He was loving this shared reality and now wondered what Jane
was up to, and what they would be having for breakfast, whether
or not they were over-dressed.
"
With golden slippers on their feet, the men were led
across the lawn to a new open-sided dining tent where they were
surprised to see a Sunday-like buffet--a display of culinary art
that would rival the best any five-star restaurant could offer.
Serving plates were filled with crepes and scrambled eggs. A
whole salmon covered with cucumbers filled a large china platter.
Other large bowls were filled with roasted herbed potatoes, sour
cream covered latkes and a steamed medley of vegetables.
Fresh fruit of all kinds were piled high, next to a tray of neatly
arrange bagels, surrounding a center bowl of cream cheese.
Chocolate eclairs, Napoleons and other deserts like chocolate
mousse and strawberry cheesecake made their mouths water.
511
"
After they were seated a waiter dressed in white handed
them both a cup of fresh brewed coffee with real cream. After
fifty degree days and below forty degree nights along the trail,
the tropical weather was a delight--like an ideal morning on a
tropical island.
"
Jane and I glided across the grass in our elegant
cheongsams, glowing like two angels descending from Heaven.
The men bolted up, nearly spilling their coffee, and hurried out to
greet us, the women they loved. We were equally pleased
seeing our clean-shaven men dressed like royalty. After long
hugs of silk on silk we were all feeling another hunger; ready to
dig in.
"
We didn’t hesitate filling our plates with our favorite
foods. The fresh salmon, avocados, papayas and cream cheese
made no sense whatsoever a million miles from nowhere, but it
no longer mattered. It was our breakfast dream come true, and
we enjoyed every minute of it.
"
Once our stomachs were full we left the dining table and
went to another sitting area. Tenzin appeared. “I believe you are
ready,” he said with a soft kind voice. “Your love is so strong I
can feel it in eight dimensions. You all look lovely. The minister is
here. The ceremony is about to begin. You will be married now.”
"
“You’re kidding!” I reacted, though almost immediately
thinking it to be a good idea.
"
“Married?” Lucky asked. “Is this why you dressed us?”
"
“Yes . . . maybe . . . no . . . you are right. I am resonating
more like you now. You have been teaching me to have a joke.
Was that not a good joke?” Tenzin laughed at his own humor.
"
We all smiled, then Jimmy answered. “I’d be up for it.”
He looked over at Jane and gave her a wink. She blushed, her
answer implied.
"
“You have been dressed and fed and now it is time to
leave. We are close to your destination. We will be there before
you are hungry again.”
"
“What about our stuff?” I asked.
"
“The porters will bring it later, or maybe not. For us,
things are where they are needed, so there is no reason to take
what you do not need, until you need it.”
512
"
“So why then . . . I guess I still want to know . . . why did
you have porters carry food and tents and cooking gear and all
that, up and down these mountains, when they could have just
made it appear when they needed it?” I asked.
"
“We are here to serve your consciousness. Little steps
were required or your minds would be so confused you would
have just run away. Grass over mud is not a problem now, nor is
all of this perfect food you have just enjoyed. You are different
today than you were yesterday, more so than three days ago.
Soon you will see a place where there is no want, for when
people live in true harmony and balance, manifesting whatever
they need is quite natural. Come, they will be waiting.”
We wandered down the lush grass path to where the river turned
into a babbling brook, and where rainbow colored flowers
bloomed on lingam rock river banks. The thousand foot-high side
hills were held together by evergreens and ferns, framing the box
canyon. Melodious darting ruby throats and cuckoos, sparrow
hawks and falcons, filled the air with a mesmerizing sky dance
and sweet avian music. Squirrels scampered about gathering
pine nuts, marmots watched patiently, and raccoons walked up
to the visitors like begging Buddhist monks, hands out asking for
food they, from one glance at fat bellies, didn’t need. We would
spot an occasional musk deer family traveling on trails through
the trees, and several black bear watched from across the
stream. All the wild animals appeared tame, and it wasn’t long
before we felt completely safe from all danger.
"
We continued strolling down the manicured lawn,
comfortable in our embroidered slippers--each mind filled both
with fond memories of the night before, and the enjoyment of
present time. We looked around in wonder, entertaining thoughts
of the landscaped ambiance of this impossible remote location-too surreal to be true; an impossibly beautiful setting beyond our
minds’ imaginings--yet we knew it wasn’t a dream.
"
Jimmy stopped to hug Jane. Before their night of
passion he had wondered if he had forgotten how to make love.
He hadn’t. She proved to be his perfect lover, he her perfect
mirror. She had never been with a man of such noble caring;
513
impassioned attention. Their former years of self-chosen
celibacy was part of the perfection--two middle aged people
starting over like teenagers in love, but equipped with real
memories that encouraged them to do it right this time. And so it
was.
"
In my past I had trouble being with men--I could never
find the right balance. They were either too macho or too weak.
Lucky was the perfect blend. He was quite masculine, but knew
how to surrender when appropriate. He was the man I had been
looking for, I had no doubt. In turn he admitted how selective he
was with women, and that with me he had finally found one he
truly desired. His innocent sincerity was refreshing--he wanted to
know what I wanted, how he could please me. I felt cherished,
desired and blessed all at the same time. Because of this I
decided to be the receptive women for the very first time; the
woman he forever dreamed of. We found our soft hearts to go
with our soft eyes, and realized the fulfillment of love in
surrender.
Proceeding down the trail we talked about how regal we felt in
the silks we were wearing, how beautiful or handsome our
partners looked, and of all the wonders we were experiencing.
We spoke of the change of weather, the flowers and tamed
animals, and Shambala. Was it really a place where people
could manifest whatever they desired, whenever they desired it?
How could people possibly live in harmony with such power, and
would we too be able to manifest whatever our heart’s desired?
We agreed that Tenzin did say we could do whatever he did, but
was what he did humanly possible? Our minds were still filled
with these questions as we stopped and looked around.
"
We had come to the end of the valley--a magnificent
waterfall drained through a central gap, several hundred yards
away. The park-like mountain oasis was alive with a multitude of
birds and animals, and after seeing tamed deer and bear we
weren’t overly surprised to see four massive Bengal tigers
passively sitting on their haunches in the middle of the grass
path. The beautiful gold and black stripped animals appeared as
514
contented as house cats, yet exuded the royal bearing of their
pride, without displaying indication of beastly manners.
"
“They’re so beautiful, and tame,” Jane remarked, not at
all afraid, since the tigers gave no indication of hostility. “Can we
pet them?”"
"
“Please, by all means,” Tenzin, who had been walking
behind us, answered. “These tigers originally came from India
and they guard the gateway to Shambala. As you can see, they
respond positively to people in love. Your night together was a
good thing, was it not? Human love, one for another, is more
important than anything, more than you can imagine. Now go
ahead. They like to be petted.”
"
“Last night was beyond wonderful and the breakfast this
morning was impossible . . . and all this . . . even the air smells
different. It almost seems like we walked into another dimension,
though the concept has always been an abstract, a forever
hoped-for fairy tale. What’s really going on?” Jimmy asked as
Jane and I began hugging the tigers.
"
Tenzin smiled. “Two things . . . you are either very hard
of hearing, or I have to keep repeating myself so you will finally
believe me. I am patient with you, and I also realize that seeing
is believing. So what is your real question?”
"
“Let’s see . . . OK . . . you’re right . . . I should get to the
point,” Jimmy fumbled to find the right words after what Tenzin
had just said. He didn’t wish to talk in redundancies or repeat a
list of unbelievable occurrences, so he quickly self-edited,
scratching things like food and tents and silk sheets or how the
servants appeared out of nowhere with chairs, off this mental list.
“Here’s the thing . . . no matter where we are, I probably won’t
stop being a detective . . . Taylor either. It’s sort of like a disease.
Detectives want to solve cases, and all this loving is great, don’t
get me wrong . . . I’m down with every bit of it . . . the tent last
night . . . my god. . . and the food this morning . . . I’m not going
to ask you where it all came from. I’m strutting down the avenue
here dressed like a Persian prince, or whatever, with my
beautiful honey baby in my arms . . .”
"
“Jimmy,” Jane interrupted. “Get to the point. Your honey
baby’s getting bored.”
515
"
“OK . . . here’s my question . . .”
"
“Let me talk,” I interrupted. “We’re supposedly on the
trail of an eighty year old man. This man is probably my real
father, whom I have never met, and would love to meet. I’m
ready. Jane’s mother could die at any time. Today would be a
good day for this reunion to take place.” Jane nodded her
affirmation. “We first started looking for a wanted murderer,
which we never believed was true in the first place and have
almost forgotten about. Now . . . it looks like we’ve come to a
dead end . . . a box canyon. I mean we don’t even know if we’re
on the right path . . . where are we?”
