 
### The Nyxall Chronicles

### A Mindgame to Remembrance

by

Steven J. Shupe

2019 Edition

Copyright 2004 by Steven J. Shupe

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### A MINDGAME TO REMEMBRANCE

Table of Contents

Book One: ON PURPOSE

Book Two: DREAM ON

### ON PURPOSE

A Mindgame to Remembrance: Book One

### Preface

The darkness of the narrow cave entrance stands out like a sentry against the light sedimentary rock rising from valley floor. For an instant you contemplate retreat down the slope, feeling dwarfed by Himalayan grandeur and inadequate in the face of the upcoming encounter. But the pull to continue is compelling as you scramble up the steep hillside to your intended target.

You spy his hands first as you approach the mouth of the cave, two wrinkled but strong forms resting in a lap upon which a shaft of sunlight falls through the entryway. Both your anxiety and eagerness grow as eyes adjust to the dimness where the weathered face of the old lama takes shape looking intently at you. No words break the peace of the sage's tiny abode as you sit on the hard dirt and wait to be acknowledged.

"You have come with a query," the Tibetan monk finally says in heavily accented English, more as a statement than a question.

"Yes Lamaji, I have," you respond as you reposition your cramped legs on the floor. In preparation for this auspicious moment you have developed an appropriate question which you expect will lead to a lengthy and insightful discourse from the renowned lama. You ask, "What is the most significant innovation in all of history that has altered the course of humankind?"

The elderly man simply stares at you without uttering a word. You grow anxious in the silence and rephrase the query in simpler English. "What I mean, sir, is what invention had the biggest-ever impact on the human race? Like maybe the wheel, or computers, or the bomb, or—"

A raise of the lama's hand silences you. It then reaches slowly into the cloth bag that holds the old man's meager possessions, delving deeply to retrieve the answer to your question. A slight smile adds more wrinkles to the lama's face as he hands you the auspicious object.

"A mirror?" you respond in bewilderment. "A mirror is the most significant invention in human history?"

The sage nods as he settles back into contemplative peace. "Reflect on it," he suggests with a twinkling of an eye.

### CHAPTER 1

On Purpose

" _If your heaven has no sense of humor, you're in the wrong universe."_

\- a public service message from the Archangel of Duality

to awakening Flames of Consciousness

## In HEAVEN, long, long ago

" _Earth_ sounds like a great name," the Seraph of Desire responds supportively as he readjusts the telephone to his left ear. He absently gazes round his immaculate office in crystal motif while listening attentively to further instructions for creating the new world. Steady nods of the Seraph's head and occasional laughter punctuate his agreement and growing enthusiasm for the proposal coming from his superior.

"Right, Chief, right," the Seraph concurs while leaning back from the ornate desk and swiveling his plush chair to face the penthouse window where a breathtaking vista of all creation expands before him. A few more nods, a slight chuckle, and the excited Seraph asks, "So who do you want me to assign as Light Bearer to create this earth world? The Archangel of Beauty, of Abundance, or of Bliss?"

A look of confusion grows on his face. "Who?" Puzzlement turns to consternation as the Seraph of Desire pivots his chair to sit upright at the desk. "But she's been retired for eons. And why would anyone want to live in conflict and madness when—? Oh, okay. Right...right...I understand. Sure, no problem. Anything you say, Chief."

The affirmative nods and the Seraph's agreeable disposition return as he receives final instructions before hanging up the telephone. Questions remain in his mind but the Seraph of Desire knows better than to second-guess an omnipotent and all-seeing boss. Reaching for the intercom button, he takes the first step in creating a brave new world.

"Faith, send for the Archangel of Duality."

## On EARTH, the early 21st Century

You lean back from the viewing platform rail to avoid aromatic smoke rising from a half dozen carcasses sizzling in the ceremonial fires beneath your perch. Groups of Indian clans and friends gather round the flames sharing a reverence as old as their ancestors who settled this sacred land of the big river. Looking across the wide expanse of slowly moving water, you feel like the outsider that you are, like a voyeur catching titillating glimpses of mysteries that are only for those who have paid a secret price of admission to enter this hallowed ground by the riverside.

In years past, you have occasionally felt this disoriented sense at the sweat lodges and Sundance rituals which your Native American clients invited you to join. But today is different. You are here as an anonymous spectator, as a journeyer from a distant land whose former world of consulting and clients, of comfort and control, feels as insubstantial as the smoke now stinging your eyes. Today you silently watch the present moment with little attachment either to your past that feels meaningless or to a future about which you have no certainty.

Turning your head downriver you spot a wooden rowboat where a toddler's body is being strapped papoose-style onto a slab in preparation for its baptism. Bright ribbons crisscross the diminutive form as the youngster's family, also dressed in colorful garb, lifts the stone slab to a place of honor at the prow of the boat. No words are spoken as oars carry the vessel in steady rhythm to the middle of the deep river. Without fanfare or pause the heavy slab is slipped off the prow into sacred waters that engulf the dead child and that carry the family's hopes that his soul is borne to a better life than the one just ended. No tears or wailing accompany this passage. Only the holy Ganges River murmurs in remembrance as it swirls from Himalayan heights past the smoking funeral pyres in this ancient city of Varanasi.

## Back in HEAVEN

"Excuse me," secretary Faith states as she opens the door to her boss's crystalline office, "the Archangel of Duality has arrived."

The Seraph of Desire does not turn from where he gazes out the spacious window. "Very well, send her in," he directs.

The archangel enters, dazed by the opulence of the office and the incredible penthouse view. "Splendid, is it not?" the Seraph comments as he turns to greet his angelic colleague. "I would imagine that the universe has changed a great deal since you were last walking its face."

"It has indeed," the Archangel of Duality replies as she joins the Seraph at the window. "I barely recognize the place after an eternity."

"Many changes, my dear, many changes have occurred since you, as Duality, were retired," Desire continues as he directs the archangel to a chair and sits across from her. "No more opposing forces rip through the universe to create conflict, no more nonsense about good and evil, of life and death, of friend or foe. Such polarities disappeared with your departure and for eons we have lived knowing only our unity of spirit, our oneness with what these days we call god or the Chief. Beauty, abundance, and bliss have as a result been the hallmarks of the many worlds we have created within this glorious existence," he concludes with a measure of pride.

"Many worlds?" the puzzled archangel asks the Seraph.

"My, it _has_ been a long time since you were here." He goes on to explain, "Ever since duality was eliminated from existence our unified spirit has been able to create a variety of funhouses, or dimensions of reality, in which to sample the joys of worldly experience. The Chief decides to create another realm, directs me to oversee the project, and appoints the appropriate Light Bearer to help me bring it to fruition through thought. Each world, you see, is simply a manifestation of desire and thought coming together to create a place to explore themselves."

The archangel states more to herself than to her colleague, "So when our collective spirit desires beauty, we simply _think_ a world into existence to experience it."

"Precisely, via the archangel to whom the Chief delegates the task—and through me," the Seraph of Desire responds. "My desire teamed with thoughts from the Archangel of Beauty creates a realm of beauty. Desire and the thought of Abundance create abundance."

Catching on, the Archangel of Duality adds, "And Desire teamed with me, the master of duality, creates a funhouse of conflict."

"Well, more of a madhouse perhaps," the Seraph observes recalling earlier times when Duality ran rampant. "But yes, the Chief has brought you back into existence in order for us to create a realm called Earth where conflict and confusion, born of the opposing forces of duality, reign supreme."

The archangel ponders the notion for a moment and then looks questioningly at her heavenly colleague. "I'm honored to serve and all, but why the hell would any god in its right mind want to create such a world?"

## EARTH in Varanasi

The current of the sacred Ganges carries the funeral boat and its somber passengers downriver from where their dead infant took its final plunge. You return your attention to the bank upon which families who are able to afford firewood watch corpses of their loved ones enter various stages of cremation. This is your third day at the burning ghat of Varanasi, the third time you have stood on the viewing platform to ponder the ephemeral nature of flesh and the existence it harbors. A useful contemplative practice, some say, to put life and death into perspective, to make sense of the cycles that buffet the cultures, the people, the history of this earthly world. At these holy cremation grounds, however, you have yet to be filled with any deep understanding—only with inhaled smoke that has permanently etched the smell of burning flesh into your memory.

A familiar tug on the elbow interrupts your contemplative mood, a pull which you have learned to ignore over the past two days if you wish to maintain your focus and solitude. Making eye contact will likely cause the beggar to persist with a range of entreaties designed to appeal to the Western tourist's sense of pity, then duty, then guilt, and finally, impatience. Experience also indicates that if you choose to respond with a few rupees into the outstretched palm, a dozen other hands will quickly converge to aggressively probe for more bounty and thus disturb your peace.

At what price peace? You notice out the corner of an eye that the entreaty is from a perilously thin young woman carrying a malnourished baby. Another beggar is working the platform as well, a teenager dragging himself painfully along the ground from person to person. If what you hear is true, he was likely a street urchin intentionally crippled at a young age by the beggar-master who trains and supervises his stable of pitiable conscripts in this part of town.

A shift in the wind carries dense smoke directly to the viewing platform giving you an excuse to depart this setting and seek refuge back in your guesthouse. You edge past a group of tourists and sidestep the mangiest dog you have ever seen, a skinny mutt with only a few patches of hair remaining on its sunburned and mottled skin. How it could survive, you have no idea. To your surprise, two equally scruffy pups bound towards the mongrel who patiently lies down to offer her hairless belly. The pups hungrily take hold, pressing their forepaws on either side of the teats in an attempt to squeeze some nourishment from their mother's degenerating flesh.

Somehow this incongruous scene of the mangy pups pawing for life at the fount of disease and death upsets you more than watching body after body being consumed by fire. An overwhelming urge to alleviate their suffering rises in your gut, but you know you are as helpless to save the dogs as you are to rescue the scores of beggars on the shore, the hungry thousands in this city, the hundreds of millions of earthly brethren struggling twelve hours a day to barely survive so that their children can face a similar fate, generation after generation.

You grow nauseous as you stagger down the steps and stare through teary eyes at the riverside pilgrims praying and making offerings to various Hindu deities. What kind of god would allow this suffering and hardship, you wonder with confusion and in anger at your helplessness? Could such a crazy world actually have been created on purpose?

## In HEAVEN at the penthouse office

"A good question and one I just asked the Chief myself thirty minutes ago on the phone," the Seraph of Desire responds to Duality's query.

"So tell me already," the Archangel of Duality directs, "what reason did god give for wanting to create a world based in the madness of duality?"

"Complacency," Desire replies. "Because after living _only_ in a heavenly state of union and ecstasy we tend to take it all for granted and become complacent. Or as the Chief put it, after swimming in an ocean of bliss for an eternity or two our spirit has forgotten what bliss truly is since we don't have misery to measure it against."

His colleague, as an expert in duality, immediately grasps the point. She states, "It's like asking a fish what it feels like to be wet all the time. The fish has no idea what _wet_ means until you toss it onto a dry beach for a desperate minute or two."

The Seraph of Desire registers distaste at the example but concurs with it. "By experiencing _dry_ , the fish returns to the sea with a new understanding and appreciation for _wet_. And your assignment as Duality is to create a gritty beach, a new world beyond the ocean of bliss where conflict and misery grate in the gills of its inhabitants."

"Then, after a bitter taste of duality on Earth, heavenly consciousness will regain a clear understanding of what unity of spirit actually is," the Archangel of Duality adds with increasing enthusiasm. "Nothing like a dose of horror to appreciate beauty, or sorrow to understand joy, or humiliation to know glory."

The Seraph shudders as he responds, "I wouldn't know. But you, as the master of duality, were summoned for your expertise in such matters."

The archangel's eyes shine with fervor as she looks at her colleague. "So, who do we toss onto the shore?"

## On EARTH along the Ganges River

You grab hold of the stairway rail for support until the wave of nausea passes. Descending the steps, you gladly turn from the cremation grounds and proceed upstream to the bathing ghat where numerous Hindus quietly cleanse their bodies and souls in the holy river Ganga. The ghat, a broad expanse of stone steps leading to water's edge, makes a convenient place to sit, gather your thoughts, and watch the ablutions and rituals of the devout.

The scene is a far cry from simple Sundays of your youth where religious ritual merely involved donning an oversized robe for occasional nervous trips to the altar to snuff candles. Here in Varanasi the constant intertwining of faith and daily life permeates the land, water, and the very air you breathe. Flower offerings and their aromas fill the ghat, as does the smell of fresh dung deposited by the sacred cows that freely roam the riverbank. Incense wafting above bearded, orange-clad holy men carries their prayers to the heavens in distinctive odors of sandalwood and other fragrances you would call exotic but that are commonplace here. Chanting from a nearby temple, laughter from children splashing in the river, and devotional singing by a chorus of women in colorful saris round out a clamor that somehow blends into a harmonious tribute to the gods of this ancient land.

For you it is an interesting setting but no more than that. The novelty of such sights has worn thin over the days in Varanasi and your months in India. These are not your rituals, this is not your homeland or way of life. Vishnu, Krishna, and Shiva are not your gods, but then neither is the Jesus whom you met in the dishwater-deep church services of your youth. A messiah whose devotees are taught to love thy neighbor and to judge not, then spend the next two millennia judging, condemning, and killing in His holy name, is a messenger easily shunned. No, you have long ago learned that if you are to find truth you must journey within to peer at your own contradictions, into the inner reaches of light and shadow in order to ferret out clues to this mystery called life.

Today, however, you find little sense in the journey or in the cycle of life and death that surrounds you on the Ganga ghats. You stand and begin the trek to your guesthouse passing a group of pilgrims who have just arrived to bathe in the sacred waters. Not surprisingly, many are the elderly who travel to Varanasi believing that to die in this most holy of Hindu cities will propel their soul to nirvana rather than their incarnating into another lifetime of toil. A comforting notion, you think, but one that fails to help you make sense of daily living. In fact, the idea of getting one's soul out of here as quickly as possible seems to argue against _any_ meaningful purpose to earthly existence.

You pause to look at the elders entering the river, their faces filled with a mixture of happiness, peace, and reverence as they submerge into the watery embrace of their beloved Ganga. You observe them with envy, feeling as if they harbor wisdom that you have forgotten, that a piece of a timeless puzzle is reflected in their eyes. If only you could remember, you think with frustration, if only you could _re-member_ and rejoin the wise elders splashing joyfully in sacred waters.

