mystic reveries's Blog

The Irreverent Lady

October 13, 2009 at 3:15 am | Posted in 1 | 4 Comments

by S. A. Adams

 

     The dark hole against the bank had to be the cave they had been searching for.  She ploughed her way through the two feet of fresh fallen snow.  Where were the others? she wondered.  She looked behind her down the mountain only to see a bare escarpment where the avalanche had fallen and destroyed their camp.  Are they safe?  She couldn’t go down.  Not without the equipment from the destroyed camp.  My backpack … our tent.  Oh God, please let them be alright.

     The sun was just now casting its rays between two blue peaks of the Himalayas.  The rest of the sky remained silently dark.  She stood in suspicion of the cave opening and adjusted her goggles.  Are animals hibernating? she wondered with great seriousness and crept ever so closer.  An approach from the side was deemed best, in case animals came charging out.  Her fingers searched the zippered pocket of her red parka jumpsuit.  Ah!  Never leave home without it.  She grasped the nail file sturdily in her hand as if soon to be engaged in a street fight.  For an upstate New York forty year old mother of one college student and on her first mountain tour, this was the best sense that her vicarious TV cop show experience had to offer.  OK.  Time to make camp!  she exclaimed to her inequity.  But pausing, she wondered how to do that.  Oh God, please don’t let there be bears!

     By laying down in the snow she was able to peek her head around into the cave opening.  The goggles were removed slowly so her eyes could adjust to the blackness within.  They were repositioned a top her head.  She might just have looked like a fictionalized alien to an uncultured, Americanized, eye.

     Inside, Sampava Ningh Po, the Tibetan, thought he might just have seen a giant toad.  From his lotus position seated on top of the old tiger skin and grass mat covering, he wasn’t sure if this was an illusionary prank of his master’s or not.  But he would watch in stillness.  He would wait and see.

     Rebecca checked her hiking watch.  6:30.  She still could not see in very far or discern any movement, so she decided to eat snow.  It was an act really for gathering courage, continuity, and oneness with the event about to occur.  Snow balls!  I’ll find out what’s there!  She intermittently tossed in  six snowballs in six different directions, each time hiding to the side of the cave opening for fear of retribution.

     It was the fifth snowball that hit Sampava smack in the middle of his chest, his bare chest, over the heart.  The snow dripped down to his abdomen and groin and he decided the situation was in need of further pondering. 

     The toad is gone now.  It had an arm!  He was sure he saw that.  It meaned to provoke him out of his meditation, he reasoned.  I will not be provoked by a toad! he vowed and continued his asana steadfastly and with diligence.

     Since nothing stirred within the cave Rebecca decided to once again peer into it.  Within a half hour of peering her eyes could make out shapes that appeared like rocks.  A stalagmite seemed to protrude from the center clearing.  I have to try.  I will not sleep in the snow tonight!  I can not.  After all …the weather.  Maybe there are sticks, dry brush in there.  Damn, where is my lighter?  She hadn’t had a cigarette since her train disembarked in Kashmir and was proud of it.  Did I slow them down?  Is that why we didn’t reach the cave last evening?  She felt sudden guilt and sank into the snow wondering whether or not she would die up here on the mountain and not be able to say goodbye to her son and not get her dog Poochie out of the kennel.

     Sampava stared once again at the figure.  He could see that it was red but now it sat in the snow and faced the sun.  It is testing my perseverance, he decided.

     The two of them sat and remained sitting, even as the sun moved into the western sky.

     Suddenly Rebecca jumped up and hurried through the deep snow.  When she returned she was zipping up her jumpsuit and Sampava then knew it was human.  Rebecca checked her watch.  7:22. 

     “Alright,” she said, hands on hips.  “God help me please,” and she entered the cave , grasping the nail file firmly in front of her as a blind man would his cane.

     She waited for her eyes to clear a little more.  The stalagmite was looking more and more like a statue.  Perhaps the guides were bringing me to a shrine, she thought.  Oh how delightful!  Maybe there will be people coming!  Maybe there is some hope!  She walked cautiously, fearing bugs and bats, to the shrine to see if she could tell whether or not it was Buddhist or Hindu.

     Sampava blinked his eyes.

     “Ahhh!” Rebecca screamed, and retreated and stumbled and fell backwards onto the floor of the cave.  Her head hit hard and she was out cold.  

     My master is testing my compassion! So!  He unfolded his legs, stood up with ease, and went to her.  He withdrew the hood from her head, as well as the goggles.  His dark fingers gently lifted her eyelids as he looked into her pupils.  He checked the time of day by the sun’s position and the feel of the air and started clearing a spot outside the cave door for a fire.  Content that he had done everything that he could, he resumed his meditation.  All of a sudden he opened his eyes again..  Jumping up, he hurried to the rear of the cave and found the piece of linen that served as a loin cloth.  He quickly tied it on.

     Rebecca was rousing herself.  “Jesus.  What the heck?” she muttered.  She saw a dark figure standing before her.  “What,” she exclaimed, annoyed at his stillness, his silence.  She managed to sit up and when he offered no hostile moves, she recanted.  “Uh, I’m Rebecca Monroe.  And, uh, … on tour here.” She flashed her widest smile which had always won them over at the PTA.

     “Missy, (it is late in the day.  Has my master sent you?  For what reason, pray tell, are you here disturbing my meditation?)” asked Sampava in the Pali language.