"
“We have seen no signs of them since we left Japan,”
Jane added. “You have been more than kind, your teachings
wonderful, but your answers have been vague. Jimmy, Taylor
and Lucky are detectives and I’m a scientist. We need invariable
proof we’re where we’re supposed to be.”
"
“Proof?” Tenzin questioned.
"
“I’m sorry,” Jane said, wanting to take back her
assumption regarding an assumption. “I didn’t mean to imply
you’re taking us on a wild goose chase.”
"
“You did imply that,” Tenzin answered with compassion.
“I have told you nothing but the truth. Why would I not? I told you
that once off the kora, we would soon be on the path to
Shambala. As you can plainly see, we are indeed on the path . . .
at the end of the path.”
"
“But . . . I guess this is the question we all really want to
ask . . . is it the same path the old folks are on?” Jimmy asked.
"
“The path is the path. There are many roads leading to
the one path. It makes no difference what the many roads are,
how they look or where they begin . . . everyone will eventually
end up on the one path. This is where you are.”
"
“Many roads. There is only one to choose. The way,”
Jimmy offered, taking out his notepad. Jane had encouraged him
to write down his haiku’s. It had been several days since he even
thought of a haiku. He scribbled it down.
"
“But I always thought that people end up on the . . .
whatever people call it,” Lucky spoke up, wanted to choose his
words carefully, so he paused. “We end up on the path to
516
heaven, we Indians call it the home of the great Wanka Tanka, or
to some mythical paradise when we die. Not before.” That said, a
devilish look came to his eyes. “But, I’ve got to admit, I died and
went to heaven last night.” He winked at me, I blushed. “Tell me
master teacher, are we dead?”
"
Tenzin chuckled. “I certainly hope not. Do you feel
dead?”
"
“I’ve never felt more alive in my life,” he answered. “More
alive than humanly possible . . . which makes me wonder. Look
at this.” He waved his arm at everything and then focused his
attention on me. “My god . . . have you ever seen a more
beautiful angel?”
"
Jimmy laughed, admitting to himself that I did look like
an angel, though that thought never crossed his mind in the four
months we worked together. “So, the other part of my
question . . . when we left the camp this morning you said
something like, ‘come on, they’re waiting for us.’ They’re waiting
for us? The old folks? Today? Is this true?”
"
“Yes,” Tenzin answered with a grin. “They are indeed
waiting for you. We can continue on now, if you would like.”
"
“They’re near?” Jane spoke with confused wonderment.
“Where? It looks like we’ve come to the end of the road.”
"
“This is what I was teaching you on the trail . . . to see
beyond the illusion. I told you that just because you do not see
what you are looking for or at, it does not mean it is not there.”
"
“Like the stereogram?” Jane concluded.
"
“Exactly. And I told you that there were other dimensions
of reality between you and me and between me and whatever is
behind me. Would you believe me if I told you that you were in
one of those dimensions?”
"
“Of course,” Jane answered.
"
“Which one?”
"
“I don’t know . . . whatever one we’re in.”
"
“Does it seem the same as the one you spent most of
your life in? I do not have to hear your answer. You Jane are not
the same woman I met in Portland, and you three are not the
same people I met in Mandalay.”
517
"
“So, we really are in another dimension of reality,” Jimmy
remarked.
"
“Does it matter? You have to let go of all that no longer
serves you. You are somewhere else indeed, and the rules have
changed. Yes, this is the portal to the portal to paradise, and yet
you are already there. Look around. Look into your beloved’s
eyes. Look at the birds and flowers and trees . . . the waterfall
and the blue sky . . . breathe in the fresh air, the perfect weather.
Does there have to be an explanation? In this place, at this
moment, does there have to be a puzzle to be solved? This is a
grand day. Be happy that we are here and now . . . as you have
seen, it will only get better. Come, we will continue.”
518
59
In plane sight-nobody saw the elephant.
Dancing.
At the end of the path we were greeted by a magnificent one
hundred-fifty foot waterfall, which plunged into a mist-shrouded
turquoise pool. The serene park setting included an ornate goldcrowned gazebo, set on a well-mowed lawn leading to a white
sandy beach. A golden Buddha sat composed as if floating in the
middle of the pool. Doves coo’d and peacocks searched for
worms--the sky a vibrant blue.
"
Lucky looked over at Tenzin, who nodded, having read
his mind. He and I wasted no time--we stripped naked and ran
down the beach and into the warm water pool. We swam until we
were lost in the fine mist spray, hidden from sight, and then
made love under a waterfall in paradise. With the possible
exception of the night before, neither of us was ever happier than
at that moment. When it seemed as if our coupling went on
forever, we swam back to shore, to large beach towels held as
shields, offered by our giggling waiting servants.
"
Jimmy and Jane wandered around. Even though they
heard and trusted Tenzin’s words, their curiosity had been
aroused. They decided to explore. Hand in hand they searched
for a hidden passage which was, of course, well hidden. They
finally realized they would never find it, that the lesson was to not
try, and they returned to the gazebo.
"
With everyone now gathered, Tenzin lead us up a gently
sloping trail to the right of the waterfall. We were soon stopped at
what appeared to be the end of the trail. There was no apparent
519
way through or around the thick cluster of green foliage. After
several quiet questioning moments Tenzin finally spoke. “What
do you see in front of you?”
"
“I see the end of the trail,” Lucky answered. “It looks like
we’ll need machetes to continue on. I imagine our little helpers
here can manifest machetes, right?”
"
“That will not be necessary. What do you see, Jane?”
Tenzin asked her, at the same time appreciating Lucky’s
innocent sense of humor. “You are the biologist.”
"
“I see some plants I can identify, many I can’t. It’s a thick
jungle . . . and Lucky’s right . . . it appears we’ll have to do some
heavy hacking in order to continue on.”
"
“Do you two agree?” he asked Jimmy and I. We nodded
yes.
"
“What you see in front of you are not real plants . . . it is
but a painting on a wall . . . another illusion you did not see.”
"
“No way,” I said, moving forward to touch it. “That’s not
real? It looks totally real to me.”
"
Tenzin walked past me and reached for what seemed
like a real wooden branch. As he pulled it toward himself, a door
opened, revealing a hidden cave. “You see? Not what you
thought.”
"
“Is what’s behind the door, it looks like a cave . . . is that
an illusion too?” Lucky asked.
"
“Actually there was no illusion, just a well-painted door
and now a real cave on the other side. I assure you, it will
become easier for you to see what is really there in the days to
come.” When the door was wide open, Tenzin waved us forward,
“Come. This is like a super deluxe car wash. A spiritual
cleansing. It will be good for you. You will see. Follow me.”
"
“What do you mean a spiritual cleansing?” Jane asked.
"
“We refer to this cave as an earth-based Bardo Canal,”
Tenzin said, as we stood in silence, mouths involuntarily opened
in disbelief. Before us was a huge crystal geode cavern,
something we would have never expected, and were now awed
by. “What you are seeing is a portal between the death of the old
and the birth of the new.
520
"
Without a moment’s hesitation we followed Tenzin into
the expansive tunnel, our eyes taking in the wonders in every
direction. With each step forward we were bathed in natural
crystal light, an unwavering brightness which illuminated the
entire cavern, affording each of us a full view of the inner
wonderland surrounding us. Millions of cluster points, clear in
multitudes of facets, intermixed with citrine, rose, amethyst,
smokey and milky, were all aimed directly at us. Within seconds
each of us were stunned into total aliveness. Beginning with our
hair, then skin, our insides and finally each and every cell of our
bodies came alive, infused by a divine light generated by the
intense radiating crystal force field. Although it was nearly too
much concentrated energy to endure while standing, and
walking, we continued on, electrified by the conductive power of
pure crystal energy. We experienced the unrelenting full-body
rush of unprecedented, indescribable energy infusion, which to
our delight was absolutely thrilling. Our attention glued to the
surroundings - there were no questions to ask--not one of us
could deny the sanctity of this true crystal cathedral, in which we
were now individually blessed. Although we wanted to stick
around and linger in crystal pleasure, Tenzin gestured for us to
move along, toward the light we were now seeing at the end of
the tunnel.