Closing your eyes, you feel on the cusp of reclaiming something lost long ago, a secret hiding just beyond the veil of time. But the moment passes. You return your gaze to a foreign setting bombarding your senses with alien sights, smells, and sounds—and again, you feel like a fish out of water as you awkwardly ascend the uneven steps along the shoreline towards your abode.

## In HEAVEN

The Seraph of Desire peers over his spectacles in gentle admonishment at his colleague. "Let us dispense with this metaphor of a flopping fish, shall we? Those who volunteer for the difficult service of entering our brave new world of Earth should be treated with honor, not ridicule."

"Or with both," retorts the Archangel of Duality. "They'd better start getting used to experiencing both sides of the coin, you know."

The Seraph considers her statement. "Point taken, my friend. A world of opposites will be quite a culture shock to spirit after living such a long time in blissful unity."

"How do you populate one of these new worlds with spirit, anyway, once desire and thought create the place?"

The Seraph of Desire takes a moment to consider how best to describe the process to Duality. "When you were long ago vanquished—excuse me, _retired_ —we suddenly saw how everything was interconnected into one exquisitely functioning cosmos. And we realized that individuals are all really just part of a single consciousness or unified energy field or universal mind or god or however our oneness is labeled."

"This unity concept is a little hard to grasp for someone steeped in duality, but I think I follow," responds the archangel.

"Try picturing a beautiful, eternal flame representing the totality of all spirit, of all consciousness. Now imagine candles being lit by this source-flame and carried off into the worlds."

"Okay, I'm with you," states Duality while nodding with her eyes closed.

"These smaller flames represent each spirit, each of us who emerges as a piece of consciousness to experience existence for a while before returning to Source."

"Flames of consciousness that are still interconnected within the whole but with a sense of individual experience," adds the Archangel of Duality as she continues to picture what Desire is describing. "Like being the taste buds for god."

"Exactly," the Seraph of Desire responds with approval, "giving god or eternal consciousness the flavor of various aspects of beauty, abundance, and bliss as we each experience the worlds of our choosing."

"And now the new taste of duality will add to the thirty-one flavors from which to choose," the archangel interjects with a smile.

"Why do you say, _31 flavors_?"

"Oh, I was just imagining some of the temptations I might create in the future to help spirit experience the polarities of pleasure and guilt." She then queries, "Did the Chief give you any specific instructions regarding what is required for our new creation?"

"Yes indeed. Some rather interesting twists are to be incorporated into what will be called Earth."

"Such as?"

Desire sits up straighter in his chair as he prepares to pass on the Chief's instructions to the Archangel of Duality. "First and foremost, instead of remaining in free-form to experience the earth world, god wants each spirit to take on a dense cloak of matter, a human costume so to speak, in which to house its consciousness."

"God wants spirit to actually descend into a world of matter?" exclaims Duality as her jaw drops with incredulity. "Those biological bodies will feel like prison uniforms, not costumes!"

The Seraph gestures his agreement. "Not only that, but each flame of consciousness will forget its heavenly origin when entering Earth, suffering an acute case of amnesia in order to take a complete 'Fall' into the density of being human."

"So spirit forgets its true heritage and starts identifying with the biological vessel, the human being, as its identity?"

"Yep."

The Archangel of Duality leans back in her chair and laughs heartily. "What a masterful plan for getting consciousness to lose itself in the madness of the earthly world!"

"But not as masterful as what comes next." The Seraph of Desire leans forward and continues the explanation, "Once people become totally lost in their physical identity on Earth, the process of remembrance will be triggered to guide their consciousness back to its true heavenly heritage."

"Sounds good," Duality comments, "but guided how?"

"The Chief said that we won't be able to devise the details until you actually design Earth, but we figure the procedure will involve clues dropped in the path of each individual's mind—perhaps an auspicious dream or two, an ancient memory coming to the fore, an urge to phone home but not knowing where, being attracted to familiar people who never were actually met before, that sort of thing. Just a little mind play individually customized to shake loose the cobwebs of forgetfulness and lead people back into awareness of the true self."

"Excellent," the Archangel of Duality registers her pleasure as she stands to gaze out the window. "A Mindgame to Remembrance."

## EARTH on a rooftop cafe

Far from the madding crowd, you sip a lime soda atop your guesthouse roof where plastic tables with shade umbrellas provide cheap relief from the May heat of central India. No relief from the day's quandaries is available, however, as your thoughts continues to dwell on the jumble of issues crowding both the streets of Varanasi and the avenues of your mind. The rooftop panorama only fuels your mental ramblings as you gaze from the colorful skyline of Varanasi to the flat, empty expanse on the opposite shore of the river. Not a building, not a road, not a person is to be seen on what appears to be prime riverside real estate on the far bank, while millions are crowded into a similar parcel on the Varanasi side of the Ganges.

A helpful waiter explained yesterday that this apparent anomaly was a result of the widespread belief that people who die on the eastern bank will reincarnate as donkeys. After viewing those overworked and underfed creatures in India, you can well understand why devout Hindus in Varanasi would fear expiring on the accursed shore.

Fear of death, fear of life, fear of the unknown...is fear the sole motivation for the constant worship in this holy city, the reason for all the ablutions and temples, the offerings and chants? You recall the bright expressions of the elderly pilgrims entering the river Ganga, joyful faces which indicate that the answer is _no_ —more than simple fear must motivate the outpouring of human faith, hope, and charity.

You balk at the notion of charity, however, as images of the various beggars whom you have recently spurned flash through your mind. Thinking back on a lifetime in America of trying to help others as a generous friend, a good son, and caring consultant does little to alleviate the current discomfort. In fact, your sense of unease is actually stoked by recalling your well-intentioned, charitable efforts of the past which in retrospect seem as devoid of purpose as sipping a watered-down lime soda on Indian rooftop.

A female voice with thick Australian accent abruptly rescues you from this reverie. "Mind if I join you, mate? All the tables are taken."

"Certainly," you reply looking up at the woman and nodding at the empty chair across the plastic table.

She looks confused and asks, "Certainly you mind or certainly I can sit?"

"No, no, you're most welcome to join me," you reply feeling foolish and remembering why you prefer keeping your mouth shut these days.

The Aussie hefts a backpack from her shoulders and drops into the chair with a sigh. "So, where you from?" she queries brightly.

"And how long have I been in India and is this my first trip here and how do I like it so far? Maybe we could forego the same chatty routine we have each given a hundred times," you suggest trying not to sound too impolite. You offer her a handshake which she cautiously accepts. "Or probably I'm just tired of saying I'm from the USA and getting reactions like I'm the vanguard of the next wave of American imperialism to sweep across the globe."

"Not an easy time to be a traveling Yank, eh?"

"Nor to be a local Indian," you declare while gesturing to the jumbled rooftops of Varanasi, "nor a friendly Aussie just trying to be cordial to a contemplative fellow."

"Is _contemplative_ the American word for grumpy?" she asks with one eyebrow raised.

You lift your glass in acknowledgment and take a deep drink before answering, "I'm just preoccupied in thought, not really grumpy. The inquiring mind wants answers and all I seem to find in my gray matter is question after question."

"Like how many angels can dance on the head of a pin and other _really_ important stuff that we spiritual seekers ponder?" asks the woman while motioning for a waiter.

After pausing while she gives her drink order, you reply, "More like why this pinhead is dancing around India when I should be flying with the angels or at least soaring with the eagles, considering all the freedom and good fortune I've had in this life."

The Aussie makes a quick 360-degree scan of the rooftop vista. "Looks to me like we've come pretty close to soaring. No eagles here, but one hell of a view."

You gaze across the colorful landscape. "Actually, I think hell is officially confined to that area," you state with a smile as you indicate the barren east bank of the river.

"That and the bloody train I just came in on," she recalls with a look of disgust. "Nothing like an overnight berth in misery to make one appreciate the comforts back home."

## Another day in HEAVEN

The Archangel of Duality pauses to rub her hand over the ornately carved trim at the office entrance. "Quite some digs you have here," she remarks as she enters the crystalline room.

"Back so soon, my dear?" the Seraph of Desire responds while welcoming her to a chair by his desk.

"Yes I am, and full of ideas for the blueprint of our new world of duality." She takes a seat as Desire assumes a position across from her, waiting with anticipation to hear how the archangel intends to design existence on Earth.

"I came up with a few basic parameters" the Archangel of Duality begins, "that once implemented should be self-sustaining to ensure that each flame of consciousness gets completely lost in its earthly body then reawakens to undertake the Mindgame to Remembrance of its true self and spirit."

The Seraph of Desire interjects encouragingly, "Sounds like you have a clear understanding of the goal. What are the parameters for Earth you've developed?"

"First, the main physical law that will prevail is: _For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction_."

"Hmm, that concept reflects the very heart of duality," observes Desire as he considers this scientific tenet. Upon grasping the repercussions of such a law, he exclaims, "My goodness, that will frustrate any attempt by humans to create some purely positive result on Earth!"

"Correct," the archangel responds with a self-satisfied smile. "Equal doses of creation and destruction will occur no matter what a person undertakes. Trying to do a good deed will lead to an equal amount of turmoil on the planet, trying to succeed will lead to some form of failure in equal measure, trying to make peace will cause conflict to pop up somewhere, and so on." The Archangel of Duality flips through her notes as she continues, "To magnify this frustrating effect, I've come up with the idea of inventing _gravity_ for this world."

"What on Earth is gravity?"

"It's a force that will hold people onto the planet's surface. But what's important is that spirit will no longer have the unlimited mobility that it is accustomed to enjoying, and also that almost every effort—even just getting out of bed in the morning—must overcome resistance of gravitational force."

Desire comments, "Except when going downhill."

"Right. Which brings us to the main feature of the plan— _death_."

The Seraph shivers. "The universe hasn't known death for eons."

"All the more reason for consciousness to taste it again in order to affirm our appreciation for life," asserts Duality while glancing at her notebook. "I'm making death of the human body the only certainty that people will face in an uncertain world."

"The inevitability of its own death will tend to create a bit of anxiety in the human being, I would imagine."

The Archangel of Duality grins. "Not only anxiety but outright terror, since I'm programming a survival instinct into the human body such that its greatest fear is its only certainty—that it will die."

Desire ponders the ramifications of this diabolical plan, soon nodding in admiration at the archangel's cleverness. "Thereby ensuring that people forget all about their heavenly heritage as they desperately cling to their earthly existence."

"In essence, yes," Duality responds, "although I suspect that the presence of spirit in individuals, although forgotten, will create a nagging urge or an emptiness that they will try to fill with cheap substitutes like excesses of food, relationships, sex, religions, sports, money, and other distractions that a world of duality offers."

The Seraph of Desire tries to picture such a world, commenting, "True, but their frantic consumption will never be enough since people will be looking _outside_ themselves for the answer. Just a mad quest for more, more, more of whatever keeps them from feeling their pain of separation from spirit."

The archangel beams. "And voilá, the metaphorical Fall from paradise and into duality is complete!"

## EARTH, still on the roof

With a final big gulp, you consume the last of your soda as the Australian woman asks, "So what was going through that contemplative mind of yours before my interruption?"

You welcome the opportunity to share your thoughts as you explain, "I was considering how I've spent my whole life trying to make the world a better place and help people become more fulfilled, but when I look back now it seems all for naught. Like nothing was really accomplished in the stack of good intentions, advice to clients, advocacy for the downtrodden, and the helping hand to friends."

The waiter arrives with the Aussie's drink and she takes a quick sip. "Quite a burden you've shouldered, taking on the problems of the world," she remarks with a touch of sarcasm that flies unnoticed over your head.

"You're right in a way. Ever since I was a kid I was attempting to fix things for people, trying to improve each situation, always wanting to feel useful and of service."

"Sounds like you learned at a young age how to be in control and to stay above your own problems," observes your table companion while holding the icy glass to her cheek in the rooftop heat.

You are too preoccupied with your train of thought to register her point. Steaming full-speed ahead, you explain, "So now, since I feel helpless to do anything to alleviate people's troubles, I come up empty inside. Almost like I have no identity anymore since it was so wrapped up in the notion of service to others, in trying to fix the world's problems, and being—"

The thud of the Aussie's glass hitting the table interrupts your monologue as she stares at you straight in the eye. "What the hell makes you think anything or anyone needs fixing?"

"Huh?" you respond feeling as if a Zen stick just slapped against the back of your head to awaken you to alertness.

"You heard me," she declares while maintaining her penetrating stare. "Why do you think anything needs fixing?"

You simply gawk at the Aussie, feeling at a loss and tongue-tied.

The woman's demeanor softens slightly as she continues, "Just consider for a moment the possibility that beyond our limited human perception, the universe is running in perfect order with each individual participating in the drama just fine. And maybe, just maybe, after we grasp this truth and see the beauty behind the façade, we have a good laugh together looking back on all the judgments and gyrations we went through to finally awaken to the perfection of creation." She reaches out and gently touches your hand, "And we're no longer burdened with angst for feeling helpless to _save_ the world from itself."

"Because the world doesn't need saving," you state aloud, weighing this theory for yourself.

"Nor do its inhabitants. Therefore a well-intentioned king of the mountain can come down from his lofty perch and get real instead of staying safely above the mess by helping others who don't need his help—or at least who don't need your ego-driven approach to manipulating them."

You squirm a bit in your seat. "Whew, you pull no punches, do you?" you remark, still feeling stunned by the abrupt shift in rooftop atmosphere. "Do you always challenge people on purpose?"

She leans back in her chair. "Only those who profess to be tired of their old routines and have the courage to admit they've arrived at a sense of emptiness. Emptiness can be a great place to start, you know."

"To start what?" you ask.

The woman shrugs. "Maybe someday we'll remember."

## In HEAVEN at the planning session

"So how do you plan to kick off this brave new world?" the Seraph asks the Archangel of Duality. "The Chief is really into symbolism, you know."

"Of course I know," she asserts with a scowl. "We all are part of the mind of god."

"I apologize, my dear," says the Seraph of Desire. "I guess the reemergence of duality into the universe has already affected my thinking and sense of unity a bit."

