Shambhala (17 page)

“You start with why you’re here. Life’s too short for these mamby pamby games.”

“So then why make me wait for days?” Bahi asks.

“Let’s get one thing straight. You made yourself wait, the path you have chosen was created by your actions, and your actions alone. We can never post blame for anything on anyone else. You are the boss. If you don’t like your life, change it by changing the causes that create your conditions. It’s that simple. You want different conditions, then look at the causes that create them and adjust. The problem is we are always doing the same thing and wishing for different results. This is the definition of insanity, actually.”

“Yes, I understand, but you made me wait. If it were up to me I would have had this talk the other day,” Bahi rebuts.

“Oh, here we go again. Do I need to spell it out? You create exactly the situation you are in. You know what made the difference between me sleeping in a warm house the past two nights and you out in the cold?” Bahi thinks as he examines Robina’s distinctive face. “The past causes we created to reach those conditions and to blame others is not only immature and childish but illogical,” she says staring him in the eyes.

“So, it was a punishment for my past actions?” Bahi asks.

“Not a punishment. It’s like if you were walking along and decided to throw a rock straight up into the air, a punishment would be if someone grabbed that rock and chucked it back at your head. What is happening here is that the rock, logically, must come back down, and when it hits you on the head you’re all surprised: ‘Where did that rock come from?’ Your ignorance forgot that you threw it up there. But let us not get into a lesson on karma or we’ll be here all night. So to the point, Bahi, what is it you want to ask?”

“How do I find Shambhala?” Bahi quickly belts out.

“Wow, going straight for the gusto! And what makes you think that, one, Maha Bharat even knows? And two, if he does know, why would he tell you this? And three, how do you even know this place exists outside of the fairy tales and village folklore? You’ve been hanging out with the goats, haven’t you?”

“Well actually . . . ”

“Yeah yeah,” Robina cuts him off.

They sit in silence as she stares at him almost sizing him up, “and why would you even want to go to Shambhala, what’s your motive, what’s the intention?”

“The motive, the intention, is to find answers to this riddle of suffering so I can help others find answers.”

Robina is silent again for a moment before speaking. “And say he did know a way there but that it was so risky that you would have about a ninety-percent chance of death, then what would you say?”

“I would say there is a ten percent chance of making it and that I am willing to forego the ninety-percent risk. We’re all gonna die, right? Might as well risk it to help others. I mean someone has to, right? Have you been in that jungle lately?”

Robina smiles. “And what if I was to tell you that if you reached Shambhala with this intention to help liberate others you would have to go back to this so-called jungle of suffering, fear, and delusional ignorance in order to help. And what’s more, you won’t want to leave the peace of this place. And if you do, most won’t even believe you found such a place. Some may even try to kill you.”

“And some would believe, and thus the answers I find even to help a few would be more important than just myself alone staying there. I would know the path, the map, and would have to return to lead others there.”

“And would you forego your entrance into Shambhala in order to let another in?”

Bahi thinks honestly, searching his heart, finding a resounding “yes.”

“Yes! Yes, I would.”

Again silence fills the barn. Struggling to her feet, she motions to the door. “Come with me.”

“Am I going to meet him now?”

“Just come with me, will you?”

Walking out into the sunlight and rounding the corner of the yard, she enters the cottage. “Take off your shoes and be silent,” she says looking back sternly into Bahi’s eyes before he steps in. He quickly flops his shoes off outside, and as soon as he crosses the threshold, a feeling of joy overcomes him. The smell of sandalwood permeates the small, dark cottage. It is dimly lit by streams of rich, golden sunlight upon the walls that bask an image in shadow, which Bahi can barely make out in the far corner of the cottage. He squints to see what seems to be someone in a meditative pose, whom he only assumes is Maha Bharat. His uncertainty turns back to Robina, who whispers, “Go and bow to him.”

Walking over, he still strains to make out Maha Bharat. Even at such close proximity, it’s as if Bahi has a shadowy film on his eyes that blocks the image out no matter which angle he looks, a peculiar situation indeed. He gets on his knees with great reverence in his heart and bows before standing to his feet with hands in prayer position and head lowered. Raising his eyes up softly to look, he notices the sun has slightly shifted, exposing the image of a gold statue of the Buddha. Bahi turns back to Robina to find a short, frail Indian man where Robina stood. Confusion washes over Bahi’s face.