Maggie, Howard, Sopi and I, guided by Arjuna, had journeyed
through the exact same crystal tunnel less than an hour before. I
had no idea that we may have been in the tunnel at the same
time, if Taylor and Lucky hadn’t stopped for a swim. Regardless,
we were thoroughly enjoying our wait, even though wehad no
idea we were waiting.
"
The tunnel we had walked through exited into a huge
solid-rock, half-dome amphitheater. The landing was as wide and
as long as a football field. Our first extended view was of the tops
of distant mountains and the clear blue sky. After each of our
bodies settled from our crystal ecstasy, Arjuna led us to a
traditional Tibetan one-story pine wood building, which served as
521
the dressing room and communal toilets for the adjacent mineral
pool. Once inside, our two young servants led Howard and I to
the male side, where we were dressed in silk maharaja attire
similar, but of different colors and cuts, to what we would soon
find out, Jimmy and Lucky were wearing. The two girls led
Maggie and Sopi to the women’s side, and began fussing over
faces, applying fresh makeup and lipstick, brushing and
arranging their hair to perfection, before draping their shoulders
with a few layers of colorful, finely woven, Kashmir shawls. With
all appearances in order, approved by their men, Arjuna led us to
an iron rail, which afforded a spectacular overview of the
Shambala valley.
"
Maggie, Howard, Sopi, and even I was awed by the
incredible beauty before our eyes. Below us was a grand valley
expanse of green tropical landscape--rivers and lakes, forests
and farm fields, clusters of houses scattered here and there, and
a central village of emerald green-tiled temples, with spiraling red
cupolas decorated and capped in gold.
"
Arjuna finally spoke, pointing to the temples. “Your
apartment has been vacant, waiting for your return, Master. We
have refreshed everything, and I am sure you and Maggie will be
most satisfied. On the left side of the temple we have prepared
another apartment . . . for you Howard, and your beloved Sopi. It
has everything you will ever need. I have no doubt you will be
more than pleased.”
"
“How have you done all this? You’ve been with us,” Sopi
wondered.
"
“I have only been with you for short periods of your time,
if you remember . . .”
"
“But . . .”
"
“It does not matter,” Arjuna answered, again disarming
Sopi with his touch. “You will be taken down there after the
others have arrived.”
"
“The others?” Maggie questioned.
"
“They will be here shortly, and the story will find a
completion, for now. We will wait and relax. No more questions.
Enjoy the view.”
522

As we wandered out of the crystal tunnel and into the half-dome
arena, we were walking containers of bliss. The servants
manifested seats again, and Tenzin requested we sit and adjust
to the outside world. Like Arjuna before him, he led us, the
electrified travelers, through a series of breathing exercises, and
made sure we were grounded back into conversational reality,
before he would allow us to continue. We scanned the solid rock
above us, and the distant view of mountains sky, and were soon
impatient to see the place we were now more than convinced
really existed.
"
Jimmy, Lucky, Jane and I were half-conscious of another
group of people fifty yards away, but were more curious of the
valley we were about to see, than anything else. When we
reached the iron rail, both Jane and I gasped with delight, while
Jimmy and Lucky said in once voice, “Holy shit.” Everything we
ever imagined about a Shangri-La or Shambala was now right in
front of our eyes.
"
As we feasted on the view Tenzin interrupted, “Before
we get into the reasons why you thought you came here, I would
like to show you something. Do you see that lake over there?”
He pointed to a particular lake in the valley not so very far to the
left of a temple “On the far side of that lake, the grassy north
slope, there is a rather large cabin. Do you see it?” We all
nodded. “It belongs to you, Jimmy Meriweather, and to you, Jane
Vahn. The lake is filled with trout as you requested. The young
girl and young boy who came with us have been blessed to
serve you. They will always bring you whatever you need.
Jimmy, I do not have to tell you that this is your dream come
true. If you decide to stay, it is yours forever.”
"
“Everything I made up about a cabin on a lake in Bend I
see as I look down on this valley,” Jimmy responded. “I even
looks so much better than those dreams, and I have a real
woman to go with it.” Jane smiled and hugged her man.
"
“What about us?” I asked.
"
“We will see. You have a different dream. First you must
talk with your father, and then it will be clear what to do. Of
523
course, if you wish to stay here you will have your dream house,
with your dream man. That will not be a problem. There are no
problems at all.”
"
That confused me, but I did my best not to get caught up
in thinking while we pointed at the incredible Shambala beauty
below, our words filled with superlative exclamations. I told Lucky
a little about my dream, of how I flew over this very valley and
went through one of the roofs I pointed to below. Five minutes
had passed when our awe was interrupted by a sweet voice
behind us.
"
“Namaste.”
"
We all turned at once, and were surprised to be facing
the very same immortal master we had met on Mt. Kurama, in
Japan. He smiled. “Welcome to Shambala.” Arjuna stood in front
of four young people, all around my age. Jimmy and I were
immediately disappointed. We had no idea who these people
were, but they certainly weren’t the four old people we had come
halfway around the world to find.
"
Jane knew. Tears welled up in her eyes. She lowered
her head and began sobbing into the palms of her hands.
"
“What’s the matter, baby,” Jimmy asked in concern.
“Why are you crying? What did you see?”
"
“It’s them,” she mumbled into her cupped hands, barely
above a whisper.
"
“What?”
"
“It’s them,” she said louder as she raised her head and
looked directly at her mother in total disbelief. “Mother . . . it can’t
be . . .” Her words trailed off as Sopi approached her.
"
“It’s me, darling,” her thirty-one year old mother said as
she drew her fifty-five year old daughter into a loving embrace.
“I’m so glad you came.” Sopi’s eyes were filled with tears. She
was now more like her grown daughter’s daughter then her
daughter’s mother, and she knew it would take some getting
used to.
"
“How?” Jane was referring to her age, and she then
remembered Tenzin’s transformation. Sopi’s answer would be no
different than his.
524
"
“The how of all this doesn’t really matter, does it?” Sopi
sweetly answered. “Say hello to your new father.” Jane took the
hand of the good looking thirty-three year old Mississippi farmer
Howard Johnson, the co-worker she loved above all others. “Mr.
Reggie St. Clair,” Sopi said the unneeded introduction. “That
would make me Mrs. Sophia St. Clair. That’s the name on my
passport, though I don’t expect to use a passport again . . .
Howard and I are getting married, right here in Shambala . . .”
"
“Mother,” Jane interrupted as she hugged Howard, “You
look . . . wonderful. I’m so happy for you. You too . . . Reggie.”
"
Jane grabbed Jimmy’s hand and introduced him. He was
thoroughly distracted by the barrage of revelations and could
barely focus on pleasantries. Jimmy the detective had just been
thrown into a surreal juxtaposed reality soup, and he was doing
his best to keep his head appropriately adjusted. He felt the
jittery nervousness in Jane’s hand, her sweating palm, and had
no doubt she was going through the same rearranging. His mind
had to quickly accept the obviously impossible--they had found
the four old folks--all of whom were no longer old, and
apparently free of dementia, cancer, or any other debilitating
diseases. He was most distracted by Robert. The kind looking
man was the exact same young man he had said goodbye to
forty-five years before. Jimmy wondered if the young master,
aged into an old man, turned young master again, would
remember him. He tried to catch my eye, to no avail. If he could
imagine a human being pixelating and ready to splatter, that
would be exactly what he felt was happening to me at that
moment.
"
Robert and I were locked in a stare-down. Lucky stood
helplessly by my side, wanting to do or say something, but knew
this was a time to be a loving shadow. There were
resemblances. My mind wanted to disprove such thoughts, but I
could see them; familiar characteristics which were never there
with the General. I got my feminine beauty from my mother, and
my handsome strong boned bearing from the man in front of me,
though I was at least an inch taller than him. I couldn’t deny it,
any more than I could deny the river of tears now pouring from
my eyes.
525
"
This was my real father. Twenty-nine years with the
other father had great value, but at this moment I was
considering something of equal value, something very precious
and dear . . . and totally confusing. There was so much I needed
to know. This wasn’t the time for interrogation, but it had to
happen very soon.

I, Robert, had mentally dress-rehearsed for this moment a
hundred times, and now all the words escaped me. All I could do
was stare in the eyes of the beautiful young woman in front of
me, and silently rejoice in the grace of her knowing. She now
knew, and that in itself was my reward. Taylor andI hadn’t
spoken one word to each other, and would have continued
oursilence if it weren’t for Jimmy.