"Apology accepted," responds the archangel graciously as she retrieves her notes to answer the initial question. "As an opening scene to the new world, I figured we'd have the first man—call him Isaac or Adam or Ricky or something catchy—sitting under an apple tree in a lush garden. A ripe apple falls onto Isaac's head and he abruptly realizes he's living in a dense world of gravity instead of in heaven."

The Seraph of Desire ponders this scenario then responds, "A good symbolic 'Fall' but we need to give some focus to the duality angle. Also, it's customary here in heaven to start each new world with the pronouncement: _Let there be Light_."

"No problem," Duality comments as she shuffles through her notes, scribbles a few reminders for later, and considers a new opening scenario for humanity. "Okay, here's the genesis that should incorporate what you desire. _Light_ will appear in the garden as a huntress named Luce, as light will be called in an upcoming biblical language. Luce places an apple on the head of the first man as a symbol of the human mind. Pulling back on her hunting bow, she launches an arrow—"

The Seraph excitedly inserts, "The bowstring back-pull and arrow's forward motion aptly demonstrating that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction in a world of duality!"

"Right, and then the arrow splits the apple in two—"

"Symbolizing the split of the earthly mind from heavenly consciousness?" speculates Desire.

"Exactly. And the first man, Ricky, is befuddled as he picks up the split apple and calls out to the huntress, "Luceeeeee, you got some splainin' to do!"

The telephone rings in the office interrupting the archangel's plan for creation. The Seraph picks up the receiver and listens for a minute before replying, "Sorry about that, Chief. I'll inform her right away." The Seraph of Desire turns back to Duality and states diplomatically, "I love the Luce idea, but god says it's too complex an overture to tell. Also, don't forget that your every thought will ultimately manifest as reality on Earth, so be careful about giving birth to future abominations in black and white."

"Understood. Did the Chief have any alternative ideas for the opening scene for humanity?"

"Just to keep it simple," the Seraph answers, "with the first man and woman each biting an apple from the tree of earthly knowledge, thereby ingesting the concept of good and evil which casts them immediately into the madness of dual thinking and out of the paradise of heavenly oneness."

The Archangel of Duality drops her notepad onto the desk. "Not a bad genesis for the book version but lousy visuals for the movie adaptation," she observes while considering the earthly future. She then walks to the penthouse window where existence stretches out to an infinite horizon. "Okay, partner, shall we commence the creation?" she asks the Seraph of Desire. "Are you ready for an exciting new world called Earth?"

"Ready when you are," he replies with anticipation.

"Here goes." She opens her arms wide to the universe and proclaims, "Let the games begin!"

A loud clearing of the Seraph's throat acts as a subtle reminder.

"Whoops, sorry," the archangel responds as she tries again. "Let there be Light!"

And behold, it was good...well, and not so good, too, because that is how a world of opposites must be.

## On EARTH at the Varanasi guesthouse

You flip on the power switch upon entering your room, a typical abode in the cheap guesthouses that serve the tide of Western backpackers who flow in tune with India's climate and festivals. Occasionally you treat yourself to more comfortable lodgings designed for those whose budgets, and standard of cleanliness, are healthier. But the current single bed with hard mattress, a bathroom with squat toilet, and a small table with chair fulfill your simple needs just fine. And the charge of one-hundred rupees per day, about two dollars, well serves a man who is on an extended sabbatical from his earning power in order to explore the mysteries of the inner and outer worlds.

Mystery will have to wait further scrutiny, however, as dirty clothes strewn on the bed greet you and conjure the mundane requirements of life. Actually, you welcome the shift to the straightforward demands of laundry after being caught in the swirl of esoteric thought stimulated by burning bodies and by the rooftop conversation from which you have just descended. You retrieve a wash bucket from the bathroom but come up short on laundry detergent as you rifle through your bag looking for the small, single-wash packets that you normally carry. The thought of returning to the hubbub of Indian street life holds little appeal but so does the idea of wearing dirty clothes. Hygiene eventually wins out over sloth as you reluctantly leave your refuge to buy detergent.

Numerous storefronts line the narrow lanes that you meander, each small shop run by an Indian family of the merchant _class_ , no longer deemed a closed _caste_. Gandhi-era reforms led to legislation to mitigate the unfairness of the ancient caste system that for millennia confined families to their historic stations in life and that contradicted the democratic principles upon which the Republic of India was founded in 1947. Looking at the modern-day streets of Varanasi, however, demonstrates that a hasty sprinkling of laws did little to loosen the roots of tradition. Everywhere you see short, wiry, dark-skinned laborers—formerly called untouchables—sweeping the streets and carrying the mortar needed to build the new appliance stores and other specialty shops frequented by the wealthy class, small in number but still large in influence and often in girth.

Through the bustle of people and thoughts of history, you arrive at one of the tiny convenience stores that carries household supplies. A merchant mother and preteen daughter run the counter that faces the street, with their crowded goods stacked and scattered behind them. The daughter who likely picked up a little English in early schooling offers to assist you.

"One small packet of laundry soap," you request in your clearest English as you point to the string of packets hanging from the ceiling. She glances to her mother who responds with a subtle tilt of her head. The youngster goes to a shelf and retrieves a large carton of laundry soap with enough detergent, you reckon, to do more than a hundred buckets of laundry. She hefts the box to the counter while pointing to the maximum legal price printed on its top, a fixed charge mandated by the federal government for each consumer product in order to prevent price gouging. "No, not that," you respond while smiling and pointing, "just one of those small packets."

Another visual message is passed from mother to child as the girl turns her back, pulls down a string of soap packets, and holds out her hand to you with a packet showing in the palm. "Six rupees," she says looking at the floor.

"No, one packet, _three_ rupees," you state sternly, knowing from experience the maximum legal price of detergent. The child sheepishly unveils a second packet that she had palmed beneath the first. She reluctantly takes your three rupees while the mother gives the girl a scornful look for having failed in the scam to double the sale. You accept the single packet of detergent and wag a finger at the mother while giving her some unsolicited advice in English that the woman undoubtedly neither appreciates nor understands. She responds with her own wagging finger and an outburst in a language that you are grateful you cannot translate.

The familiar knot in your stomach has returned as you retreat from this latest cultural exchange, feeling ridiculous for having just gotten riled over a few cents worth of laundry soap. You haven't taken a dozen steps before the next dose of cross-cultural madness commences.

"Hello friend!" a neatly dressed young man calls as he approaches you with a hand extended to shake. In your three days in Varanasi about fifty of these young entrepreneurs have confronted you, eager to be your best friend and invariably claiming a brother who is the fastest taxi driver in town, a cousin who is the most efficient travel agent, or a friend with the finest hotel—best price guaranteed.

After your unsettling exchange with the mother-daughter duo, you haven't the heart to totally ignore the fellow's greeting. You shake his hand as he asks, "First trip to Varanasi?"

You answer with a hasty _yes_ as you break free from his grip and step lively in the direction of your guesthouse. He keeps pace and queries, "What country you come from?"

"I come from a state of silence," you reply with little hope that he'll catch the hint.

He does not and continues imploringly, "I just like to practice English and talk with you, that's all."

"Right," you remark sarcastically as you pick up speed which the young man matches step for step. Realizing you are not going to outdistance him without a full-sprint footrace, you stop to declare, "If all you want to do is talk, I will listen."

He breaks into a broad grin and asks, "How you like India so far?"

"I said I'd listen if you wanted to say something, not answer a bunch of your questions."

The fellow assumes a pained expression as he whines, "All I try is make honest living. You not have to be rude to me."

"I understand," you respond both in sympathy and in recognition of the same pity-card which these streetwise entrepreneurs have played against you dozens of times.

"Maybe we talk over tea," he says expectantly. "Auntie make good tea at garment shop. Best price trousers, guaranteed."

You throw up your hands and walk off.

"Hey, mister," yells the young man in an irritated voice, "you make me waste time and make no money. My family don't eat if I not make money because of you."

The familiar guilt-card has been played. Without turning around, you simply raise a hand in acknowledgment and maintain a steady pace away from the fellow. You hear his final shout, "My family no can live this way."

"Neither can I, friend," you mumble under your breath, "neither can I."

In that instant, you decide to remove yourself from the madness of this earthly existence—and you know precisely where and how to do it.

### CHAPTER 2

On Purpose

" _For improving the realm, the King and I have developed guidelines_

for right thought, right action, right eating, right sleeping,

right breathing, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera."

\- The Buddha, before enlightenment

## HEAVEN: The 6th Century B.C.

"Bang-up job you've been doing with Earth. Absolutely first rate," the Seraph of Desire greets the Archangel of Duality a little too effusively as she arrives at his office. "We're all impressed by how you've implemented duality so effectively into your creation."

"Thank you," responds the archangel cautiously, wondering why she has been summoned. "It _has_ gone rather well, except of course, for that one big flood that nearly wiped out all life on Earth."

The colleagues sit as the Seraph asks, "I've been wondering, how did that flood get into the picture, anyhow? If it hadn't been for Noah and his ark...well, who knows?"

The Archangel of Duality takes a deep breath before replying, "You know how sometimes you start running a bath, then the phone rings and you forget all about it? Let's just say a call distracted me and I left the water running."

"Quite a little chat you must have had," the Seraph of Desire observes while thinking of the forty days and forty nights that the waterworks kept flowing.

"No harm done though," asserts the archangel. "Populations have reestablished on all continents and the flames of consciousness are taking the Fall into forgetfulness on Earth quite nicely upon experiencing the human condition."

"Yes they are, my dear, but let us recall that spirit's plunge into human form and forgetfulness is only half of the overall equation." The Seraph of Desire retrieves a sheet from his desk and points to a schematic that outlines the plan they developed in a previous chapter of time long ago. He summarizes, "Each flame of consciousness, as you say, enters Earth to dwell for a human lifetime in a biological body, forgets its true identity of spirit, and descends into the madness of duality on Earth."

"The Fall," Duality inserts while pointing to the first heading on the sheet, "into all the struggles of life and death, love and hate, good and evil, and other opposites of duality that batter them through life on Earth."

"Correct, then the Mindgame to Remembrance commences," the Seraph continues while pointing to the second section, "involving a process of customized clues and reminders to help individuals reawaken to the memory of their true self as pure consciousness."

"Yes, yes, I know," the archangel interrupts impatiently, "thereby transcending the earthly prison of duality and returning to their heavenly heritage of unity and bliss. So what's the problem?"

The Seraph of Desire retrieves another fact sheet and assumes a serious demeanor as he answers, "Some of the spirits aren't making it back to heaven."

"What?" the Archangel of Duality exclaims in shock. "Not making it back?"

"Look at the data," Desire directs as he highlights a graph on the sheet. "Before the great flood, all spirits who went to Earth returned to us by the end of their human life, as planned. But here, in just a few generations after Noah, we started having an 81% return rate. This dropped to 67% in Egypt's heyday, down to 52% during the Persian dynasty, and then nose-dived to under thirty percent in the current Greek culture."

"You're telling me that seventy percent of the flames of consciousness sent to Earth are now getting stranded there?" Duality asks feeling stunned by the news.

"It's even worse if we include the data from Asia where the concept of reincarnation has taken hold. Countless flames of consciousness there are getting caught in lifetime after lifetime of earthly duality without ever awakening to remember their true heritage of spirit."

"I had no idea," murmurs the archangel as she stares into space.

"Of course you didn't, dear, and no one is blaming you since you've had your hands full running the place from Duality's standpoint. But my role is to ensure that Earth functions in accordance with our desires, so I've had my research team looking into the problem."

"Have you determined a cause for why spirit is failing to awaken and return?"

The Seraph of Desire explains, "At first we thought it simply was a matter of seduction, that a world of heroes and villains, famine and feast, and other stimulation generated by duality was just too seductive to the human form. In short, consciousness grew overly attached to its humanity. Plus, amidst all the earthly excitement, individuals never even noticed the dreams, messages, 'coincidences', and other clues sent to reawaken them to spirit."

"Makes sense," observes Duality, "but it doesn't explain why this problem started right after the great flood."

"Our question, too, and the research team has come up with the theory that the destructive nature of the flood triggered some guilt response in people to make them think that their gods are mad at them or that they are somehow unworthy of heaven unless they earn it."

The archangel remarks, "Which of course plunges them deeper into the judgments of right and wrong, sending them even further into the jaws of duality."

"From which a distressingly large percentage are unable to break free," concludes the Seraph while laying aside the papers.

The duo sits quietly for a minute, lost in their collective thoughts. The Archangel of Duality finally breaks the silence. "So what can we do about this return-rate problem?"

The Seraph of Desire shakes his head in discouragement. "Unfortunately, my best researchers still don't have a clue about how—"

He stops in mid-sentence, interrupted by the ringing telephone. "Hello...uh-huh...yes." Desire continues to listen intently until remarking, "Excellent idea, Chief. Right...okay...grand! I'll move on it immediately."

The archangel starts to question the Seraph, but he raises one hand for quiet while reaching with the other to the intercom button. "Faith, send for Prince Siddhartha," he directs. "You'll find him in the Chief's address files under 'B' for budding Buddha."

## EARTH, nine days after leaving Varanasi

Silence. Silence that swallows you like a whale. You sit in the belly of the beast hearing nothing, seeing nothing, feeling no boundaries between yourself and the emptiness that envelops you. For eight days in this dim chamber your body and very identity have been digested, broken down into nothingness to be regurgitated into a vast sea of the unknown.

You remain motionless in the darkness, feeling a slight breeze rhythmically pass through a gateway between two dimensions upon which your entire consciousness is focused. Cool air flows in through your nostrils, warm air flows out. Cool then warm, dry then moist, in-breaths and out-breaths form a cycle of ancient communion across the dimensions, sending messages from one world to another. You listen carefully for words of meaning but only the silence of emptiness greets you, for emptiness itself is the message of the meditation.

Your earthly identity grows edgy with the nothingness and summons the inquiring mind to give form to the void that threatens to swallow your small self into oblivion. The rescue succeeds as your mind shifts from meditative stillness to active memories of how you arrived at this moment. An overnight train from Varanasi to Dehradun, a taxi ride through the countryside, and a wade through a shallow river brought you to the gates of this meditation retreat center where you gratefully traded the chaos of the outside world for contemplative silence. After a brief in-processing, you have not spoken for eight days or even made eye contact with another person. You have done no reading, no writing; undertaken no tasks that would distract you from simply observing the body and mind in order to know thyself and thereby liberate from the limitations and illusions of this earthly existence.