     “Is this a shrine?  Do you have a telephone here?  I’ve got to call for help.  My guides are … gone.  Gone!  Do you understand?” she asked.

     Sampava reached out slowly to touch her face.  And she let him, though somewhat reluctantly.  Then he felt her forehead.  And she felt calmer.  He set about gathering some twigs and branches that had dried within the safety of the cave.  He put them outside in the cleared spot.  He seemed to be looking for something else when Rebecca remembered her lighter.  She pulled off her jumpsuit, boots, and cotton sock and ripped it to shreds.  Sampava watched as she got the fire going.  It was night.  He returned to his seat of meditation, content that he had now done all that was required, and she sat down by the fire.

     “Oh God!  I’m suddenly so hungry!  Are there any moose here?” she turned to him.  “Any deer maybe?  God, I could eat a horse!” and she proceeded to eat some snow.

     Sampava opened his eyes on the syllables “oh god” and saw her gulping snow from her hand.  His rations would not be renewed until his master’s assistant brought them.  And he couldn’t say when that would be.  Perhaps a month.  Once again my master tests my compassion! So!  He hopped out of his lotus posture, went to the back of the cave for the rations, and brought them to the lady.

     “Missy, (eat and be happy.  It is my honor to serve.), he said and pretended to eat, to show her his intent.

     “Well … thank you.  What is it?” she asked, taking the dried food that had been wrapped in cloth.  Sampava went back to his seat.  He needed to practice the yoga of the psychic heat in order to stay warm through the night.

     “Thank you,”   Rebecca called to him.  “It tastes kind of like dog food.  You know, dry dog food?  Full of corn and millet, maybe?”   She forced a smile but he was unresponsive.  

     Later on when the fire went out Rebecca came inside and lay down next to the wall of the cave, across from Sampava.  Her jumpsuit had warmed sufficiently and she fell asleep.  Eventually, towards dawn, he lay down for an hour’s sleep as well.  It was his practice to be alert during the dream process.

     “Oh Jesus!  Son of a bitch!  God damn it!  Get off!  Get off!”   yelled Rebecca.  Sampava sprang to attention.  “Bugs!  Get them off!”

     Rebecca scrambled outside into the morning sun and pulled off all her clothes down to her underwear.

     (Master, why do you test me this way?  With a crazy woman, no less!  My compassion is run out of wisdom!) Sampava said out loud.

     Rebecca heard him mutter and responded.  “I’m sorry but there are bugs in my bed!  See…”  She looked into the snow and on the clothing but there were only particles of clay that had fallen from the top of the cave.  She gave him a sheepish grin and put on her clothing very carefully, still checking for particles and bugs.

     It was the day to find a way home.

     ”Are you the curator of this shrine?” she asked as she sat down in front of him.  She leaned to the side balancing herself on her right hand.  How can we communicate? she wondered.  “Parlez vous Francais?” and after a moment, “Well me neither!”  And then she laughed hysterically of her own amusement.  It was nerves.

     Sampava decided to take control of the situation, for his own sake, and began chanting very loudly The Jewel in the Lotus chant.  “Om!” he bellowed.  “Om!”  He continued with more words in Pali.

     “Oh Jesus, please help me,” Rebecca prayed.

     Sampava’s chanting of foreign words came so very strong that they filled the entire cave with thick resonance.  She almost thought she couldn’t hear herself think.  The rhythm of the chants reminded her of the Gregorian chorales she sang in elementary school, but she couldn’t remember the words.  It seemed a good thing to pray for help.  It seemed the only thing to do.  After all, he was totally occupied and the day was still young. 

     She started reciting the Our Father and then moved on to the Hail Mary.  She couldn’t remember the Apostle’s Creed, but soon she found herself smacking her chest in unison to the rhythm of Kiriye Eleison, Christe Eleison.  Sampava found this exceptionally curious.

     What yoga is this? he wondered.  “Missy, (I am curious, who is your guru?) he suddenly asked.

     Rebecca abruptly stopped her chanting, too. 

     “Sir, my name is Rebecca.  You can call me Missy, but, really, it’d be nice if I knew your name and you knew mine,” she smiled.  “Don’t you think?  Re- bec-ca,” she intoned, all the while tapping her chest with her fore finger.  Seeing he was nonplussed, she said, “Well anyway.  I really have to get out of here.  Phone?”  And she held up her hand to her ear in imitation of the way she’d seen the guy do it on the Comedy Channel.

     First she uses mantras, thought Sampava, ….now mudras.  Definitely.  Definitely she has been sent by my master.  An apparition to test my wisdom!  Ah ha!  Obeisance to the guru!  Dear master, please come and take her away.  I have found you out and she is of no further use to my progress on the path.  Revered sir, hear my plea, please remove her from my sight, my cave, my life.  Dear master, quickly make it so!  

     And he pronamed on the cave floor.

     Rebecca stood up and bowed to him, Hindu style, the way she had learned in Bombay.  It was only polite to return the gesture.  Then she turned away from him and cried out, “Oh God!  I want to go home!  Please help me if You can!  Please!”  She fell down sobbing uncontrollably on the cave floor and didn’t care if the man thought she was crazy or not.  They just couldn’t communicate.

     It took two days, but Sampava’s master and several disciples finally reached the cave opening to take the lady down the mountain. 

     It was a bright September morning.

     THE END