"
I had to acknowledge the distraction, and shifted my
eyes from Taylor to the now oldest man in the group, except for
Tenzin and Arjuna of course, who were both incomprehensibly
older. The black man looked so familiar. I had to scan through a
lifetime of travel and faces, meetings with thousand of different
men, to return to the obvious. There were no accidental
meetings, I always said such, but regardless, the presence of
this man took me completely by surprise. “Louie?” I looked
deeper. “You are Louie, aren’t you?”
"
Jimmy chuckled. He hadn’t referred to himself by that
nick-name since he left Harlem in 1967. Even though he didn’t
really need conclusive proof, he had just received it, since
nobody, except this one man, would know him as Louie. “Jimmy
Meriweather,” he answered. “‘Louie’ was my musical hero back
then . . . Louis Armstrong. You look good. Haven’t change a bit.”
Jimmy and I shared a grin, which broke a bit of the ice. Taylor
apparently knew Jimmy’s ‘meeting the guru’ story and was happy
with this exchange. The Indian looked totally lost.
"
“I’m sorry,” Lucky interrupted, only because he couldn’t
help himself. “I am Lucky Two Crows. You may call me Lucky.”
He reached out and shook my hand. “This is all very . . . I don’t
know how to say it.” He paused and looked at Taylor. “You two
526
know each other? This is quite confusing. I can see the family
resemblance. Are you brother and sister?”
"
“Oh Lucky,” Taylor finally broke her shocked silence. “I’m
sorry. This is my . . .” She couldn’t quite get herself to say the
word. “This is Robert St. Clair. The man we have been looking
for. Please . . .” She looked at the beautiful woman at Robert’s
side. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to ignore you. I’m Taylor. This is
Lucky and Jimmie. I think you know Jane. You must be Maggie. ”
"
“I am. So good to meet you Taylor. And Jimmy. And
Lucky. And Jane.” She took time to look them over. “This is all so
confusing.” She then looked at the handsome sixty-five year old
Tibetan man with the long white hair, like Roberts, “Who are
you?”
527
60
Familiar stories for the first time
told.
After hearing Maggie’s question, Robert’s attention went to
Tenzin. He had been so distracted by my presence, he hadn’t
noticed the man who stood behind me Now he did. His jaw
dropped. “Teacher? It is you . . . but you haven’t aged . . . you
look exactly as you did when I last saw you . . .”
"
“It is the same with you. Isn’t it funny . . . all this time . . .
all the importance to all this time and all the many events and
here we are, as if no time has passed.” Tenzin looked over at
Jane and gave her a wink. “Did you miss me?” I giggled.
"
“What?” Robert asked, seeing the smirks on Jimmy and
Jane’s faces. “What are you laughing about?”
"
“Remember the young Tibetan student I hired to drive
you around?” Jane asked.
"
“No?”Well . . . I had thoughts about you when he was,
you were, aging in Japan, but . . . No?” Robert stared at Tenzin.
“You were that boy? How?”
"
“And you were that old man. How did you get so young?”
"
“You waited for them in Mandalay?” Robert ignored
Tenzin’s remark, not quite connecting his serious teacher with a
sense of humor. “How did you know they would stop there?”
"
“How is anything known?’
Arjuna clapped his hands. “When you first met me I had very
long hair. I made it short to get a job as an airplane pilot.” His
long hair was instantly short again, and he modeled it from
528
different directions. “Quite handsome, no? Then today I woke up
with long hair.” It went back to being waist-length, then short,
then long again. “Which hair style do you like better? Arjuna with
long hair or Arjuna with short hair?” That got everyone’s
attention, and giggles all around.
"
“Arjuna and I know this is all quite unorthodox and that
you all have many questions,” Tenzin spoke the obvious. “You
want to know how all of this possible?”
"
“Steroids,” Arjuna answered.
"
“He is only joking.” Tenzin looked at Jimmy and I. “It is
quite clear that these young people you are seeing are the old
people you have been seeking. We have told you that the rules
change when you enter into the magical and mystical realms,
into dimensions higher than your usual third. Manifestation of
desires happens more rapidly, often instantly. All eight of you
have experienced dreams coming true. When you align in love,
every one of us is very powerful at manifesting. Make no
mistake . . . your love has brought you here.” With a silent nod of
Tenzin’s head, the young servants produced eight chairs, and
arranged them so that one group would be facing the other.
“Please, allow me to seat you, so we can come to an
understanding.” He placed Maggie across from Lucky, Robert
across from me, Sopi across from Jane, and Howard across
from Jimmy.
"
Arjuna then took over. “This reunion has everything to do
with Robert and Taylor. Robert was the tulku, Chogya Da
Rimpoche, who left this wonderful world in search of his family,
and his beloved. So you will not be more confused, Jimmy, Jane,
Lucky and Taylor . . . in the Hindu folklore Robert was once
Krishna and Maggie was his true love Radha. Krishna willed
himself to die, and it then took him countless lifetimes to find his
beloved, and now he is here with Maggie. It is a remarkable love
story, do you not agree?” Everyone nodded.
"
Arjuna paused and looked at Jimmy, who was still trying
to piece together how this immortal master they encountered in
Japan could possibly have orchestrated everything, and how his
personal life was connected to all these people. “It is really quite
simple Jimmy, and complex at the same time,” he said, reading
529
the detective’s mind. “Many lives lead to this one . . . it is a
tapestry with many stitches.”
"
“Who is doing the stitching? That’s what I want to know.
And for what reason? You’re right, it is complex . . . and it’s been
my job to solve complex mysteries. But why were we kept
guessing? Tenzin could have told us the whole story before we
left Portland.”
"
“A story and the experience are very different things. The
revealing process creates the story . . . step by step. Do you not
agree?” Jimmy nodded and Arjuna continued, “The eight of you
form a mandala, a beautifully designed family--everyone is of
great importance. But the most compelling importance right
now . . . is the conversation between Robert and Taylor. You
have may questions Taylor, so we will continue with you. Please,
say what you feel, and then the truth will be revealed.”
"
I looked at Lucky for a long moment, then to Jane and
Jimmy for reassurance. I hadn’t realized until that moment just
how close we had become during our trek. The man I could
hardly tolerate for four months was now dear to my heart, and
Jane had become my best female friend. It took less than a
week, but I knew that Lucky was the man I would spend the rest
of my life with. Waking in his arms this morning, I imagined
traveling the world with him--there would be no white picket
fences in Seattle or Portland for either one of us. I then looked
across at Robert. He was my biological father, that was too
obvious to deny, and right now I was more curious than anything.
I wanted to know how that happened, so I asked the first
question on my mind, “Tell me about you and my mother. What
happened?”
"
Robert was grateful this conversation was happening
without delay. No longer needing his sunglasses, he made eye
contact with Jimmy, Jane and Lucky before focusing on me.
“Bear with me . . . I have to preface the story before I begin
talking about your mother. I told this story for the first time before
we left Portland . . . after Howard and Maggie were cured of
dementia.”
"
“How were they cured?” I asked. “Dementia is
incurable.”
530
"
“That’s beside the point. Look down there . . . I grew up
in this valley . . . studied here until I went to New York when I
was thirty-five. Jimmy knows all about my leaving that life, since
he helped me.”
"
All eyes went to Jimmy, who again realized he was an
intricate part of the plot. “He’s right,” Jimmy broken in. “Back then
he was the same fit man you see before you . . . looked exactly
the same.”
"
Robert paused to make sure everyone was again
focused on him and his story. “I was thirty-five and had never
been with a woman. Think of Lucky here . . . what are you,
around that age?” Lucky nodded. “Can you imagine Lucky still
being a virgin?”
"
“I took care of that a couple days ago,” I answered with a
wink, squeezing my lover’s hand. Lucky laughed. O couldn’t
fathom Lucky as a virgin and was grateful for past affairs that
honed his skills. Since talk about sex relaxed me, I appreciated
Robert’s candid approach. “How did you meet Jimmy? This is
pretty unbelievable, you know.”
"
“It was 1967. I went to New York City that year, my first
time in America since I was five years old--doing the guru tour, I
guess you’d say. I wanted to run away from that life, Jimmy
wanted to leave New York, so we took off and traveled together
to Portland.” Robert stopped and looked at Jimmy, picking out
the spirit of the eighteen year old boy in the sixty-four year old
man.
"
“I regret we didn’t remain in contact,” Jimmy said with a
loving smile.
"
“Me, too . . . I found my family and got into the grocery
business. I worked hard, and fifteen years later I was running a
billion dollar business, and I was still a virgin. A handsome fifty
year old multi-millionaire . . . virgin. Are you getting the picture?”