Great theory, tough practice, you think as pain throbs in your knees. Sitting on a cushion in silence for several hours each day has brought your body and mind to the limits of their endurance a number of times. Perhaps this technique catapulted Buddha to enlightenment under the bodhi tree, but your monkey-mind has mostly been chattering and swinging through the branches. Yes, you have come to know thyself better, including seeing how little control you have over your thoughts that race off on tangents and frustrate your meditation practice.

Once again, you make an effort to stop these mental ramblings and bring your awareness back to your nose in order to feel the subtle sensations of breathing in and out. After a minute of relaxing into this rhythm, you expand your awareness to observe the sensations in your entire body. You note pain in the knees but rather than fight the discomfort, you simply watch it with detachment. Pain, as all things, will eventually change in this material world of impermanence.

Sure enough, the throbbing soon turns into a dull ache which evolves into a tingling that spreads up your legs and throughout your body. You continue to observe this sensation, coming to feel the body more as a vibrating energy field than as a solid blob of protoplasm that sits on a cushion. The boundary between the inner self and an outside world dissolves as you again enter a void that transcends the understanding of your inquiring mind and that threatens your ego's sense of control.

Before the monkey-mind can rescue ego with another dose of chatter, a loud chime signals the end of the current two-hour meditation session. You welcome the break as you stretch your legs in the tiny, dim meditation cell and head outside for open air and refreshment.

## HEAVEN, a short time later

"My, this is exhilarating!" Prince Siddhartha exclaims as he takes a deep breath of the rarified atmosphere of heaven. "And I haven't seen a room this opulent since my early days at the palace."

"Welcome, my dear prince," the Seraph of Desire says in hearty greeting as he ushers the gaunt young man into the office, introducing him to the Archangel of Duality.

The archangel smiles at the emaciated prince who is leaning on his walking stick for support. "It appears that several years and many missed meals have gone by since your pampered youth."

"That's true, ma'am. After learning of the suffering in the world, I could no longer live shielded by luxury in my father's palace."

The Seraph pulls from the cabinet the Siddhartha file subtitled, _The Future Buddha_. "If our information is correct, you've now gone whole hog into the extreme of asceticism on Earth. No pleasures, bathing, or shaving—and eating only fallen fruit so as not to harm any life form. Does that about sum it up?"

"That and the occasional mortification of the flesh," remarks the former prince while standing on one foot and lifting the other over his head, placing it behind his neck.

"Very impressive," the Seraph of Desire comments, "but where has all this austerity gotten you in your quest for enlightened oneness?"

The ascetic looks down at his wasted body in tattered sackcloth, replying dejectedly, "On the express to Nowhere Fast, with a stop at Scrawnyville Junction."

The Seraph drapes a reassuring arm around the young man's bony shoulders. "Not to despair, lad. Your plunge into the extremes of palace and paucity, then seeing through the traps of each pole, has made you the perfect person to teach the Middle Path and help awaken earthly consciousness to its heritage of spirit."

The Buddha-to-be brightens as he removes his foot from his neck to stand on both legs. "What's the Middle Path?"

The Archangel of Duality takes over to explain, "It's a symbolic name for transcending earthly duality—walking the Middle Way between the poles of opposites—and thus returning to heaven or nirvana. The technique itself is deceptively simple. Individuals silently observe their breath and body sensations in order to quiet the mind enough so that they can start remembering their true identity as spirit."

Desire adds, "You see, people get so distracted by the daily noise in life that they are failing to notice the messages and clues that we send them in our Mindgame to Remembrance, the process by which we reawaken consciousness to itself."

"And I'll be teaching the meditation technique?" the excited former ascetic asks.

"As soon as you sit under a bodhi tree and apply the method firsthand to liberate yourself from duality's grasp," replies the Seraph. "Although the Chief sent a word of warning. Be alert to your earthly ego trying to start a religion or preaching commandments about right and wrong. There seems to be a global epidemic of this tendency that makes it even more difficult for consciousness to transcend earthly conditioning and to return home to heaven."

Prince Siddhartha nods as he sits on the floor of the office in silence, savoring the relief that comes from removing himself from the extremes of duality. The Seraph of Desire asks the young man, "Now that you have given up asceticism and chosen the Middle Path, can we make you one with everything?"

"With my undying gratitude," the emerging Buddha replies with a bow of his head, sensing what Desire has in mind.

The Seraph reaches for the intercom button and states, "Faith, order us up a couple of hero sandwiches, one with everything for Buddha and hold the mayo on mine."

## On EARTH in the meditation center

Your stomach rumbles with anticipation as you head down the path from the meditation chambers to the courtyard outside the kitchen. This daily five o'clock break is an hour in length and, as the evening's big indulgence, hot water with lemon is now available to the meditators. No meal is served, however, since one of the eight commandments dictated by Buddha for proper meditation is that no food be eaten after the noon hour.

Upon entering the Dehradun retreat center last week, you agreed to follow this rule as well as seven other prohibitions ranging from no killing, lying, or sexual misconduct, to no sleeping in _high and luxurious beds_. You wonder what Buddha's rationale was for this unlikely final commandment—perhaps some guilt lingering from his pampered youth while lounging around in bed until all hours reveling in princely delights.

You smile while thinking of this possibility as well as of the low, hard cots at the meditation center that definitely keep you from breaking the ban against luxurious slumber. As you enter the courtyard filled with fellow meditators each ignoring one another in silence, you realize that telling lies is automatically precluded as well. Keeping your eyes down to avoid inadvertent contact, you wait in line to pour a steaming portion of lemon water. You fill a cup, wrap your hands around its warmth, and breathe in the steam while retreating into the garden.

Eight days of focusing on your breath and body sensations—or at least trying to—have heightened your senses such that the taste of lemon, the sunlight sifting through the trees, and the sound of distant barking each registers with an unfamiliar sharpness. Dreams over the past few nights have been ultra-intense as well. One such nocturnal drama stands out in your mind, its vivid scenes taking place in a remote area of northern India called Spiti Valley, which you actually visited last year. You awoke from the dream with the sense that Spiti Valley is the most auspicious place in the world for you and that it holds a promise of transformation. Nothing but another little game of the mind, you conclude, but the dream's message has left you intrigued. Perhaps when the current ten-day meditation retreat is complete, you will head into the deep Himalayas and explore a bit more of the Spiti region.

A sip of steaming lemon water brings your attention back to the present. Rays of sun warm your face and, in unconscious habit from eight days of doing so, you close your eyes to focus on the sensations of the moment. To your surprise, the sense of boundlessness immediately arises that you have occasionally broken into during meditation, a state where you cannot tell where the body ends and the outside world begins—just dark, empty space in which you are inexorably intertwined.

You quickly open your eyes to the bright sunlight and for a brief instant, for a transcendental moment of clarity beyond any you have known, you experience union with everything to a depth and degree that your logical mind cannot grasp. It is as if each ray of sun, every blade of grass, each flower petal—in short, the entire universe—exists in loving support of who you are. And in that moment, you realize with crystal clarity that your primary purpose as a human being involves utterly accepting this universal support in order to receive the bounty of existence.

You sit in wonderment from this wave of awareness, but only briefly. The monkey-mind quickly intrudes with its racing thoughts accompanied by a stern organ grinder, your inner judge who emerges from the gut to berate you for having such self-centered ideas. And the cosmic Kodak moment passes.

## HEAVEN in the year 12 A.D.

"Did you say cheese?" Faith asks Buddha who has just arrived with the Archangel of Duality for a business lunch with the Seraph.

"Yes, please," the smiling fellow replies to the receptionist. "After nearly six centuries, it's nice you still remember how much I enjoyed the hero sandwich last visit here."

The Archangel of Duality playfully rubs Buddha's large belly as she notes, "Looks as if you've prospered with much good fortune along the Middle Way."

The duo laughs as they enter the office and join the Seraph of Desire at a table where he is pouring over piles of data. He gives them a quick greeting and comments in tired voice, "I haven't had a chance to thank you for your efforts, Buddha. During the decades you taught on Earth after your enlightenment we had quite a significant upsurge in consciousness awakening from its earthly prison and returning to heavenly unity." He points to a spike on the graph tracking the return-rate statistics.

Buddha scans the data and remarks with disappointment, "But it dropped back down almost immediately after my departure from Earth."

"Regrettably true," confirms the Seraph. "I've waited a few centuries to see if things would self-correct, but they haven't. So I called you both here today to put our heads together on a new strategy to help spirit return to its heavenly home."

"What's the current global rate of return?" asks the Archangel of Duality.

"At present, only 14% of the flames of consciousness we sent to Earth are transcending duality and coming back to heaven."

Buddha looks distressed. "What is happening to the other spirits who don't remember to awaken?"

"Most keep changing costumes, just taking on body after body in human lives without realizing what they're doing. A few spirits, however, after the death of the human vessel that housed them, remain in a confused state of limbo merely watching the earthly world without knowing where they belong or what to do," concludes the troubled Seraph.

"Sounds like hell," notes Buddha.

"Or as close as we come to one in this universe," remarks the Archangel of Duality. "Earth has proven to be a surprisingly unmanageable creation."

The Seraph of Desire looks at his colleague and comments, "Quite true, although I think my research team has gotten a better handle on explaining the return-rate problem and why the downward trend began after the great flood. In short, we underestimated the _pain of separation_ that consciousness would feel by being torn from oneness and tossed into a world of duality."

"How _very_ true," Buddha remarks while recalling his years of living in a human body. "While on Earth I always unconsciously felt this pain of separation from the Source, feeling unworthy and thus reacting with a compulsive need to improve myself, to help others, and to fix the world in order to compensate."

"Instead of just relaxing into the perfection of creation and receiving the infinite support that flows to each person to awaken to spirit," the Seraph of Desire interjects.

The Archangel of Duality asks the former prince, "So the separation from heavenly oneness creates an intrinsic guilt and unworthiness in people?"

"More like a sense of shame, not guilt," Buddha states as he considers the distinction. " _Guilt_ is a state of mind, a logical response to an action judged as being wrong. _Shame_ has no basis in logic or action; it is simply a state of being."

"Original shame," the archangel comments in agreement. "I always wondered why, after biting the apple of earthly duality and seeing their humanness, people started covering their bodies with fig leaves and clothes. Now I know why—original shame. No logical basis for feeling guilty, just an innate sense of unworthiness that naturally arises after being cast into the human form, feeling separate from the heavenly Source."

The Seraph of Desire adds his perspective to the picture, "A feeling of shame which, after the great flood, was magnified by people thinking they were being punished by a god for their unworthiness and for their _sins,_ that term humans use to flagellate themselves when lost in their dual thinking of good and evil."

"And to flagellate others into submission," Buddha says cringing in remembrance of the guidelines for righteousness, the eight commandments, and other rules his human ego imposed on the Middle Path. "Now I understand why the technique I taught had little lasting effect. When people get so busy judging themselves and worrying about doing the right or wrong thing, their spirits can never transcend duality and return to a heavenly state of union."

"It's quite a trap we've inadvertently created," the Archangel of Duality agrees while scribbling notes. "But how can we get Earth out of this mess of original shame and judgment?"

The heavenly colleagues sit in silence, each trying without success to come up with an answer. A familiar ring of the telephone fills the room and the Seraph eagerly picks up the receiver. "Yes, glad you called, Chief...uh-huh...sounds good. Only twelve years old, eh?" Desire gives his two colleagues a thumbs-up sign while cheerily ending the phone conversation with god, "Well, if the kid is showing such promise, let's go ahead and bring him in."

He hangs up the phone and immediately presses the intercom button. "Faith, summon Jesus of Nazareth, or if you can't locate him there, try the Bethlehem directory."

## On EARTH, a few moments later

You take another sip of lemon water in the meditation garden, basking in the gentle afterglow of the recent epiphany. Could it be that such unity, such perfection, such support that you felt is really the hallmark of the universe? Certainly this was your truth in that crystal moment of clarity, of oneness with all. But the logical mind now has a difficult time buying into the idea. And, it questions skeptically, what about the egocentric notion that your purpose on Earth is simply to embrace the infinite, loving support for your journey of life and spirit? Where does that leave the charitable precepts of doing unto others, of it being more blessed to give than to receive, of working to make the world a better place?

You consider these questions by imagining what daily existence would look like if you truly lived the belief that all events and people that you encounter actually support your journey in precisely the right way—and vice versa. The resultant scenario emerges with compelling force: You would see each person as a gift instead of someone needing help; you would greet people with acceptance instead of with a manipulative helping hand to fix them; and you would leave them with your sense of appreciation for exactly who they are, not with your judgments, pity or good intentions of how they should change in order to become a happier, better person.

You are stunned by this awareness that through the receiving flows the giving. A lifetime of values, assumptions, and goals based on serving others is suddenly turned on its head. Or more accurately perhaps, after living upside down for decades you are finally beginning to see straight. What do you spy from the upright position? You observe that if you quit constantly _trying_ to give to people and instead simply embrace what they bring, how they feel, what they say, and how they act, then you automatically project to them an unconditional dose of acceptance and appreciation—a far greater gift to them than any of your controlling ways of helping could be.

With this conclusion, your logical mind steeped in the Golden Rule makes peace with your recent transcendental union and experience of infinite support. All is well. In fact, all is exceedingly well as you feel a lifelong burden lift allowing you now to enjoy a deep sense of inner calm. You close your eyes to savor the experience while enfolded by familiar darkness, quietly drifting into—

Abruptly, you are jarred out of tranquility by a message that flashes in your mind. Not only is the content of the message confusing but the mode of delivery is startling as well. In dreams, particularly in recent months, you occasionally have heard a voice intervene with a short, salient pronouncement. But never before have you gotten such a clear message while awake. For an instant, six words appeared in your consciousness carrying a message that is incongruous to your belief system and out of place at a Buddha-based retreat center. There is, however, no mistaking the words of the vivid pronouncement: _You have a covenant with Christ._

### CHAPTER 3

On Purpose

" _Matthew has clearly written my instructions to love thy neighbor as thyself._

And as Luke recorded from yesterday's discourse, thou must hate

thy brethren, hate thy family, and verily hate your own life also,

in order to be my disciple. Any questions folks?"