“What did you expect?” the Indian man asks.

“Um, expect? I . . .I don’t know. Are you the Great Maha Bharat?”

“What do you see?” the short Indian man asks with a soft smile.

“I see the Great Maha Bharat.”

“Then you are correct. Be careful what your mind perceives. Just a minute ago you thought I was a short, stubby nun from Australia, I ask you to search yourself and tell me what you feel.”

“I feel relieved to be in your presence,” Bahi says with sincerity.

“And what of the Buddha?” Maha Bharat asks, turning his attention to the statue. Bahi turns to look, and to his amazement the statue of the Buddha is now the Hindu god Shiva.

“But I . . . ”

“This is what I mean. Be careful what you want to believe, because it may become real. Now sit,” Maha Bharat signals toward the statue, which is again the Buddha, but this time the statue stands in teaching mode, the Buddha’s right hand raised. Bahi laughs in wonder.

“Does this amuse you?” Maha Bharat asks sternly.

“No, sir.”

“Why not? Let us not lie to ourselves. What do you feel?”

“I feel laughter,” Bahi says, noticing a giddy rush welling up from his gut.

“Then feel laughter. Don’t lie to yourself. Listen to your heart. Bring up your truth from there. Stop worrying about how you are supposed to be. Stop looking at others for the answers to how you are feeling inside. Just feel and be. Laugh when you laugh, cry when you are sad. Let us not lie to ourselves.”

“Its just in the presence of the Great Maha Bharat, I. . . ”

“It’s Bharat.
Maha
means
great
, you’re being redundant,” Bharat says as a matter of fact.

“OK, sorry sir. Bharat, Maha Bharat, I am Bahi.”

“Yes yes I know. Tell me, Bahi: Why is it that you choose the wrong choices time and again?”

“Do I?” Bahi asks sincerely.

“Most do. Feel it in your heart. Stop letting your head be your master. It will almost always misguide you. It’s concerned with what others think about it, what’s in the best interest of the self and the ego. The brain’s concern is survival in the most illogical terms. So tell me why you feel you make the wrong choices?”

“Well I think that . . . ”

“I said feel it, with your heart, not your head, no thinking,” Bharat interjects harshly.

Bahi closes his eyes and notices the voices screaming from his brain trying to give answers in a frenzy of survival. He tries to tap into the feeling, “I feel . . . ”

“Yes, go on.”

“I don’t know,” he says opening his eyes.

“Stop running away from it. Stay with it. Feel it. Why do you want to make the wrong decisions? And by this I mean the ones that are creating undesirable results in your life, time and again? Answer the question, Bahi. Why do you feel you want to make the wrong decisions?” Bharat says abruptly, not letting Bahi off the hook for even a second.

“Because they feel comfortable. The right path is scary and unknown,” Bahi feels tears welling up in eyes.

“Very good,” Bharat says, softening his tone. “Tea?” he asks, sliding a tiny porcelain cup of green tea toward him on the small, knee-high pine table they sit on either side of.

“Sure,” Bahi says, a bit shaken up from this very abrasive introduction. Looking back toward the Buddha statue Bahi sees that it is now again in a meditative pose. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“The statue?”

“You mean Buddha?” Bharat says. He places a cup of tea in front of the statue.

“Yes, the Buddha statue,” Bahi says alluding to the movement and change of its position and structure.

“You see a Buddha statue. I see Buddha, and that makes all the difference. Now finish your tea and off to the barn with you. Dawn comes early around here, and you have much to work on if you wish to reach Shambhala.”

“So you will help me?” Bahi asks in excitement.

“I didn’t say that. I said you have much to work on if you wish to reach Shambhala, and it’s obvious listening is a big part of that. So, off to bed,” Bharat orders as his blue eyes sit calmly in his dark, golden skin, noticeably old yet uncannily full of youth.

“Bed, but it can’t be even four o’clock,” Bahi argues.

“I tell you something once and my job is done. You choose to react to it how you wish. I have no time for your silly redundancies.” Bharat closes his eyes. He sits in the lotus position, each foot atop the opposite thigh.

“So what time do we get started tomorrow?” Bahi asks. He stands up, getting no response from the deeply meditative Maha Bharat. “OK, then, it’s off to the barn with me then,” he says as he quietly exits the cottage, wondering if Venerable Robina was even real or if he just projected her.