"
Everyone nodded that we got it. I imagined how
distinguished he would have been at fifty. “You’re a very
handsome man. I don’t understand the long hair, except you are
how you looked in 1967. Why weren’t you ever with a woman?”
"
“About the hair--I always kept it long, even at eighty. And
no, I was never in a long term relationship.”
531
"
“Why?”
"
“I was searching for my beloved,” Robert took Maggie’s
hand and smiled at her. “And, I traveled the world and was too
busy running this huge company to play romance games. The
years went by, and I guess it wasn’t in the cards until now.”
"
“None of your women employees were of interest to
you?” Lucky asked. “Sexually speaking.”
"
“Well, yes . . . but I refused to be entangled that way with
an employee. That’s dangerous for the owner of any company,
especially one with the reputation of Shambala Foods.”
"
“Was my mother a Shambala employee?” I asked,
recalling our investigation, and anxious for the answer to my first
question.
"
“No.”
"
“So what happened? How did you meet her?”
"
“She was my massage therapist. She was young,
beautiful and sexy . . . she flirted with me and even though part
of me wanted to tell her to remain professional, I was flattered,
and . . . well, it was exciting. She wasn’t put off by my age, and
as the weeks went on I became intoxicated by her sexual energy
and beauty. I couldn’t help myself . . . I was already making love
with her in my mind.” Robert studied me for some seconds, to
make sure I wasn’t put off by his honesty.
"
“Go on.”
"
“I didn’t act on my desires. She made the move. By this
time I was comfortable with her . . . I liked her. Everything
happens in perfect order . . . Ronnie was the right person, in the
right place at the right time. When she finally crossed the
massage therapist line--tenderly touched and kissed me, my
whole body shook. I knew I had no choice.”
"
Maggie laughed. She had heard the story, but not in this
much detail. She couldn’t help but comment, “You did it right
there on the massage table?”
"
I chuckled. It was exactly what I was thinking, and could
now see I would like Maggie.
"
“No. Remember . . . she was coming to my house.
Ronnie knew we could never date, or have a serious
relationship . . . but we shared the same overwhelming desire to
532
be together. So I arranged for her to move the massage into my
bedroom.”
"
“A one night stand? You had a one night stand with my
mother?”
"
“She wasn’t your mother then, and no . . . we became
short term lovers, and met a few times a week for almost a
month.”
"
“Really? That long?” The detective in me loved getting
the dirt on someone, even if it was about my mother thirty years
ago. “So then what happened?”
"
“At the end of the month she met another man.
Someone closer to her own age. A young Army officer she could
have an actual life with.”
"
“My father. Did you know she was pregnant?”
"
“You’re getting ahead of the story . . . They only knew
each other for about a month, had a shot-gun wedding and left
Portland. She called before the wedding and told me that she
was a month pregnant with my child; it couldn’t possibly be his.
After that she wrote occasional letters . . . with progress reports.
I’m not sure your father . . . the general . . . ever did the math, or
considered it could be any other man’s child. Eight months later I
received a letter from her, telling me that she had given birth to a
baby girl named Taylor.”
"
“And . . . that was it?”
"
“Not, hardly,” Robert softly answered.
"
“What do you mean, not hardly?”
"
“I’m a responsible man. I set up a money market account
for your mother in a Portland bank, and kept it well stocked.”
"
“Like a trust fund? I was a trust fund baby? Did my father
know?”
"
“I’m absolutely sure he didn’t.”
"
“Does he or did he ever know about you . . . us?”
"
“No. It really wasn’t in your mother’s best interest to tell
him the story. She wanted him to remain proud of his only
daughter . . . and not know what her so-called family trust fund
was really all about. Do you see that?”
533
"
“I guess. So you were putting money in her account
every month? How much?” I had been attempting to stay neutral,
but the continuing information was beginning to stir emotions.
"
“A significant amount. More than enough for you to
attend the best schools and be well fed and dressed.”
"
“Well, that didn’t happen. More like she was well dressed
and wore expensive jewelry and ignored the little girl. I suppose
not being pampered made me tough, and I couldn’t wait to
graduate from high school and leave home. When did you stop
sending money?”
"
“You want to know the truth?”
"
“Of course. When?”
"
“I didn’t until you graduated from the police academy.”
"
“What? You sent money to my mother until I was twentynine years old?”
"
“After that the money no longer went to her. There’s an
attorney involved, and her name is no longer attached to your
account. You became my beneficiary once you joined the
Portland Police Department,” he answered to her continued
surprise.
"
“What! LIke a heiress? You can’t be serious?” I stopped
to think about it, and couldn’t. “I don’t want to go there right now.
It’s too much.” I closed my eyes for a few seconds, composing
myself. “Did you pay for my college education?
"
“I did.”
"
“The police academy?”
"
“That, too.”
"
“What else? Did you pay off the police chief?”
"
“I did.”
"
“You what? Why?” I was in shock, but working hard to
keep it together. I looked over at Jimmy and back to Robert. “You
can’t be serious. You actually paid the Chief of Police to hire me
as a detective and then have him order Jimmy to treat me like
shit? Those were terrible months. Why would you do such a
thing?”
"
“It wasn’t intentional. No one was ordered to treat you
badly. I thought I’d be ready within a month and I didn’t want you
534
wrapped up in a serious case and not be available. I simply
wasn’t ready.”
"
“You weren’t ready? I’m showing up to work every day,
the shunned General’s daughter, and now I’m finding out the
rumors were totally bogus . . . the chief who you paid off gives
me crap cases if any, and you weren’t ready. Ready for what?”
"
“Shambala.”
"
“You planned all of this?” I was almost whimpering.
"
“After I retired from Shambala Foods, I did . . . Yes, you
were part of the plan, of course. You were my only child, and it
made sense that you should know . . . that we should know each
other. I also knew that me arranging a meeting with you in
Portland just wouldn’t work. I needed to come up with something
that would, something profound.”
"
“What you did was an understatement on profundity.
Maybe you could have sent some flowers and a greeting
card . . . when I was twelve. Talk about procrastinating, not
meaning to insult your intelligence.”"
"
“It never was the right time until it was, trust me,” he
softly replied. “You may have heard about my stroke. I was in a
coma for a month. Jane will tell you. I was pretty far gone . . .
people were crying over my not yet dead body. As soon as I
came out of the coma I knew, without a doubt, that it was the
right time, the time to return to Shambala.”
"
“Exactly how long ago are we talking about?” I
questioned.
"
“It was less then two months ago . . . I was lying on my
death bed. You would never have known me, another old man
passing on. I have no idea how long we’ve been traveling. Two
weeks? Six weeks before you took the case I was basically
dead. It took quite a bit of focused energy to heal my dying
eighty year old body. While regaining my strength, after I left the
hospital and then moved into Happy Acres, I did a lot of planning,
and since no doctor would support my trip halfway around the
world, I had to be covert.”
"
“Covert. Another understatement,” I said with more
detective respect than anything.
535
"
“It was the only way I could pull it off. I didn’t tell Howard,
Sopi and Maggie until a week before we left. I had to heal myself
before I could heal them, and I couldn’t go on the trip until I was
sure they were healthy and free of dementia. Thankfully they
healed and agreed to come with me. So It really boiled down to
one week of intense planning. During that last week I had to
orchestrate everything with precision. I called the Chief, and he
made sure you took the case. As far as I knew, Taylor’s captain
was just along for the ride.”
"
“You got that right,” Jimmy responded. “Oh what a ride.”
"
“This is totally unbelievable,” I said, still confused
between the brilliance and deception. I was more than impressed
with how cleaver Robert’s master-mining was. Nevertheless I
needed to keep pushing for the truth. “So you set this whole
thing up.” I paused, feeling the need to be more dramatic. “You
frickin’ set the whole thing up. I can’t believe it.” When he
shrugged his shoulders I became curious as to how he pulled it
off. “How did you get Jane involved?”
"
Robert looked over at Jane. “I left quite a few clues . . .
not using you to book my flight, bringing your dying mother and
Howard with his dementia without telling you, leaving my heart
pills on the counter . . . I’m surprised you didn’t call the police. I
had no doubt that Jimmy and Taylor, being detectives, would go
to the house and meet you. And knowing you as well as I do, I
was sure you would join them in the search.”
"
“How did you know we would follow you to Japan in the
smaller jet?” Jimmy asked.
"
“The smaller Gulfstream was ready and available . . . but
only with Jane’s approval,” Robert stopped to smile, satisfied
with his accomplishment.
"
“And you knew I would use it to follow you,” Jane
interrupted.