\- Jesus, before transcendence

(from Matthew 19:19 and Luke 14:26)

## In HEAVEN, shortly after summoning Jesus, 12 A.D.

The duo walks slowly through the heavenly park, the archangel talking, the young Jesus listening with furrowed brow. The youth occasionally glances at the incredible beauty of the park but he misses not a word of what the Archangel of Duality speaks. "So that's the background to your mission, if you choose to accept it," concludes Duality after briefing the boy about the purpose of Earth and the problem to be addressed.

"It all seems overwhelming, impossible even," the young Jesus remarks while digesting what he just heard. "To rescue humanity from the trap of original shame and the notion of sin is no small task."

"Assuredly so and that is why you have been chosen by heaven to assist," says the archangel while putting a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "Your caring heart glowed like a beacon from Earth and you have displayed much wisdom beyond your twelve years. All you need is experience and training, which is what we have planned for you over the next two decades." The archangel ushers the adolescent to a park bench where they sit.

"You shall journey to a number of places—Persia, India, Tibet, Egypt—to understand life and to study with the world's wisest sages who have pierced the veil of duality. You will then return to your homeland to teach people to fully transcend the earthly illusions of sin, judgment, and unworthiness created by original shame so that they may be reborn into heavenly spirit."

Jesus nods as he looks off into space, thinking aloud about the concept of rebirth, "To become as a little child again in order to enter the kingdom of heaven."

"What do you mean exactly?" asks the Archangel of Duality.

The boy turns to her and replies, "When a newborn comes into the world, it has no concept of self. I can remember lying in the manger in Bethlehem simply being a flow of pure awareness in an unbounded pool of sensations. The infant body was not the limits of me since there was no 'me' and no outside world, just a oneness with everything."

"And the human body was merely a vessel of perception with which your consciousness could experience the world," Duality inserts her understanding.

"Right. But after enough shepherds, wise men, and well wishers gitchy-goo that chubby little vessel and call it 'you' and treat it as 'you', consciousness loses its sense of oneness and starts thinking of itself as an individual confined—and defined—by human flesh."

"We call this first taste of duality the _Fall_ ," explains the archangel.

"I know," the young scholar of the scriptures promptly responds, "the Fall from paradise that grows deeper as we learn the dual notions of an _us_ and a _them_ and start to project our internal divine nature onto some external god separate from ourselves. I've already seen the mess it creates in temples and everywhere."

"So you can well understand why we asked you to help humanity get over the pain of separation and original shame by reminding people that beyond the illusion of flesh, they are one with god and with each other."

The young Jesus ponders his upcoming task and concludes, "To embrace _thy_ god in your heart, mind, body, and spirit, and to love thy neighbor as thyself. Simple."

Duality laughs. "A simple and lovely message, but it's not so easy to remember for most flames of consciousness who volunteered to lose themselves in the duality of Earth. After your upcoming twenty years of training, however, we trust you will be able to devise a strategy to shepherd them home to spirit."

"I'm eager to help but as co-creator of Earth, why don't _you_ simply fix the problem and _make_ people remember their heritage of spirit?"

"Making people into puppets would defeat the purpose of the game," answers the archangel. "In order for consciousness to truly experience duality and thereby understand unity, it must participate freely in its human existence on Earth."

"So people do in fact have free will and are not slaves to predestination," concludes the boy. "I always wondered about that question."

The Archangel of Duality smiles as she clarifies, "Free will and predetermination are both fictions created by human thinking, two opposing poles in the illusion of duality on Earth. Once fully reawakened to spirit, you will see beyond simplistic notions of opposites, of cause and effect, of past and future, of duality itself, as they melt into a single creative dance spiraling through the eternal moment with no beginning or end."

The youthful Jesus closes his eyes trying to picture such a state. "I'm afraid I haven't gotten very close to that awareness yet."

"Not to worry, dear one. When you finally arrive, you'll understand that the journey home was time well spent."

## EARTH, one day after the meditation retreat

Memories of burning flesh, meditations techniques, and a covenant with Christ recede quickly into the background as the rickety bus climbs steadily, if not speedily, into the Himalayan foothills. Your recent epiphany, however, has remained in the forefront of your mind as you have enjoyed playing with the notion that no matter what happens, it somehow is part of the infinite support for your spiritual journey into the unknown. The noisy, fume-filled bus tests your dedication to this theory, but you simply surrender to the experience and enjoy viewing the lush forest through which the road winds.

You had the good fortune of getting the solo front chair, one of the few seats in cramped Indian buses in which your body can comfortably fit. Plus, riding shotgun with the driver gives you an unobstructed view through the windshield to relax and enjoy— _if_ you ignore the fact that India highways have the highest accident rate in the world, with bus casualties leading the way. The young New Zealanders sitting in the second row who have embraced backpacks against their chests for the last several hours apparently have seen those statistics as well. Bulging backpacks are not much of a substitute for air bags, you think, but travelers in South Asia learn to make-do with the resources at hand.

You have borrowed the Kiwis' India guidebook on this ten-hour journey from Dehradun in order to read about places you have visited in past months as well as get a sneak preview of Shimla, the town at which you will soon arrive for the first time. At 7,000 feet in elevation, it avoids the torrid heat of the India plains, a fact which in the mid-1800's prompted the British imperialists to move their headquarters from the sweltering capital of Delhi to Shimla for six months each year. With the lowering of the Union Jack in 1947, the town became a prime destination for wealthy Indians beating the summer heat and, more importantly to your plans, it is a gateway for entering the vast Himalayan region of northern Indian. After a night in Shimla, you expect to catch another bus that will begin a two-day drive to enter the remote high country of your recent dreams, Spiti Valley.

As the bus pulls into Shimla, a throng of eager porters surrounds the vehicle in hopes of carrying luggage through the steep, winding lanes where taxis are forbidden to travel. You disappoint them, however, since you welcome the chance to tote your backpack up the ridge in preparation for more strenuous treks soon to come on the Spiti slopes. As usual in large Indian towns a host of aggressive young men vie for your attention by promising to get you the best price for a hotel room. You smile pleasantly but choose to follow your intuition into the fray, trusting that you will find just the right shelter with the help of an ever-present guiding hand.

At the first hotel that looks quiet and in your price range, the owner makes it abundantly clear that Westerners are unwelcome as guests. You do not argue, concluding that he arrived at this exclusionary policy after painful experience with the many foreign travelers who find India a convenient place for cheap hashish and outrageous behavior. The next hotel you try is too costly for your budget but the helpful desk clerk suggests the inexpensive YMCA at the top of the ridge behind the large church.

"The large church?" you ask as your ears perk up.

"The biggest Christian church in India," the clerk responds with pride. "The British built it over a hundred and fifty years ago."

You thank the man and smile to yourself as you head up the slope to lodge at the Young Men's Christian Association, wondering if this is part of a cosmic setup related to some covenant with Christ that makes as little sense to you now as it did three days ago when the enigmatic message arrived in the inbox of your mind. You cinch your backpack a notch tighter and stride through the crowded lanes of Shimla's lower bazaar with its cheap shops and food stalls. The quality of goods and their prices rise in direct proportion to elevation and, near the top of the upper bazaar, you enter an open-air walking mall lined with specialty stores for wealthy tourists. Although tempted by a familiar American pizza franchise, you continue up a flight of broad steps to a large plaza that dominates the apex of the ridge.

You sit on a bench to catch your breath near pedestals that once supported noteworthy English figures, supplanted now by local heroes in bronze looking fixedly across an impressive panorama of forested foothills and mountains. Lively school children and scores of touring Indians scan the vista as well, people-of-color who not so long ago would have been prohibited from entering the plaza unless they were servants to the British residents who indulged in a spot of hot tea here while taking in the view.

The expansive landscape fails to enchant, however, as your attention is distracted by a large, yellow structure at the far end of the plaza. You jerk the cumbersome backpack onto your shoulders and walk to the high building. As expected, it is the Christian church. The front doors are chained but a side path leads through an iron gate to an unlocked entrance. You silently enter the vestibule door that opens to a large sanctuary of pews, stained glass, and a mood reminiscence of your childhood Presbyterian church a lifetime away.

The atmosphere is comforting, woven by history and hopes, by familiarity and faith of the thousands who have sat in these pews contemplating their relationship with the unseen. Gazing at the walls of the sanctuary you realize that many of them, like yourself, must have questioned what in God's name they were doing in this alien world of death, disease, and dissent. Stone memorials line the walls, engraved with words of remembrance for comrades lost to illness and in the battles to maintain India for the folks back home. British officers of the Ghurka Rifles, the Bengal Lancers, and other regiments are fondly recalled with hopes that they have found salvation and now rest in peace.

You next move to the center aisle bisecting dozens of pews in which a handful of people sit in silent prayer or stare into space with whatever thoughts the setting inspires. Walking halfway down, you pivot and shuffle along an empty pew to take a seat. In a manner similar to your meditation practice of the past ten days, you close your eyes and quietly observe the moment. Rather than fighting the rambling thoughts that enter your mind, however, you simply watch them along with the sensations of breath and the emotions of the man.

Does a loving spirit, called Christ in this sanctuary, bring salvation and peace to those lost in the battles on this perplexing planet? Perhaps so, you think, but no more so in this consecrated chapel than by the shores of the Ganga, the mountains of Tibet, the slums of Capetown, or the offices of New York. Does Jesus save only if a person believeth in Him and praiseth His Holy name? A capital idea to the Englishmen who etched their faith on the walls, but one that still does not resonate when testing its constraints against what you feel in your heart.

Giving yourself a break from philosophy and Jesus a break from your judgments, you focus on the rhythm of breathing in order to lose yourself in quiet emptiness. Ten minutes pass, or maybe twenty or thirty; it is hard to tell in the dark recesses of self where no phones demand response or alarms require timely action. A sharp poke in your side, however, does abruptly shift your attention to the outer world where a small Indian man in oversized suit is standing in the aisle with a long, polished stick aimed directly at you. Giving the man an annoyed look, you wonder why he has rudely interrupted your solitude with a healthy jab of a stick. The velvet bag hanging from the end of the pole answers your question.

"Back home we call this the offering, not the prodding," you state sarcastically as you retrieve a couple of ten-rupee notes from your wallet. The silent man's indifferent expression never changes as he withdraws the rod and moves up the aisle to other visitors. Irritation burns brightly in your face at the violation of your peace until you recall the current mindgame you are playing, embracing every action and each person as a gift of support on the path to discovery. So instead of obsessing over the annoyance, you opt instead to decipher the message of the moment. What obscure gift was just delivered by a poke in the short ribs?

As you let the mind freely roam, it occurs to you that the jab felt the same as someone elbowing you good naturedly to accentuate the punch line of a joke. So what's the punch line? Immediately upon asking yourself this question, a variation of an old joke comes to mind: _Jesus saves, but Christ plays the options market._ Although this punch line makes little immediate sense, somehow it rings true. As you consider its subtle meanings, another message pops into your mind delivered in a clear flash of words. This missive elicits a smile as you take out paper and pen from the pocket of your backpack to transcribe it: _Your covenant with Christ involves being_ _spent_ _, not saved._

You enjoy this little mindgame with the subconscious or whatever the source of thought. You also like the notion of your life being _spent_ in a generous program rather than hoarded in a self-serving savings plan. But as you look up from the paper on your lap, your mood abruptly sobers. There in the stain glass above the side altar hangs a body nailed to a cross, looking utterly spent.

## In HEAVEN: Early morning, Palm Sunday, 33 A.D.

"Well, I must say that the Jesus lad has made a merry mess of things," huffs the Seraph of Desire as he tosses the latest research report on his desk. "You'd think that after twenty years of studying with the best minds on Earth he could have evolved further out of duality than he's demonstrating."

The Archangel of Duality tries to remain patient with the Seraph as she states, "First of all, Jesus is thirty-three years old and no longer a lad. And second, I think you're overreacting to the situation."

"Look for yourself!" declares Desire as he points a finger out the penthouse window. "He's down there making people so nervous with his preaching of good and evil, life and death, and love and hate that they're plunging further into duality instead of remembering to awaken to their perfect spirit. Plus Jesus' earthly ego is running amok trying to fix everything and everyone with the psychic powers he learned from those yogis in India."

The archangel reaches out and tweaks her friend on the cheek. "I think you're still miffed about being excluded from my meeting with Jesus when he visited heaven at age twelve."

The Seraph sighs and gives his colleague a plaintive look. "I never really understood why I wasn't invited by god to attend."

Duality explains sympathetically, "The Chief merely wants Jesus to follow his own desires, not yours, in devising a strategy to rescue humanity from original shame." She inserts as an afterthought, "And perhaps what Jesus is doing now that appears so steeped in his ego and in earthly duality is actually part of his overall strategy."

"Maybe so," grumbles Desire as he retrieves the report from his desktop entitled, _The Messiah Complex_ , "but it's beyond me to see the sense in his approach. My research team has been monitoring him the past months and it appears that Jesus has forgotten that earthly actions, no matter how well intentioned, result in equal and opposite reactions."

The concerned Seraph opens the report and indicates specific data to his colleague. "Here is when Jesus healed the sick and cast demons into pigs, immediately causing a serious swine flu outbreak in South America. This is when he brought Lazarus back to life and a Mr. Cheng Lao in lower Mongolia dropped dead as a result." He turns the page and continues, "Here is the Mogambe famine that was the consequence of Jesus multiplying the loaves and fishes for his hungry multitudes. And you won't believe the counter-reaction to his water-to-wine trick, causing the—"

"Enough data and griping already!" cries the Archangel of Duality at the end of her patience. "If you have a bone to pick with Jesus, for chrissakes, do it to his face."

## EARTH in the Himalayas, two days after leaving Shimla

You welcome the change from Hindu vegetarian fare as you pull the last remnants of meat from a chicken leg into a bowl of fried rice. The opulence of Shimla and its many tourists are a world away as you dine peaceably at a simple guesthouse patio surrounded by the rugged slopes of Spiti Valley. Finishing the last of the late afternoon meal, you take a welcome stretch after two days of cramped bus travel that brought you to Tabo village, the primary entry point to this remote region of ancient Tibet, now part of northern India. The scenery is familiar from a previous trip here last year, but the contentment you feel in this land runs deeper than time as your eyes scan the rocky slopes leading to magnificent Himalayan peaks that pierce an azure sky.