Bahi makes his way to the barn and wonders at the strange encounters he has had here at the cottage, inwardly hoping he is making the right decision by staying. He opens the barn door. A plate of noodles and sprouts lie on the floor, freshly cooked. He sits silently and eats, noticing the absence of any animals in the barn. After finishing his warm meal he lies back on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Large, thick pieces of pine stabilize the barn as he ponders,
Why do I want to make the wrong choices, was coming here the right choice?
Lying on the floor, he feels how Shambhala seems to be the only thing that is right, and if he is making the wrong choices, how will he ever reach it? Slowly his eyes begin to close. Noticing how each night seems to get colder and colder, he wishes Ajee were there to keep him warm. Stretching up, his arm brushes a wool blanket.
How did I not see that?
he thinks as he unfolds it and wraps it around himself. The brown woolen blanket warms him as he lays his head on his shawl that he has fashioned into a pillow. “What an amazing journey,” he reflects as he closes his eyes, which even at this early hour, are heavy with the weariness of a long travel. A smile washes over his face as he feels Maha Bharat may actually be able to help him on his way. He drifts into a deep sleep.

“WAKE UP!”

An urgent whisper alerts Bahi to open his eyes in the cold darkness. He sits up and notices a flame flickering on the other side of the barn. Wrapping the wool blanket snugly around himself, he walks over to the white candle, which occupies a silver holder. He looks in confusion around the barn for whomever may have left it. As he picks up the candle, the barn door cracks slightly open, almost inviting him out. His heart beats faster.

He nears the door. Cautiously opening it, he peeks out into the predawn yard. A stream of smoke billows out of the cottage chimney. A candle flickers in the window. It seems to call out to Bahi as he walks toward the front door. The sweet smell of incense guides him into the warm cottage, where he finds Bharat in meditation, exactly where he had left him the day before. The only indications that he has moved are the water bowls and lit incense that sit upon the altar in front of the beautiful, large golden Buddha. The statue evokes peace from within Bahi as he gazes upon it. Bahi sits cross-legged, staring at it. Closing his eyes, he breathes calmly, becoming aware of each sensation as his mind goes deeper and deeper, almost as if he is being guided. Bahi drops down into a subtle state of meditation with the ease of a seasoned master. The world falls away, his body ceases to exist, and a space of unexplained clarity opens up.

Then, the question from the night before arises:
Why do you want to make the wrong choices?
Suddenly fear wells up, and he pushes it away. “Stay with it,” he hears Bharat say in his mind, “feel it, accept it.”

Bahi allows the uncomfortable emotion to consume him. “Where is this fear?” he hears deep in his psyche. Bahi looks for it, unable to answer the question. Suddenly he feels his leg is asleep, which draws his mind back to the cottage.

Opening his eyes, he feels deep bliss and looks over to see that Maha Bharat is no longer there. A clanking plate, from behind, draws his attention. Bharat places two bowls of porridge on the table.

“So, you made it through another night?” Bharat says.

“Amazing, huh?” Bahi says, somewhat sarcatically.

“More amazing than you give credit to. You know how many people will not wake up today?”

Bahi thinks about this as through the window he watches the golden sunrise advance across the valley. “Yeah, guess you’re right,” Bahi says with a soft nod. He sits bundled in his blanket, knees huddled to his chest.

“Fools we are to think we’ll live forever. Every moment may be our last. So it is imperative to practice upon the right path.”

Bahi looks up, eyes wide. “In my meditation, I felt the great fear of not wanting to make the right choice.”

“And?” Bharat asks.

“And, uh, and I guess this is why we opt for the wrong choices. They are easier.”

“Seemingly. So to the ignorant mind, these choices in fact lead to more fear, more uncertainty, more pain and suffering. So we want to make the right choices on a level that we don’t want to suffer and want to be happy, yet we are constantly pushing away our happiness and chasing suffering.”

“Why?”

Bharat laughs inwardly under his breath. “Because of that fear, for starters, a fear that does not even exist, a lie we create that keeps us stuck.”

“But surely it exists, I felt it,” Bahi argues.

“It’s like a brilliant painter who paints a scary monster. He is so skilled that it looks lifelike. This painting stands ten feet tall. Then one night, years later, he has forgotten that he has painted it and roams into the room where it stands. He shrieks with fear. It is like this for us too. We create all of it. Now eat your porridge.”