"
“Putting you in charge of the airplanes and giving you a
substantial travel fund was part of my long con, so to speak.”
"
“You’ve actually been planning this for years,” Jane
asked, wide-eyed and like me--who sat back taking it all in-surprised and in a state of awe, respect and disbelief.
536
"
“I have always worked with long term strategy. I built a
multi-billion dollar business around my ability to plan for, and
sometimes orchestrate, the future. Yes, you were part of the
plan, Jane. Of course . . . I wanted you to be here, too.”
"
“Wow. I don’t normally thank someone for using me,”
Jane said.
"
“More like utilizing your brilliant logical mind in order to
get you and Taylor here, though it fascinates me how it all turned
out.”
"
“Yes, fascinating is putting it mildly . . . but how so?”
"
“It didn’t matter to me if you went to Japan or not, but
you did since Kansai Airport is always our first Asia business
refueling stop, and you know I’m part owner of the Mt. Kurama
hotel . . . and would have stayed there. A good detective would
imagine it as a place to gather clues. More importantly, you had
our itinerary to Kathmandu. You were a week behind and could
have argued going straight there. You would have figured out
that the Shambala airplane captains communicate with one
another, found out where we stayed, which would have led you
to the Beechcraft Baron and so on. You probably would have
bought another small plane, hired a pilot and followed us to Mt.
Kailash. Somehow I knew you’d stay on our trail and find us
here.”
"
Jimmy felt like Watson in the presence of Sherlock
Holmes, listening to the master as the particulars were being
revealed. “Now I understand why the Chief had no problem
letting us chase a few dementia patients halfway around the
world . . . though his letting Taylor come with me never made
sense . . .”
"
“OK . . . so somehow this all magically worked out.” I
interrupted, still looking at Robert and actually loving how all the
drama was unfolding. “And you did all this because . . ?”
"
“I wanted you to meet me in Shambala, of course.”
"
“Buy me a ticket! Why all the drama?”
"
“There is no ticket to buy. You know that by now. Just
think about it. If some eighty year old man showed up claiming to
be your biological father and said he wanted to take you to
Shambala, you would have thought he was a nut case. Anyway,
537
you were just beginning your career and wouldn’t have gone no
matter what. True?”
"
I thought about it for a few seconds. “No doubt. Arjuna
here certainly buffered the eighty year old lost father shock. I still
can’t believe you set this whole thing up. Were Tenzin and Arjuna
on your payroll?”
"
“No. They don’t need money. Regardless, they were on
their own.”
"
“But how . . .” She paused to filter through his no answer.
“So . . . you lured me here, we’ve met . . . the valley is
beautiful . . . but you must have other reasons. There’s more to
the con, isn’t there?”
"
“I’m getting to it,” Robert answered with a grin. “Before
my coma the police chief would pass on information about you.
He told me you were restless and wanted a murder to solve, that
you wanted to be transferred to homicide and given a new
partner; that you didn’t like working with Jimmy. So yes, while at
Happy Acres I planned a detective mystery for you to solve. A
double homicide. It was a good one, you have to admit.”
"
I stared at Robert with amazement. “You made it easy
for Brad Davis to find out about Howard allegedly murdering his
step-father in 1952, and somehow convinced Mildred Rice that
Howard murdered Betty Wilson. Unbelievable. We were totally
fooled. With Jane involved we had the chase car, so to speak.
The hotel in Japan made sense . . .” I looked over at Arjuna,
standing next to Tenzin listening to the conversation. “You said
they were on their own, but you must have known Arjuna would
be waiting for us on Mt. Kurama? He’s the one who gave us the
biggest clue . . . that we were looking for Jane’s protector,
Jimmy’s guru and most unbelievable, my father. And you’re
saying you didn’t coach him?”
"
“Immortal masters don’t need coaching,” Robert
answered with a laugh. “The most mysterious part of the whole
mystery is these two men. There were never part of my plans.
With all my planning, I was the one who ended up being
humbled . . . thoroughly humbled.”
538
"
Jimmy, Jane, Lucky and I gave each other confused
looks. How could this brilliant mastermind be humbled? We were
anxious to hear more, our minds filled with more questions.
"
“We kept trying to figure Tenzin out,” Jane offered. “I’m
the one who first hired the twenty year old student and we
watched him grow old in front of us . . . I know you didn’t know
that he was your teacher from Shambala . . . so yes . . . you
were fooled. Along the way, did you say something or give him
some sort of clue . . . I mean . . . how did he know we’d be
landing in Mandalay? And why did he take us around Khawa
Karpo when you were a thousand miles away?”
"
“Although I know that all paths lead to paradise,
honestly, it baffles me how Tenzin knew the Khawa Karpo route
would bring you here.” Robert thought about it for a moment.
“Tenzin was supposed to just drop us off at the airplane hanger
in Portland, but insisted on coming . . . said I would need him.
Somehow he masked himself and prevented my mind from
equating him with my Shambala teacher Tenzin, who I imagined
had passed on. He pulled one over on both of us . . .” Robert
stopped and once again looked over at his esteemed teacher
and smiled. “Ironically, it was a high level of poetic justice. In
Japan he took us to meet the immortal master, who called me
‘young master.’ Like Tenzin, he was also masked.
Later I
remembered him from when I was ten years old. He hadn’t aged.
All this time I was confused, and fooled. From Japan we planned
to fly to Calcutta and then to Kathmandu. We had no intention of
landing in Mandalay.” Robert paused again and shook his head.
“I have no idea how Tenzin got all those cows on the Calcutta
runway, so the plane had to turn around and land in Mandalay. It
turned out to be perfect . . . for all of us. While in Burma Howard
and I were able to arrange a complete economic transformation
of the Shan State. I should have planned that in the first place,
but I hadn’t. I was actually quite upset that Tenzin decided to stay
in Mandalay. It made no sense to me. He didn’t have any money,
or a ticket. As far as I knew he was stuck there . . . since,
knowing our Shambala Food flight routes, I imagined your plane
would land in Osaka, Hong Kong and Calcutta, but not in
Mandalay. I still have no idea how Tenzin knew your plane would
539
land there and that the path around Khawa Karpo would lead
you here.”
"
“I believe you, but I’m still confused about Arjuna.” I
paused. “When you met him on Mt. Kurama, you say you didn’t
recognize him. So there was no way you would have told him
that in case we showed up, to plant the seed about the protector,
guru and father?”
"
Robert laughed. “No way whatsoever. He only spoke a
few words and then disappeared. We were all blinded to his
omniscience. In Kathmandu I bought a small Beechcraft and
Arjuna showed up as the pilot who, like Tenzin, had masked
himself. Later, while flying though the Himalayas, because of my
arrogance and not recognizing him as the same Mt. Kurama
immortal master, I nearly got all of us killed.”
"
“This is what you meant by being humbled?”
"
“I had been attached to my power, my cleverness, my
control, and during this trip he stripped me of all that. I had to let
go--surrender.”
"
“That’s what Jimmy was teaching me before we left
Portland. Surrender. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t surrendered..”
"
“I guess we’re just two people letting go of what no
longer serves. Arjuna reminded me how far from true mastery I
really was. I’m certainly not omniscient. Omniscience is beyond
even my comprehension, Taylor. His story about me being
Krishna and Maggie being Radha is as mind blowing as
everything else.”
"
“I’m ready for that story,” Jimmy said, “but I’m still
confused about how you thought we’d find you in Kathmandu.”
"
“Buying a small airplane in Nepal wasn’t in the plan. I
had this crazy idea about taking a caravan out of Kathmandu or
maybe even Lhasa, while leaving clues for you to follow along
the way. Don’t you see . . . once we left our orderly Portland lives
almost everything that happened from then on was unordinary,
or extraordinary . . . out of our control . . . because of Tenzin and
Arjuna. I didn’t know they would show up to help us.”
"
“OK . . .” I took a deep breath. “I can’t imagine what
would have happened if Tenzin wasn’t there to meet us in
Mandalay, but I guess it doesn’t matter. Krishna? This is so
540
bizarre. If I wasn’t here I wouldn’t believe any of what you just
said . . . in a million years.”
"
“See what I mean?” Robert answered with a half smile.
"
“So Lucky’s not on your payroll?” I asked and Lucky
laughed, he thinking that it would have been a great idea.
"
“There’s laws of love that have nothing to do with
anyone else. I would never interfere with the callings of ones’
heart. I’m happy you met Lucky. You two look good together. Like
I said, it’s all been pretty much out of my control since the first
night on Mt. Kurama . . . except for buying off a warlord in Burma
and paying for airplanes and hotels.”