A thin column of smoke draws your attention to a nearby hillside harboring ancient caves carved in loose rock and crumbling Earth. From the prior visit, you know that maroon-robed Buddhist monks and wandering Hindu holy men have for centuries used these stony chambers for contemplative retreat. Your gaze follows the smoke to its source at a cave mouth next to a maroon form which is little more than a dot in the distance.

You smile in anticipation as you decide that a hike up the hillside would be a good way to work out the kinks from the bus ride. The air is chilly and the sun hot, conditions typical for June in this dry, high valley as you leave the village and scramble up a footpath to the caves. The smoke acts as beacon as you ascend towards a familiar recess, at the mouth of which an old man is feeding the flames with twigs.

"Joolay, joolay," the maroon-clad monk calls in greeting in the local Tibetan dialect. He waves you forward as you clear the last rise. "Just in time to join me for tea," he says turning back to tend the fire and the boiling water.

"Thank you, Lamaji," you reply shyly. "I'd be honored to join you."

Still facing the fire with his back to you, the elderly lama retorts, "Enough of the _honor_ and _privilege_ bunk that you Westerners use to feed a silly old monk's ego and to convince yourself that risking your neck to climb up here is worth the effort." He turns to offer you a cup of steaming tea and a welcoming look. "The only sure wisdom a cave dweller gains is how to live cheaply and to build fires." He retrieves a second cup for himself and lifts it in toast. "Bottoms up, I believe is the appropriate cultural phrase, is it not?"

"It is, but I had no idea you had such a command of the English language. Did you learn it while a monk in Tibet before the Chinese invasion?" you ask from the limited knowledge of this well-known sage's background you picked up last year from local lore.

"No, it was during the following decade with too much idle time in Kashmir that I retreated into books, including the intensive study of English language and Western cultures."

You breathe in a sip of hot tea before asking, "You were meditating in a cave in Kashmir, too?"

"Life was not so simple then," the old monk responds with a shake of his head. "After fleeing to India from the Tibetan massacres in 1959, I had the choice of joining the Dalai Lama's new monastery-in-exile or entering the Indian military with hopes of killing Chinese in border clashes. Vengeance won out over my commitment to the maroon cloth and, sadly, I ended up lobbing shells at Muslim separatists in Kashmir instead of on the Chinese oppressors of Tibet."

You try to hide your surprise by drinking tea in silence with the hope that the candid lama will continue his story. After a minute of his gazing into the distance, the old man obliges. "With my desire for revenge frustrated, I lost myself in books and in the place where many spiritual people turn when their highest dreams are thwarted—straight into a bottle." This time you are unable to suppress your startled expression as he continues, "A bona fide alcoholic, and I didn't come out until I'd drunk all my money, lost my Kashmiri wife, and been booted from the military after nineteen years of loyal, if forgettable, service." He raises his cup and takes a noisy sip of tea.

Wanting to learn more, you ask, "What made you return to being a monk?"

"The short answer is fear," he replies looking over his teacup. "Care to hear the longer version?"

"By all means, please," you answer with curiosity peaked.

The lama settles onto a stone at the cave entrance and offers you a nearby rock on which to enjoy the low sun. You sit as he begins, "Following my military discharge, I was taken off the streets by a kindly Tibetan exile who turned out to be an accomplished astrologer. After sobering me up, he did a chart of my birth to determine where my three past lives had been spent. Turns out that my immediate prior life had been as a human in the water realm."

The old man responds to your puzzled look by explaining, "In my Tibetan lineage, we believe in the existence of many realms or worlds in which our souls can reside, including one that is composed of water."

Anticipating your question, he adds, "Not the earth's oceans, but water in another dimension where human beings dwell in a fluid world, of sorts, instead of on land. I suspect that your Atlantean mythology reflects Western culture losing touch with this realm, rather than Atlantis being some earthly civilization sunken in times past."

You do not interrupt the lama since you are more interested in learning his perspective than hearing yourself comment. A few more sips of tea amidst the silence and sun, then the elderly monk resumes speaking. "The astrologer next informed me that two lifetimes ago I had incarnated as an elephant here on Earth."

Again with a knack for anticipating your reaction he explains, "Incarnating as an animal does not mean that I think of myself as actually being the creature, simply that my consciousness lived from the viewpoint of the animal. I saw through the elephant's eyes, tasted what the elephant ate, felt its body move, trumpet, bathe, fornicate, and ultimately die. You Americans might consider the elephant body a stimulating virtual reality chamber in which your consciousness gets to play for free."

The lama reaches across to tap you gently on the chest with a knuckle. "And now your consciousness has _this_ bony chamber for another virtual reality experience of life, food, sex, and death," he notes as he stands to retrieve the teapot and refill your cup. "An exhilarating and excruciating time, this human experience, fully appreciated only if one doesn't identify too closely with the machinery," the old man adds with another rap on your torso as he deftly pours the tea. You are not certain you grasp what he is saying, but you unconsciously nod while waiting for him to finish his account.

The lama settles back onto the stone and speaks, "Next, the astrologer shared the unsettling news that three lifetimes ago I had been a demon in the Land of Hungry Ghosts, another of the varied realms in our known universe. Bad enough news in itself, but then he explained that my current human life on Earth is a turning point and if I don't live virtuously I will incarnate again as a demon. So out of fear, a recovering alcoholic pulled the maroon robe back over his head to hide from the demon in his future. And here I am today, virtuously serving tea to a thirsty guest with the hopes of gaining good karma," he chortles. "End of story."

"Thanks for sharing it," you comment feeling grateful for having found the old lama in a more talkative mood than last year when he spoke only a couple of sentences to you. He does not respond to your thanks as silence regains its foothold on the steep hillside in the late afternoon sun. You peer down upon the peaceful village of Tabo where brightly colored prayer flags fly above each of the rectangular, flat-topped dwellings of town. The large monastery is easily discernable with its series of temples, round shrines called stupas, and living quarters that have housed dedicated Tibetan monks for a thousand years. Turning back towards the elderly sage, you ask, "Do you live at the Buddhist monastery during the wintertime, Lamaji?"

"For most of the year actually," he replies. "I move into this cave for a few months each summer, primarily for the solitude and to visit my silent grandfather here," he says while gesturing down the slope to twisted, bare branches rising from a gnarled trunk of dead cedar. "Cedar trees are quite sacred and rare in Spiti. So this solitary tree was much loved by the villagers and monks, providing sprigs for burning in ceremonies year after year." The old lama looks fondly at the twisted brown wood. "Branch by branch, twig by twig, grandfather gave all his life to the people who picked him clean."

You squint through the slanting afternoon sunlight at the object of devotion, a gnarled old tree that was literally loved to death.

## HEAVEN: Mid-morning, Palm Sunday, 33 A.D.

"Do you deny that your ego has been running amok with all the preaching and in performing those so-called miracles?" the Seraph of Desire demands after detailing his concerns to the invited guest. He tosses _The Messiah Complex_ report on the table to punctuate his point as he awaits an answer from the bearded man.

"No, your Honor," Jesus replies with a sidelong wink at the Archangel of Duality. "Guilty as charged."

"Come now, I'm not acting like a judge," retorts the Seraph while turning to address the archangel. "Am I?"

The Archangel of Duality smiles at her colleague. "Well dear, you are getting a bit pedantic and accusatory towards Jesus."

Desire's shoulders sag as he responds, "I'm just trying to understand what in blazes is happening down there on Earth."

Jesus looks with kindly eyes at the confused Seraph and explains, "After twenty years of studying humanity inside and out, I realized that people on Earth cannot transcend duality without first fully embracing it. So in the initial phase of my strategy, I'm showing people firsthand the perfection in losing ourselves completely in the human ego. Plus, I'm demonstrating the crazy results of doing so: Even the chosen one of god, the great messiah with pure intentions and loving heart, can only sow more confusion, contradictions, and conflict _if_ I am acting as a Son of Man from my earthly identity born of dual, opposing forces."

"So to date, you've been _purposely_ letting your human ego run the show instead of your pure spirit?" queries the Seraph of Desire.

"Precisely, and I must say, this human side of me has done an excellent job of diving into the poles of duality, since my earthly self—and everyone else's on the planet—was forged in the image of its creator," Jesus says sweeping his arm to the left side of the table, "the lovely and diabolical Archangel of Duality."

"At your service," she responds good-naturedly while taking an exaggerated bow.

Jesus returns his attention to the Seraph and continues explaining, "The upcoming phase in my strategy is to remind people that their real identity, as heavenly consciousness, is drawn in the image of god as oneness with all things. And with this remembrance they are reborn to their spirit, which is the only surefire way to break free from the illusions of human duality so masterfully painted by our angelic colleague."

"Excellent strategy," comments the Seraph of Desire approvingly, "and you will light the way by being an example of a Son of Man trapped in earthly duality who rises to reclaim his rightful heritage as a Son of God."

Jesus shrugs humbly. "That's one manner of describing it, although it's not that different from what other folks have done to reclaim their true heritage. I'm just showing the life, the truth, and the way for those who have forgotten."

"How do you plan to implement the next phase of transcending duality and being reborn back into the oneness of spirit?" the archangel queries.

"With using lots of symbolism, I trust," interjects Desire hopefully.

"Of course," the soon-to-be savior answers. "I've already laid the groundwork by preaching about the need for the human self to be fully consumed by the earthly world in order to be reborn."

The Seraph of Desire sighs with sudden understanding and relief, "So _that's_ what you were teaching in that speech about people eating thy flesh and drinking thy blood in order to truly live. Some of us here were worried that you'd really gone off the deep end with cannibalism and all."

"After that lecture about consuming the human vessel to become eternally free as spirit, I lost a bunch of disciples who took me too literally, also. But I've still got twelve devoted followers with whom to act out the big finale this week."

"I'm eager to hear the details," the Archangel of Duality remarks as she writes down notes of the plan.

"I'm going to kick things off by throwing a banquet for my disciples, calling it _The Last Supper_ to build up the suspense," Jesus says with enthusiasm. "Then for dessert, I'll serve them wine and cheese, representing my earthly blood and human flesh that must be fully consumed, digested, and released before I can transcend duality and rise as spirit to my heavenly home."

Jesus pauses in response to the Seraph's perplexed expression. "It's the cheese," Desire explains. "Perhaps freshly baked bread better symbolizes your body than a pungent, congealed dairy product."

"Oh, okay. So after we eat every last breadcrumb, I stand, click my heels three times to initiate the quickening of spirit, and start to ascend to heaven while calling out, _There's no place like home, there's no place like home_." Jesus beams as he looks at his colleagues. "So what do you think?"

The Archangel of Duality glances up from her notes and states, "I like the visuals, but we need to put more oomph into the death-of-the-ego symbolism. Personally, I think we'll have to trash your physical body in order to make sure that people grasp the message that their earthly identity must die in toto, too."

"Sure, if that's what is needed to rescue humanity from duality and original shame," the dedicated messiah responds stoically. "But I'd still like to host a last supper as a little thank you to the gang for sticking with me."

"No problem," states the archangel. "We'll follow it with your being condemned by Pontius Pilate and stoned to death by an angry crowd in the street."

The squeamish Seraph flinches and suggests, "Couldn't we just have Mrs. Pilate serve Jesus some hot cocoa with hemlock?"

"No," Jesus replies, "we need strong visuals to really nail the punch line, an image that spotlights the earthly ego and the heavenly spirit vying at the thorny crossroads of transition."

"Crucifixion!" cries the Archangel of Duality. "The perfect symbolic death."

Jesus concurs excitedly, "And with my crucified body hanging between two thieves, representing the poles of duality that rob people of their true heritage and that must die too in order for spirit to be reborn into heavenly unity."

The archangel continues with the scenario, "Then at the moment you give up the ghost on the cross—when you finally release the vaporous human ego that took on a life of its own—the taunting crowd suddenly recognizes you as a Son of God and you ascend into heaven."

"Fine, but let's delay the ascendance," suggests Jesus while pondering the finale. "First, we'll need a resurrection and a return to my disciples to tell them they're fishing for souls on the wrong side of the boat by promoting the Son of Man and the duality I preached before transcending my earthly ego."

"Sounds good. I'll work out the resurrection scenario and set the final ascendance for..." the archangel pauses to check her calendar, "say a week from today, on Easter Sunday?"

"Fine," Jesus agrees as he stands to shake Duality's hand, noting her surprisingly strong grip.

The trio's friendly good-byes are interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. "Hello Chief," the Seraph of Desire states cheerily as he picks up the receiver. "A new title?... No, I didn't know that dead bodies were smeared with oil and such...right...right. Oh, the anointed one sounds fine. Is that spelled with an 'H'?" asks Desire as he awkwardly scribbles on scrap paper. "Very well, I'll tell him."

He hangs up the phone and announces to his bearded guest, "Upon your ascension into heaven, the Chief will bestow on you an honorary title to indicate you have gone through an anointment—an earthly death—in order to find your true life and to help others to find theirs."

"Cool. What title?" asks Jesus.

"You will be known throughout eternity as Jesus H. Crist," proclaims the Seraph. He squints at his messy note and quickly corrects himself, "Sorry, make that Jesus Christ."

"Congratulations," says the Archangel of Duality. "But you'd better hurry back to Earth now. A donkey is waiting to takest thou unto Jerusalem—and I can't wait to see your earthly ego kick the holy hell out of those moneychangers in the temple," she says with a mischievous smile.

"Judge not, my friend!" the Seraph of Desire calls out to Jesus in reminder, as the savior-to-be hurriedly exits the office.

"Nope," the master of duality says quietly to her colleague, "That Son of Man is still mine, judgments and all, until he ascends next Sunday."

## On EARTH in Lamaji's cave

"Killing that sacred old tree was a lousy thing for people to do," you assert critically.

The old lama shrugs without comment. He finishes his tea, retrieves your empty cup, and does a rinsing with ashes and a little water. After carefully returning each item to its place, he warms his hands by the coals of the fire. "Care to join me for a contemplative sit in the cave?" he asks.