“Oh, thank you,” Bahi says, standing up to make his way to the small table on the floor where he sits across from Bharat.

Thick, steamy vapors pour from their bowls, creating a thick mist as Bahi watches Bharat praying over his food. Bahi closes his eyes and gives thanks for the hot meal and warm, cozy cottage to enjoy it in. Looking up, Bahi smiles at Bharat, whose eyes smile back.

“So, why do we do it?” Bahi asks.

“Do what?”

“Why do we create these monsters that impede our path?”

“You’re asking me? You’re one of the most elaborate artists I’ve met. Why not ask yourself?”

“I thought a lot about what you said last night,” Bahi says feeling Bharat’s last comment was condescending.

“That’s the problem isn’t it? We think ourselves to death. We pride ourselves in having an intellectual mind, which in one respect is great, but then it stops there. We’ve forgotten how to feel. So much weight in our contemporary societies is placed on our intellectual minds, which we believe make us civilized, when in fact it makes us more primordial. All this intellectual knowledge is useless without wisdom. Many fall back one hundred percent on this intellect and almost totally forget how to feel, even drowning their intellects in poisons of body and mind through substance and thought. I’ve even seen these systems these days that guide us to our destination, navigation systems, so we don’t have to follow our gut or heart. In fact, in this case we don’t even have to think.”

“Sure, people feel. Isn’t that the problem? We feel the fear that paralyzes us?”

“We create this false feeling with our minds. Our brains think and overthink. What happened to that fear when you allowed yourself to just feel it, just letting it in and accepting it?”

“At first I tried to find where it was. I thought I felt it in my stomach, but when I placed my mind there and let it be, it dissipated and went away.”

“Right, so then you used your intellectual mind to look for it in conjunction with your feelings, and dismantled it. If only the world could do this! Do you think if heads of power sat and took their intellectual plans to destroy the Earth and kill other in war, and took the time to feel it, that the right choice, from their hearts, would allow them to kill another living person? We have no respect for others. We have no respect for our Earth. And this is because we have no respect for ourselves. We can’t even feel. Our thinking takes over. And this is what we believe it is to feel the right answer. It’s the brain that got us into this mess of wrong choices to begin with. The brain creates delusions of fear, anxiety, anger, hate, and so forth out of a fight-or-flight response. We blindly follow this, allowing it to be our master. Yet if we use the heart to feel what’s right, the world would be a completely different place. So feel it, Bahi. Break free from the weakness of the world’s fears and angers. Develop this, and you will be a true warrior who walks the right path. Shambhala will be easy to find. Trust your feeling, and you will know the truth. The warrior of our modern age works out of fear, killing to protect, ignorantly thinking he or she is making the right choices, but that warrior is blindly following the orders of someone who is following the fear-based orders of the brain. The warrior who leads with his heart is the true warrior. The other warriors are no match for the truth. Fear is weakness. Truth is strength, and truth resides in our hearts.”

“This sounds like a lot of work,” Bahi says, stirring his porridge, still too hot to eat.

“Work? We work so hard developing fears that impede us from the happiness we seek,” Bharat says as Bahi looks down into his bowl, regretting his last sentence.

Silently they sit eating the porridge, enjoying every bite, and when they are finished Bharat slowly stands up in front of Bahi. “After you finish washing the dishes, meet me outside,” Bharat says, gradually making his way toward the door to exit the cottage. Bahi looks up at the large, iron pot Bharat used to make the porridge. He gathers the two bowls and spoons and walks over to the counter. He places them next to two shallow sinks, one filled with cloudy water, which he assumes is soap, and another steaming clear for rinsing. He happily washes the pot and bowls, rinsing them thoroughly in the hot water. Then he dries his hands, on a small, red towel that hangs on the wall of the rustic, wood-paneled kitchen, and makes his way outside to meet Bharat.