"
“A warlord?” I asked as I smiled at Lucky, relieved that
Robert was easy to talk to; an honest man. “I’m sure there’s
more to this than a true confession? You didn’t bring me here so
we could all live happily ever after, did you?”
541
61
The end
is the beginning
unrehearsed.
Shambala:
Our conversation was interrupted by young servants carrying a
long table which was placed between us, then draped with a
white cloth. Cups and saucers were set on the table in front of
the eight travelers, and the white-clad servers began pouring tea.
An assortment of pastries were brought on silver platters; all
done with precise orchestration. Arjuna and Tenzin sat at the
ends of the table. “This is good, is it not?” Tenzin spoke. “Please,
take some tea . . . it will be good for you . . . and the pastries . . .
there are none better anywhere. Oh, and the water. It is the best
water in the world. You must drink the water.”
"
After we each enjoyed the tea, pastries and water,
Robert began where they had left off. “You’re right, Taylor, there
is a lot more to this story and no . . . I don’t expect you to live
with me here in Shambala happily ever after. Maggie is my
happily ever after . . . but you’re more than welcomed to stay a
few days . . . you and Lucky. And there will always be a home for
you in Shambala.”
"
“Thank you. So why are we here?”
"
“You want to know why you’re here?” He answered with
exaggerated questioning. “Do you now understand how
important it is for you to stand at that rail and look into the valley,
and know it’s here? You had to see it to believe it.”
542
"
“I got it . . .” I answered in resignation. “A postcard or
email from Tibet from some dude claiming to be my thirty-five
year old father wouldn’t have worked. Still . . . there are some
gaping holes . . . this isn’t the end of the story, is it?”
"
“Actually, it’s just the beginning. Down below is my
home. Maggie, Howard, Sopi’s home. Jimmy and Jane are also
invited to make it their home. You and Lucky can come down and
I will show you where I came from . . . or you can turn back when
this story is complete. One way or the other you will finally know
the whole story, and . . . you’ve got to admit, its been a fabulous
paid vacation.”
"
“That’s true . . . so, once you go down there, you’re
never going back to Oregon?”
"
“I see no reason to ever return to the United States. It’s
different for you. You’re still young and there’s a substantial
fortune awaiting for you in that world.”
"
“You weren’t serious about the heiress thing, were you?”
"
“Absolutely. The transfer is complete,” Robert said with a
grin.
"
“The transfer? What are we talking about?”
"
“Nine billion dollars and one hundred percent ownership
of Shambala Natural Foods,” Robert answered as a matter of
fact, as if giving someone nine billion dollars and the largest
natural foods company on the planet was the easiest thing in the
world to do.
"
I was speechless. I didn’t know what to do next.
Scream? Hug him? Cry? Or, go hide somewhere until the dream
that I was dreaming ended. “Nine billion dollars?” I finally blurted
out. “Did you just say nine billion dollars?”
"
“I did.”
"
“Jimmy was right. Our minds don’t figure that much
money. You’re just going to give me all that money and your
company? Me? What’s the catch?”
"
“There’s no catch.” He shrugged his shoulders and
smiled. “Once you return to Portland Jennifer will introduce you
to your attorneys, who will explain your investment portfolio.”
Robert reached into his small pack and pulled out a debit card
with my name on it. “With this card you have a nearly unlimited
543
line of cash to draw upon. You are a very wealthy woman
Taylor . . . as we speak.”
"
“But why . . ? Why me? I don’t get it. Why give me the
company?” "
“Since I retired from Shambala Foods I have
devoted my time to a very ambitious philanthropic project, one
which will bring agricultural stability to the entire world . . . ”
"
“The entire world?” Lucky interrupted before Robert
could continue saying what he was going to say. I’m glad he was
interrupted since I wasn’t really ready to hear the answer to my
question. My mind was attempting to compare nine billion dollars
to my fifty-thousand a year income. Money, deserving, disbelief
thoughts volleyed back and forth like ping-pong balls. I loved my
active life, and having a police career suited my personality.
Ownership of Shambala Natural Foods? That sounded like work,
and a tremendous responsibility. What if I don’t want that life?
"
“Yes, the entire world,” Robert answered in a kind yet
strong voice. “Are you alright, Taylor? I know this is a lot of new
information to accept, but please . . . allow me to explain.” I
nodded for him to continue, forcing myself to pay attention.
"
“By building the largest natural food company in the
world, I set the stage to feed it. We’re living in a global garden,
and yet right now, today, there are one billion underfed people in
the world. One thousand six-hundred children die every day due
to malnutrition and starvation. Imagine all those children in one
auditorium . . . how would the people of the world react to that
many deaths? I have built a company based on the principles of
love, which I learned while living right here in Shambala. I have
guided Shambala Foods into the position of permanently ending
hunger on the entire planet.”
"
“And . . . you are asking me to continue what you have
started?” I asked. “For me to be responsible for ending world
hunger?” It was almost too incredible for me to fathom.
"
“That would be up to you.”
"
“Why would you even consider giving me nine billion
dollars when you could take that money right now and feed the
billion people?”
"
“Allow me to answer that this way . . . for you or I to live
a comfortable life is really not that expensive. Most wealthy
544
people play monopoly with their money. They get lost in the
game of accumulating.”
"
“You mean, those with the most toys win philosophy?” I
said.
"
“Yes. But that’s not who you are, Taylor. You’re not
interested in living a comfortable life . . . tanning on a yacht in the
Mediterranean. You’re a humanitarian, like me. To answer your
question, it’s not an easy solution--you just can’t write a big
check to end crime or end hunger. As a behavior scientist and
detective you know that taking the gun away from a criminal
doesn’t solve the problem. I could buy up all the rice in the world
and hand it out, solving the immediate problem . . . and two
weeks later what would I do? Maybe I could spend all my money
and feed the world for a year. But what about next year? No . . .
we have to solve the local water problems, generate natural
energy and teach people how to farm. Villages, towns and even
large cities need to support and expand sustainable agriculture,
and provide free food to anyone who can’t afford to buy it.”
"
“Now I understand. Thank you,” Jane offered. “I lived
with you for four years. You’re a very generous man, but you
hardly spent any money. Shambala Foods built large production
farms and perfected organic farming while you just let your
personal fortune accumulate. I always wondered about that. And
now you want to use your fortune to solve the problem . . .
maybe one village at a time.”
"
“That’s right, Jane. I have a master plan. It has taken
years to build processing plants and mega-farms all over the
world. I’ve had to negotiate with conventional factory farms and
governments with their myriad of regulations, and play politics
with all the local powers that be. I was a pioneer in this industry
when large scale organic farming was a hard sell. But with the
help of people like Howard, and you Jane, we have huge
production farms and our products are now in almost every store
in the world. I’ve set the global stage, instructed the actors-farmers and governments--and its now time for the real show to
begin. We need to end world hunger now. I am totally committed
to creating a better world to live in . . . for every man, woman
and child.”
545
"
“Then I don’t understand why you’re getting out of the
business . . . and why, of all people, you would want to hand it
over to me.” I said, wishing I could have known this brilliant man
before, feeling my kinship with him growing.
"
“There are three families I consider. The world macro
family, which includes the Shambala Foods family . . . and my
micro personal family. The macro effects the micro, and viceversa. I was initially motivated by the love of my micro family. I
left this valley to find and be with my parents. After they died
Howard became my brother. Then Sopi, my sister. I created
tribes, or small families, within the Shambala business structure,
but only a few of my employees, like you Jane and Jennifer,
were like my children. I’ve held a hidden love for Maggie for thirty
years. I brought you in Jane to live with me as family. You know
that. The St. Clair family has a tradition that has continued on for
hundreds of years. The family business and fortune has always
been handed down generation to generation, sons taking over
from the father, or using the fortune to begin a new venture. One
way or the other my family has been involved in farming, and the
selling and shipping of goods and produce for over two hundred
years. Those years of family heritage were about to stop with
me, until you came along Taylor. I think there is a much greater
plan taking place, and like I’ve always said, there are no
mistakes. I was the last St. Clair, and now you are the last St.
Clair. It is only right that I pass on what is mine . . . ours . . . the
legacy of the St. Clair family, to the flesh of my blood.”