You are tempted but the comforts of the guesthouse beckon after the recent long bus ride to Spiti Valley. "Thank you, Lamaji, but I'll head down the hill now to prepare for tomorrow."

"Some big plans?"

"No, I'll just be trekking to explore the Spiti area as well as to test out my new theory that everything that happens, whether it seems good or bad, is actually support for my journey of spiritual discovery. So I'm not planning a route or taking much in my backpack, simply hiking to wherever the guiding hand nudges me."

"With an occasional shove, no doubt, in this harsh land," remarks the lama. "Feel free to stop here on your way back to civilization. You may save me from reincarnating as a demon by letting me serve you more tea," he adds with a smile.

You detect humor in the elder's tone but you wonder if he is still afraid of returning to the Land of Hungry Ghosts in his next life. You ask him and he replies after a moment of thought, "Not really. Fear, like truth, can be compelling motivation for entering a spiritual path, but they soon become obstacles if one clings to them."

" _Truth_ can be a spiritual obstacle?" you question with the perplexity of a journeyer who anticipates that the truth shall set him free.

The old man chuckles. "You sound like me when I was in search of the ultimate truth."

"Did you find it?" you quickly ask with hopes that the lama will share his experience.

"In a way, yes. During my inquiries, I was told of a blind Hindu sage who purportedly had reached the summit of truth and viewed its ultimate form. He lived in a village towards Shimla, so I borrowed the monastery jeep to pay him a visit and ask what he saw from the mountaintop of ultimate truth."

The lama gazes into coals as he recounts the scene, "When I arrive, the sage seems more interested in the fact that I have a jeep than in answering my question, but I indulge the sightless old fellow by taking him for a spin. He is delighted and tells me to drive to a temple atop a nearby sacred mount, a place that apparently was special to him before he grew blind. As soon as we arrive and walk to the summit he asks me to describe the view.

"I tell him how the brilliant midday sun glistens on the snowfields of distant peaks, while dense green forests spread in every direction below us. The old fellow thanks me for describing the view from the mountaintop then sits down where I join him in silence. We each meditate in our own way for a couple of hours, then find ourselves in fog as the usual monsoon build-up of afternoon clouds envelops our position. The sage reaches out and touches my knee, asking me to again describe the mountaintop view. I tell him there is such a dense mist that all I can see are a few rocks around us. He nods, thanks me for the description, then returns to silent contemplation.

"After a few more hours I am growing restless and, when the mist lifts to unveil a brilliant sunset reflecting off snowfields and clouds, I excitedly describe for him the array of colors that fills the panorama before us. The blind fellow thanks me for describing the mountaintop view, then takes my hand. _Do you still want me to describe the view from the peak of ultimate truth?_ he asks. In reply, I simply stand and lead him back to the car in silence."

You look expectantly at the Buddhist lama, hoping that he will continue. But his gaze is distant, his tale finished as he leans against the stones at the mouth of the cave. You ponder the moral of the story for a minute then ask, "So the Hindu sage wanted to show you, via the ever-changing view from the mountaintop, that no ultimate truth exists?"

The lama returns his attention to you as he responds, "More correctly, that a person's view of truth naturally evolves as the hours, days, and seasons change in his or her life. I think he wanted to teach me not to get too attached to a notion of _absolute_ truth or to my current reality. If you cling to yesterday's view of truth, you must shut your eyes to maintain it."

"And with eyes shut, my truth simply becomes an antiquated belief system stagnating in my mind while I miss the new vistas of truth that naturally unfold," you insert with growing comprehension. Still, the notion of truth shifting with the seasons makes your logical mind uneasy. It queries aloud, "But if we could see far enough isn't there some fixed, ultimate truth in the universe?"

"Perhaps so," remarks the elder, "but any such understanding lies beyond the realm of mind, matter, and mountaintops in which we currently operate."

"Hmm, maybe our changing views of truth are like stair steps leading us to an eternal, unchanging realm beyond mind where—"

The old man interrupts you with hearty laughter. "Listening to a mind that attempts to think beyond itself is like watching a dog chase its tail. No offense intended," he adds while giving you a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Just enjoy the vistas of truth that unfold along your journey, and don't take them or yourself too seriously. Do you remember me giving you that little round mirror last year?"

You brighten as you answer, "Of course, Lamaji. I greatly appreciate it and still carry it with me."

"And did you reflect on it to discern why it is the most influential invention of all time?"

You reply while looking anxiously at the lama for his reaction to your interpretation, "I figure that the most important spiritual goal is to know thyself, and a mirror helps us to see our blemishes more clearly."

He tilts his head noncommittally and responds, "That's one view, although I had an alternate truth in mind when passing the mirror to you." You start to speak but the lama silences you with a raise of his hand and a short parable. "Two friends are sitting at night on a hillside, one gazing down at the sparkling lights of a city and the other looking up to a sky twinkling with stars. Is it not futile for the friends to argue over the true nature of illumination—particularly when we both still sit in the dark?"

The old man laughs and gives you a genial slap on the back to send you off on your next adventure into the unknown.

### CHAPTER 4

On Purpose

" _Gestate, masticate, defecate, educate, regurgitate, copulate, graduate,_

advocate, accumulate, contemplate, relocate, meditate, discombobulate.

Ugh, I can't believe I ate the whole thing."

\- Autobiography of a Hungry Ghost

## HEAVEN: Early 7th Century A.D.

The Seraph of Desire looks up from stacks of folders covering his desk. "Yes, Faith, what is it?" he responds to the buzzing intercom.

"Jesus the Christ and the Archangel of Duality have arrived."

"Fine, send them in," he directs while quickly trying to bring order to his chaotic desktop. The invited duo walks through the door to the Seraph's welcome, "Glad you both could make it on such short notice."

"No problem," Christ answers perkily. "After six hundred years of reacquainting myself with worlds of bliss, I'm happy to return to headquarters to see how things are going with project Earth."

The Seraph of Desire apologizes profusely for the disheveled office as he makes room for his guests at the table.

"What's this mess all about?" asks the Archangel of Duality as she looks at Desire's scattered files.

"I've undertaken an intensive search that I'll explain shortly. But first," he says smiling and attempting a positive attitude as he addresses the bearded visitor, "I want to ask our colleague how it feels to be living once again in heavenly unity?"

Christ returns the smile. "Breaking free from the bonds of human duality and coming home to heaven was quite a relief, particularly after that harrowing crucifixion. It was a lot harder to give up the ghost on Earth than I thought it would be."

The Seraph asks, "What exactly is this _ghost_ we speak of?"

Christ explains from first-hand experience, "The ghost, or earthly ego, arises from the swirl of needs, instincts, and fears of the physical body, and it convinces its human host that they are one in the same. So people mistake their identity as being a needy ego in a human body, which creates a tough hurdle to overcome when trying to remember one's true heritage as spirit and to be reborn into pure consciousness."

The Archangel of Duality chimes in, "Particularly since this hungry ghost, in order to sustain its nebulous existence, manipulates its human host with promises of glory in fighting for the right, or getting more money, or finding ultimate happiness with a lover, or whatever people's biggest desires are that keep them distracted from remembering their spirit."

"Small wonder that 93% of the flames of consciousness are failing to give up the ghost, thus they remain lost in duality on Earth," remarks the Seraph of Desire as he hands out data sheets to his colleagues.

"Wow, the return rate back to heaven is now down to only seven percent," marvels Duality.

Christ's mood sobers as he studies the graph. "But I thought that my demonstrating the way to transcend earthly ego and ascend back to heavenly oneness would open the floodgates to consciousness following in my wake."

"That was the plan," Desire observes, "but it seems to have backfired." He points to the steady decline in the return rate of spirit since Jesus' crucifixion. "Word has spread that instead of having to follow your painful path of dying to the human ego in order to return to god, people only have to congratulate you for dying and resurrecting, and they too will be magically saved."

"That's unbelievable!" Christ laments. After thinking for a moment, however, he nods his head in understanding. "Those tricky hungry ghosts have figured out a way to keep their egos alive and in control—so long as their human hosts are duped by such a concept and thus forego being reborn to their own spirit."

The Seraph looks at his briefing paper and notes, "Actually, the born-again notion has caught on, but rebirth ostensibly occurs simply by 'believing' in Jesus and praising your holy name, whatever that means."

Christ shakes his head incredulously and thinks aloud, "How can anybody expect to be reborn without first experiencing a death?"

The Seraph of Desire hesitates to further upset his guest, but decides to give the answer. "Your devotees are saying that _you_ died _for_ them."

Christ groans as he drops his head to the table. "Of course I died for their benefit, but not _for_ them, not in lieu of their own ego death."

The archangel puts a consoling arm on Jesus' shoulder. "I understand, dear heart, but these nuances get so cloudy in earthly thinking."

The trio remains in grave silence for a few moments before the Seraph of Desire abruptly assumes an upbeat tone to announce, "But now for the good news!" Christ and Duality look up expectantly as the Seraph retrieves a folder and sits behind his desk. Opening the file, he explains, "I took it upon myself to search for the best person as a new earthly emissary to awaken lost spirits—no offense intended to Buddha or Christ, of course."

"None taken."

Desire proclaims, "This time I feel absolutely certain we've found a person whose clarity, good heart, and intelligent mind will deliver the right message that will compel his followers to lovingly embrace oneness with their neighbors and with heavenly spirit."

"Amen," Christ interjects supportively.

"Let's go for it," Duality emphatically adds.

The Seraph of Desire smiles broadly as he reaches for the intercom button. "Faith, summon the prophet Mohammed."

## EARTH, seven days after trekking from Tabo

You sit at the back of the ornate, wooden room realizing that this scene could be taking place anytime within the past thousand years, unchanged except for a few modern watches on the wrists of the chanting monks and a photo of the current Dalai Lama. Smoke from incense fills the temple chamber, wafting up to ancient rafters and spreading to the carved and painted faces of deities—some devilishly fierce, others infinitely compassionate—looking down upon the current flock of pious monks sitting cross-legged in neat rows before the altar. A large statue of Buddha calmly oversees the ceremony from the colorful dais adjacent to the Dalai Lama's visage smiling upon the orderly lines of shaved heads.

The Tibetan chanting enfolds you in its ancient cadence, as does the gratitude that you feel for having stumbled upon this isolated monastery clinging to an exposed Himalayan ridge at 14,500 feet. Two days ago its doors opened to a wandering trekker, the hungry man was fed, and you were welcomed to sleep on the floor of the austere room of a young monk who speaks a bit of English. Another blessed dose of the abundance that has graced your week of meandering the high Himalayas with only a sleeping bag and clothes, trusting that all will be well as you explore the limits of natural wonders and human faith.

Some days after following a footpath you were greeted by villagers who watched with curiosity as this strange outsider hungrily consumed the simple fare they offered. Other days you saw nary a soul and would eat only a handful of wild scallions and rosehips found along your aimless route before bedding down in a cave or under a sky so brilliant that you felt as if the stars were drifting to Earth to whisper the secrets of creation. Awakening again to the unknown, you would follow the lay of the land that led only to the present moment, to living completely absorbed by the elements of raging river and quiet springs, of chilling winds and warming breeze, of harsh midday sun and gentle evening rays reflecting pastel off snowfields rising a vertical mile above your weary body. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, how grand the vista.

The chanting suddenly stops, shifting you from memories of recent adventure to the current setting of faith. The noise of a dozen instruments fills the chamber as monks bang drums, clash cymbals, and blow through ten-foot long horns that give off steady, deep blats. You do not know the specific symbolism of this Tibetan ritual, but it seems as if an hour's chanting permeated the air with orderly prayers and now this instrumental cacophony is designed to erase the slate clean so that the next round of chants can scribe the ensuing scriptures in the ethers. You peer up to the gallery of painted deities whose expressions indeed reflect interest—or perhaps amusement—in the incantations rising from maroon-robed mortals.

Looking at the monks, you notice two younger ones anxiously glance at their watches. To your surprise, the head lama checks the time as well. Similar to yesterday, the guttural chanting has progressed all morning and into the afternoon seemingly with little concern for time. A late morning meal and yesterday's hour-long break at precisely 3:00 p.m. were the only apparent scheduled events.

A peek at your wristwatch indicates that three o'clock is fast approaching. As in the previous day, the head lama now brings the ceremony to a close and the monks eagerly pour past you out the temple door. You follow and see that most of the robed group, like yesterday at this time, are hurrying into a small concrete building at the edge of the monastery complex. Curiosity compels you to investigate as you hear an electric generator sputter into action.

The door to the building is open and, although you do not wish to intrude uninvited into a sacred ritual, you take the risk of entering. Standing on tiptoes helps you see above the dense concentration of shaved heads all focused towards the front of the room. There at the center of attention is a small black-and-white television. You watch incredulously as a handsome Indian actor leaps from a moving limo, flattens a villainous looking character with a single punch, and hurdles a hedge amidst blazing guns. _Shakti Man!_ flashes in large print across the screen, announcing the Magnum P.I. of India whose mesmerized devotees enthusiastically welcome his regular appearance at three o'clock.

You retreat from this incongruous scene, fighting an urge to both laugh and cry.

## HEAVEN in the early 21st Century

The Seraph of Desire stands at the penthouse window looking out upon modern life on Earth. "What in creation have we done?" he asks forlornly while turning to face Duality.

The archangel is taken aback by tears in the Seraph's eyes as she responds sympathetically, "We've done exactly what the Chief asked us to do, perhaps just a little too well."

"Genocide in the jungles, troops in the desert, bombs in the cities—duality has gotten completely out of hand on Earth," remarks Desire with a heavy sigh as he sits at the desk. "And now we're nearly flat-lining on the return rate of spirit," he says despondently while looking at the latest data. "Flames of consciousness have become completely dominated by the earthly ego and can't remember to awaken to spirit."

The Archangel of Duality walks to the window where she observes, "The swirl of needs arising from the human form—that hungry ghost which has taken on a life of its own to overshadow consciousness—is proving more formidable than we ever imagined."

The Seraph spins his chair to face the view. "Formidable _and_ insatiable. More and more of everything—noise, thrills, sex, causes, and conflicts—is not enough to satisfy the human ego looking to fill its emptiness on Earth."

The Archangel of Duality gazes down upon the peculiar diversions cropping up across the planet, noting with fascination, "The hungry ghost paired with a lost spirit indeed form a potent tag team to body-slam humanity into the turnbuckle of life."