Bahi steps out onto the porch, approaching Bharat, who stands facing the rising sun. He feels the warmth and comfort beaming upon him. The silence of the moment engulfs his being as he stands next to a still Bharat, whose light-wool gray shirt humbly hangs down onto his black cotton pants, ending at his small bare feet that dig into the ground, unifying with the thawed earth. “When I was a young man I lived in a small village a long way south of here. There was a widow who lived alone close to where my family lived. One day as the sun was setting in the sky I was on my way home from meditation in the jungle and I saw this woman searching for something on the dirt road. And so I asked her what she was looking for. She was an old woman, her eyes were not as they had been when she was young, so I decided to help her out. ‘What are you searching for?’ I asked. She became frustrated and told me that the question was irrelevant. I told her if I knew what she was looking for I could help her to find it. My eyes were young. In a huff, and on her hands and knees in the dry dirt, she looked up at me and said, ‘I am searching for my needle. I lost it, OK?’ She was very frustrated.”

Bahi listens intently to the story.

“I looked up at the wide dirt road and before searching I asked, ‘Do you remember where exactly you lost it, the exact place you may have dropped it?’ To this she looked back up at me and said, ‘Again with the silly questions, how will this help me in my search?’ I laughed and told her if she knew where she may have lost it, it would save us the time of searching the wide and long road. ‘OK, if you must know, I lost it in my house.’ I laughed again and thought she must be mad, ‘If you lost it in your house, then why are you looking out here on the dirt road?’ Again she looked up at me and with a furrowed brow she said, ‘Because there is no light inside.’ Because there is no light inside she said.” Bharat looks off into the sun.

“So, did she ever find the needle?” Bahi asks, laughing.

“She never found the needle, Bahi. Few do find the needle.”

“She could have just bought another needle,” Bahi adds.

“Or she could have gone inside and sat there until her eyes adjusted to the dim inner light. Then she would have found what she was seeking. You see, we are all like this, and the old woman was right. There is no light inside, and so we go on searching outside because it seems clearer and brighter. And so the seeker is inside, but the light is outside, and so the seeker moves searching outside for something, yet the seeker never finds it because what he seeks is inside the whole time. We spend our whole lives outside in the sun and never go inside to get to know the seeker. And because we do not know the seeker, the right direction toward what we seek is impossible. It is important to know what we are searching for before we go inside, or else you will go stumbling around in the dark. If, perhaps, we were to find this seeker who is inside, the question of ‘who am I’ that you have been asking before you came here, then you can begin to find what you seek.”

“I have been searching for this answer, Bharat. You are very wise.”

“You have been out on the dirt road searching for your needle because you are afraid of the darkness inside. But if you move into the dark, you will find it is very dark because you have been out in the bright sunlight your entire life. As you sit patiently inside, your eyes will adjust, and you will notice it is not totally dark. There is a subtle light, a soft light, and with time you can see inside and will come to appreciate the soft inner light of peace. Only then will you find your answers.”

“Like meditation,” Bahi says.

“So you want to know how to reach Shambhala?” Bharat asks, squinting his deep blue eyes towards Bahi.

“I do. I have been told it is there, where I will be able to answer that question of who I am truly. I search for a way to help all those who suffer on this Earth, as well as the Earth. I have come to find we are creating great suffering for the Earth as well.”

“Mmmm,” Bharat confirms, looking deeply at the Earth as he bends over to pick up a stick. He draws an
X
in the dirt in front of him, then a circle next to it. Looking up at Bahi, he smiles in silence. Bharat is much shorter than Bahi, yet seems to tower over him with the power and energy he humbly omits. Pointing with the stick at the circle, he says, “Here is Shambhala.” Gracefully he moves the stick toward the
X
, he says, “Here is where you don’t want to go. It represents what you seem to always be getting, the result you wanted to avoid, but seem to always be coming to.” Bahi nods quietly. “So I ask you, why don’t you want to reach Shambhala? Why do you want to go to the
X
?”

“I don’t. I want to go to the circle.”

“Your brain says that, but feel it. Why do you want to make the wrong choices and end up here?” Bharat asks pointing to the
X
. “Just feel it, don’t think, stop looking out on the sunny dirt road.”

Bahi allows himself to feel it, going inward to his heart.
Why do I want to make the wrong choices?
he thinks.

“What do you feel?” Bharat asks.

“I feel scared. I don’t know what I will find at Shambhala. And what if I never find it? What if it is a fairy tale, and the results of not finding it almost feel more comfortable?”

“Go on, go deeper, feel it. Allow your eyes to adjust inside the dark house.”

“Bahi feels a sense of meditation, as if Bharat is evoking this in him, “I feel I don’t deserve it. I’m not worthy of going there.” tears well up in Bahi’s eyes.