"
A long silence followed, during which Robert and I
locked eyes. I was moved by what he had just said, and since
there was now no doubt concerning our biological connection, it
made perfect sense. And it was entirely unexpected. I left
Portland in search of Howard and then, after meeting the
immortal master Arjuna in Japan, I wanted to meet the man who
allegedly sired me. And now I was in front a man glowing in
vibrant health, my thirty-five year old father, who had just handed
me nine billion dollars and his company. It was a lot to sort
through. “I still don’t understand . . . now that you’re young again,
why wouldn’t you want to be out there in the world making this
happen? You could show up as Robert’s long lost son, exactly
546
what you’re proposing I do. I’m not an organic farmer or a
business leader. I’m not sure I’m even a detective anymore. I
sort of like the idea of traveling with Lucky. What if I decide to
stay here and not run the company? Are you sure you’re making
the right decision?”
"
“One hundred percent sure,” Robert answered with a
convincing smile. “Please, don’t underestimate yourself. You’re a
uniquely qualified business leader. My success in running a
Fortune 500 company has to do with how I relate to people--and
I didn’t even have to meet most of them. You have a Masters
degree in Behavioral Science and are quite adept at analyzing
people and evaluating their motives. As a detective you possess
the ability to solve problems; to make sure all is just and fair in
the world. As far as I’m concerned you have the perfect resume
to own and oversee Shambala Foods, and spearhead our
hunger project. You received only half my fortune. The other nine
billion is in a philanthropic trust, with a board of directors
overseeing allocation. If you were to decide to stay here, or not
meet with my attorneys, your nine billion will sit in an account
gaining interest, and after two years one billion a year will be
released into the working philanthropic trust fund. But all that
lacks energy and spirit. Putting the strong, feisty and beautiful
daughter of Robert St. Clair at the helm would be the best thing
that could happen to the world hunger project. From the day you
were born I’ve thought about this and today, being with you,
offering you my fortune and legacy, is one of my greatest dreams
come true.”
"
Robert and I continued staring at each other, I struggling
to find the certainty to match his. I really am all those things, I
thought to myself. Strong, smart and feisty . . . and beautiful. I
guess it’s just a matter of knowing I deserve it. Do I deserve to
be the rich heiress who solves the world hunger puzzle? The
world is murdering its people by not feeding them. I’m being
offered the biggest murder case in the world to solve. My god!
Am I big enough to go from being an underused rookie detective
to this? Can I end world hunger?
!
We were distracted by four ornately carved and gold
gilded two-passenger carriages with maroon surrey tops--each
547
hitched to two magnificent quarter horses and driven by finely
dressed carriage walas--who parked the ornate coaches in a
line, not far away.
"
Jane looked at Jimmy, knowing that one of the carriages
was about to take them to their life together in paradise, and
when he assuredly smiled back she turned to her beautiful young
mother. “So, you don’t have terminal cancer, Robert’s heart is not
about to fail, and Howard and Maggie are free of dementia.”
"
“We’re all perfectly healthy, dear,” Sopi answered with a
warm smile. “Robert took good care of us before we left . . . and,
as you can see . . . it just keeps getting better. I had terminal
cancer?”
"
“You did, mother. I didn’t tell you since you were having
too much fun at Happy Acres. I didn’t want to rain on your
parade. See . . . it worked out fine in the end.”
"
“That it did,” Sopi said as she dropped her head on
Howard’s shoulder.
"
I looked at the carriages from the corner of her eyes,
though to me they were of minor interest. Now that I knew more
about his business agenda, my self-evaluating stare down with
Robert begged for answers regarding mostly unanswerable
miraculous happenings, which I participated in and couldn’t deny.
Yes, there was the offer to run the company, and solve world
hunger, and accept nine billion dollar and still, I wanted to know
exactly how Robert healed the former old folks, how they
became younger, and how the two paths to Shambala merged.
But I realized that for now I had to let it go and somehow balance
the miraculous with the mundane. My detective mind wandered
back to the murder accusations. Taking my eyes and attention off
Robert, I looked at Jimmy and then at Howard. “You didn’t kill
your step-father, did you Howard?”
"
“Kill my step-father?” He shook his head and in a soft
voice continued, “You know, I’ve thought about that day a
thousand times over the years. In his drunken rage that horrible
man threatened to kill my mother. Then he threatened either to
blame it all on me, or kill me next. I got out of town as fast as I
could. He deserved whatever came to him . . . “ Giving Sopi a
kiss on her cheek he concluded, “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
548
"
“What about Betty Wilson?”
"
“Who’s Betty Wilson?”
"
“It doesn’t matter,” I answered, now convinced that either
Robert or Mildred Rice had made the whole Betty thing up. By
now it was a mute point. “Looks like we solved that mystery.”
"
“That you did,” Howard answered, then paused and
looked at me with compassion. “Listen, Taylor. I know this is all a
shock to you. Standing here, overlooking a mythical valley,
meeting a father you never thought you had, who is six years
older than you . . . and you becoming one of the richest women
in the world . . . all within the last hour.” It was almost too
insanely cosmic funny to seem real, and we shared a deep
breath. “Trust me . . . I never thought I’d ever be anything but a
poor Mississippi dirt farmer until I met this man . . . Robert St.
Clair. Almost overnight I went from feeding myself, to feeding
hundreds of thousands, and eventually millions of people all over
the world. I went from pennies to having more money than I ever
imagined. So in that regards I relate. Because of Robert my new
life took me to Australia where I met Sopi. Because of Robert
you were led to Asia where you met Lucky . . . and all of us.
You’re now part of this family, and our love for each other will
continue to grow. What is most important to consider in all
this . . . is that life is a precious gift. To live seventy-eight years is
a reward in itself. Being thirty-three again is truly
unbelievable . . . a gift beyond the gift of the life I’ve had.”
Howard leaned forward and took both of my hands and looked
deep in my eyes. “Accept the gift. Enjoy your life to the fullest.
Money helps ease the struggle, but there is nothing as
meaningful as family . . . you finding your Lucky, or me my Sopi,
Robert his Maggie, Jimmy his Jane. This is the love that gives
meaning and purpose to our lives. You now have someone to
share your good fortune with and the two of you have the
opportunity to expand this fortune, and your love, and share it
with the world. We’ve done our best. Now its up to the next
generation to do even better. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
"
I knew exactly what he was saying, and with a quick
glance from Lucky I had no doubt he agreed. The Shambala we
were seeing below us was extremely appealing, and neither one
549
of us were anywhere near ready to retire in paradise. We were
young and had so many places to go and . . . a world to feed.
We could, and would return to paradise when the time was right.
"
“Excuse me.” Arjuna interrupted. He and Tenzin had
been patiently listening and knew that a conclusion had been
reached. “Down in the valley, by the temple, all of the people are
gathered to welcome their Krishna and Radha home. Everyone
knows of your great accomplishments out in the world, Master.
They are very anxious to see you and meet the lovely gopi girl
you left this valley to find . . . and celebrate your return to
Shambala. And they want to meet all of you.”
"
“I was hoping we could sneak in,” Robert said, half
joking. “Have a little lunch and quietly show everyone around.”
"
“This is not a possibility,” Tenzin answered with a smile.
“From the moment you decided to come home, we have been
preparing for your return to Shambala. The special day we have
all be waiting for has arrived, you are here and the people are
ready to rejoice. Please Master, come . . . your chariot is ready.
We must go now.”
"
Robert and I embraced for a long time. He intuitively
knew what I had decided to do. Tears streamed down our cheeks
anointing us, forever bonding us as father and daughter. Finally
we let go. Holding on to each other at arm’s length, with eyes
and souls connected, we said goodbye. After hugging Jane and
Jimmy, continuing the tearful goodbyes, I then folded into
Lucky's arms and watched as the three couples stepped into
their chariots. With a simple click, the horses began to prance
with the forever young, down the final mile of the path to
paradise.
"
The last of the three chariots stopped--the driver didn’t
need to be told. Jimmy turned to Jane, “You know, for years I
dreamed of a cabin by a lake . . . I’d spend my days fishing for
trout . . . and get all fat and stupid. And there it is. I bet there is
enough trout in that lake down there to feed us for ten lifetimes. I
probably wouldn’t even need to fish . . . just whistle and they’d
jump out of the lake and into my frying pan.”
"
“Probably”
550
"
“I’ll bet that every man down there over twenty is a
Shoalin master.”
"
“I’m sure.”
"
“Who would I teach?“
"
“Nobody. Do you think they need a biologist down
there?”
"
“Doubt it.”
"
“There’s probably no invasive insects. Look at those
gardens. They don’t need me. What would I do?”
"
“Don’t know. But I have an idea.”
"
“Yes?”
"
“How would you like to be the

Shambala book 02:13

Transcription

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