"With _Duality_ acting as the lord of the ring," concurs the Seraph while peering down at nations, businesses, teams, and individuals wrestling with one another in constant competition.

"And with _Desire_ fueling the quest for more of everything," the archangel adds with a glance at her partner in creation.

The Seraph of Desire is shocked by the sudden realization. "Those human egos are _our_ spawn," he gasps, "hungry ghosts born of Duality and Desire that have taken over Earth, bending people to their will and holding spirit prisoner in the great delusion."

"Stated with an excess of drama," the archangel responds calmly, "but yes, that is essentially what Christ and I were trying to explain to you last time."

The Seraph rises to pace nervously across the office. "This is awful, simply awful," he blurts. "I have to call the Chief and terminate this mad world of duality on Earth."

"Not so fast, partner," the Archangel of Duality cautions as she places her hand on the telephone before Desire can reach it. "There's no reason for a showdown until we've exhausted all possibilities." She returns to the window, leaning with both palms against the glass as she ponders the drama unfolding on Earth. After a fateful moment of decision, she declares, "I'm going down there to help."

The Seraph of Desire turns pale at this startling announcement. "But you'd become a fallen angel. Would you really take the risk of losing yourself down there for the sake of others?"

She replies with fierce resolve, " _All_ the people down there are fallen angels, brave spirits who volunteered for a difficult task and who have gotten lost in the conflict. Can we just abandon these flames of consciousness as well as destroy the humanity we've created?"

The Seraph stands next to Duality at the window and states to her, "The Chief would never approve of your descending into Earth. Taking such a drastic step of intervention is unprecedented and holds unknown risk that—"

The telephone rings before Desire can finish. He picks up the phone, listens for a moment, then slowly lowers the receiver. "God wants to pass a message to you about the idea of your traveling to Earth."

"What's the word?" asks the Archangel of Duality.

"As you wish."

## EARTH in Spiti Valley, one month later

You make a simple bow of gratitude as you exit the kitchen of the kindly Spiti couple who served you another plain but tasty morning meal. Noodles, yogurt, and boiled eggs nourish your body which grew thin over the past month of trekking through enough natural wonders and cultural experiences to last a lifetime. The high country inspired your spirit, boggled your mind, sunburned your nose, and finally, left you with the desire to descend from rarified Himalayan heights and into the silent depths of self.

You head towards your solitary abode of the past week, strolling along a dirt road until an indistinct footpath rises sharply to your left. Before ascending to your current cliff-side home, you make a brief detour where a crystal clear spring flows into a soggy flat before looping into the Pin River, a major tributary of the Spiti. While filling your water bottle, you gaze up the slope to a row of barely visible stone walls, again counting your blessings for having stumbled across these old huts nestled into a rocky shelf. After receiving permission from the local monastery to use the abandoned cliff dwellings for a meditation retreat, you have found them an ideal place for a hermit to contemplate his cosmic navel.

You carefully pick your way up the final incline to the cave-like hut chosen last week for laying out your bedroll and arranging the few possessions carried on your back. Ducking under the low doorway, you pause until eyes adjust to the dimness of the small room whose only sources of light are a smoke hole in the ceiling and a tiny, glassless window framing an incredible mountain vista—a view that once again draws you to its beauty.

You approach the undersized opening to gaze down upon the Pin River whose distant rumble has been a constant companion during your stay in the cliff dwelling. A meadow-green hue rises steeply from the riverbank before transforming into brown then gray then white as the nearby mountains ascend to glaciers and grandeur born of creation and erosion that constantly vie for dominance over the Himalayan highlands.

Or is this grandeur birthed and sustained solely by the mind of the beholder, as the yogis say? Your scientific self can make _some_ sense of this concept, knowing that everything seen and heard results from flashing neurons inside your brain. What is really 'out there' called a mountain, you can only speculate from the sunlight bouncing off it to your retina, then traveling as electrical impulses through nerves to stimulate the grand picture firing forth inside your skull.

Or is the mind stimulated instead by an _internal_ source of light, called consciousness, to create the image of a majestic peak where nothing of substance actually exists? Your logic rejects this notion offhand, but then you realize that such a phenomenon regularly occurs in dreamtime where intricate landscapes nightly appear as images in the mind, initiated internally from source unknown.

After moving from the window to sit cross-legged on your bedroll, you close your eyes to watch the thoughts and images that percolate in your awake mind, wondering too what is their source. What prompts the monkey-mind's incessant chatter and its many questions directed to the silent witness now listening on the edge of his bed? From where do the subconscious thoughts arise to stimulate, inform, and confound the daily mind of reason? Do imagination and intuition call out in ancient tongue to convey forgotten truths?

You enjoy delving into these questions of the mind and decide to let imagination have free rein to guide you into hidden recesses where logic dares not tread. Quieting the chatter and analysis, you simply watch the intuitive mind without concern whether its creations are real or imagined. Silence and darkness quickly envelop the universe of your mind as you drift into the void. No form, no sound, just darkness upon the face of the deep.

"Let there be Light," a distant thought calls, startling you into awareness.

You call back, "Who's out there?"

The source of thought answers immediately, "Wrong question, my dear. Try again."

You think for a moment then restate the question, "Okay, who's in here?"

The source announces, "I am the creator of your earthly world."

"Are you God?" you ask conversationally.

"Being the creator, many on Earth serve and worship me as their god. I am their master, yet I am not God."

"As master, are you the Second Coming?" you query with hopes of gaining more insight into your covenant with Christ.

"My appearance on Earth could be mistaken for the Second Coming by many who worship Jesus' life and await his earthly return to fight the final battle of good versus evil. By those committed to such conflict, I shall be revered and followed as savior, yet I am not the Christ. You might even say that I am the antithesis of Christ."

"How so?" you ask.

"While Christ showed the way back to unity with heavenly spirit, my presence inspires those who choose to remain in duality to play out more heavyweight battles, jihads, Superbowls, Armageddons, and other conflicts to which the human ego is devoted."

"You're the Archangel of Duality!" you conclude feeling pleased with your deductive reasoning.

"Bingo," she responds. "The one and only, at your service."

"So why have you shown up in my Himalayan hideout?"

"Consider my visit a little boost in a Mindgame to Remembrance designed to bring you home to your true identity and oneness of spirit—if you choose to reclaim it. Or, if you opt not to, I will help your adventure-loving personality continue to serve earthly drama and duality to the hilt."

As you ponder the options, the Archangel of Duality whispers seductively, "Choose Duality as your savior, oh noble warrior, and _the force_ shall be with you as sabers flash in the battle of good versus evil, where you as conquering hero shall vanquish the enemy to rule with me and reign o'er Earth amidst cheers from those you rescue."

She chortles and adds, "Intoxicating is my world of conflict and quests, is it not?" You nod recalling your lifetime spent in fighting for noble causes ostensibly to help humanity. The archangel continues, "Or choose instead to quietly transcend the Cineplex of duality and return home to heavenly unity of spirit. Bear in mind there is no right or wrong alternative, only a choice of the heart that every person shall make whether they realize it or not."

As you take a moment to assess the alternative of serving worldly duality versus embracing heavenly unity, your logical mind enters the fray to ask defensively, "What about those people who have grown beyond the madness of fighting against others and who work for peace by bringing nations and peoples together as one?"

"A commendable notion but it still serves the master of duality and, quite frankly, leaves people barking up the wrong tree," asserts the archangel. "Earth cannot be disciplined out of its intrinsic state of polar opposites—of night and day, winter and summer, war and peace, and the other natural cycles that buffet life on this planet. That's the nature of the beast. You only feed the cycles by standing in one pole or the other, be it working for peace or waging wars."

"But I want so badly to help create unity and bliss in this crazy world," you declare as your mind swirls in confusion.

"Of course you do, dear one, since that is precisely what your spirit came to Earth to achieve. But like the barking dog, your misguided efforts focus on overcoming the natural duality of an external world—a futile task—instead of looking within yourself to reconcile the inner conflict between your human ego and heavenly consciousness."

As more thoughts emerge from the confusion, you remark, "So if I transcend ego and walk the Earth in unity of spirit, then I would automatically serve humankind in far better ways than before. Right?"

Duality tries unsuccessfully to stifle a chuckle. "Maybe so, but that's still your ego talking, your earthly identity still needing some grandiose external purpose to feel useful and worthy." Her voice adds gently, "Just accept the perfection of where you are at the moment and where others stand as well, with the knowledge that everything on Earth is part of a lovely cosmic dance.

"Ultimately, when you rise above the seeming chaos on the ballroom floor, you will see a glorious pattern emerge from the colorful steps and swirls of this world. Whether as a hungry ghost lost in duality or as an archangel of creation, each piece of consciousness plays its role to perfection in the earthly orchestration. Then, at the end of this masquerade ball we remove our masks—some wrathful, some compassionate—and bow to our partners with a hearty laugh at our excellent performances. And the music begins afresh."

You take a minute to consider the many thoughts that have arisen from your mind with the help of this unexpected visitor in the psyche. "May I see what you look like from behind the mask of darkness?" you ask, still sitting with eyes closed on the edge of your bedroll.

"In a Mindgame to Remembrance, all is possible," replies the Archangel of Duality. "If you have the intuitive eyes to see, just open them."

You do and are shocked by the scantily-clad form taking shape in mind's eye, relaxing in a simple chair against the wall of your hut. "Sharon Stone!" you gasp. "How can you be here?"

The angelic figure of Ms. Stone throws her head back in laughter. "Like all heavenly beings, I'm only a swirl of energy that your mind gives a physical form through your perceptions and cultural conditioning. Most people in this mountainous region would perceive me as a reincarnated guru or a Buddhist deity. But in your mind, who better than Sharon Stone to portray the heavenly and diabolical Archangel of Duality?"

"With fatal attraction, to boot," you note while appreciating her comely form.

Her face wrinkles with irritation. "That was Glenn Close in _Fatal Attraction_. As master of duality, I appeal more to the _Basic Instinct_ of the human ego," the archangel says with a provocative pucker of her moist lips. Without taking her eyes from you, she adjusts her short skirt while slowly crossing her shapely legs.

"Hey, quit messing with my mind," you protest while squirming from half-lotus posture into a fully erect position.

"But that's my job, dear one," declares Duality. "And this little seductive charade is designed to remind you of a key piece of the puzzle that you must find if you wish to transcend my grasp."

You regain your composure, stating, "I don't get it."

The Archangel of Duality shrugs as she flashes you a Hollywood smile and stands to depart. "I wish I had time to explain but I've got a party to attend in heaven. Just remember, in order to transcend duality you must fully embrace it," she remarks pulling you up for a farewell hug. "You can't become whole without first accepting _all_ aspects of yourself."

"And...?" you say encouraging her to continue the explanation.

Your angelic visitor playfully nips your earlobe as she whispers, "Maybe your juvenile fantasy of Ms. Stone along with the epidemic of bad relationships, sexual violence, lonely-heart ads, and divorce in the world indicate that you're looking for something outside yourself which can only be reclaimed from within." She abruptly gives you a sharp jab in the short ribs far stronger than the one received last month at the Shimla church.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

"Just reminding you where to look for the punch line to the cosmic joke, at least for the time being," she laughs as she walks out the hut and into brilliant rays of sun filtering through billowing white clouds. "We're really into cryptic symbolism in heaven, you know."

You can only respond with an open-mouthed stare, transfixed by the beatific sight overhead as the mini-skirted Archangel of Duality ascends into a higher realm of thought.

## A short time later in HEAVEN

Consternation creases the face of the Seraph of Desire as he hurries through the elevator door and walks briskly towards the reception area of his penthouse suite. Never before has the Chief required him at the office so late nor have the building lights ever been off like they are this evening. A single lamp on Faith's reception desk illuminates his way as he offers a curt greeting to his secretary and declares, "I assume it must be bad news from Earth that brought us into work tonight."

Faith gives him a noncommittal look. "Maybe, maybe not."

"Is it good news?" the Seraph queries with a ray of hope breaking through his concern.

"Bad news, good news—do you always have to judge things as positive or negative these days?" asks Faith with a frown.

The Seraph of Desire remarks sheepishly, "I know, I know, I'm sounding like an earthling trapped in the illusion of duality." He leans down on the desk and whispers conspiratorially, "But ever since the Chief brought you-know-who back to create a world of opposites, things have changed everywhere in the universe—and I _don't_ mean for the better."

"Judge not," Faith asserts while shaking a finger at her boss. "That's more dual thinking instead of seeing the perfection and unity in all creation."

Desire slumps dejectedly into a reception chair. "I don't know what's happened to me lately. My mind seems to be constantly caught in duality and obsessing about the problems on Earth. It's like the Archangel of Duality has summoned an army of hungry ghosts in her image who have taken over the planet and are holding spirit hostage."

"Are earthlings really that awful?" asks the secretary skeptically.

The Seraph responds, "Not people themselves, just the specter that arises from the body's instincts, needs, and fears which humans start identifying with and then mindlessly serve as their master. And this hungry ghost will fight tooth-and-nail for its survival when a person finally begins identifying with spirit instead of with the grasping ego."

"Sounds like quite a fierce battle must be raging within each person between their spirit and their earthly identity."

"There is indeed. But most people don't even realize it since ego has duped them into believing that a battle of good versus evil is being waged in the _outside_ world. It's the greedy capitalists or the religious fanatics or the conservative right or liberal left or space aliens or the neighboring country that becomes the great Satan that must be defeated."

Faith nods in understanding. "Instead of people looking inside themselves to bring an end to the battle waged by that tricky little devil, the ego, fighting to keep its human host from awakening to spirit."

"Exactly," the Seraph of Desire concludes as he pounds the armrest of the chair. "And it's high time we conclude this nonsense on Earth and send _that_ woman—excuse me, the honorable Archangel of Duality—back to where she belongs!"

Faith reacts with shock. "You certainly don't want to wipe out Earth, do you?"

"That's precisely what I desire," the Seraph replies resolutely, "and I hope that's what the Chief called us in this evening to accomplish. Why else would the lights be out in my office except to signify that darkness is about to destroy Earth?"

"Maybe you should check your room and see," Faith suggests.

The Seraph of Desire rises from his chair and strides to the office entrance. It is pitch black inside as he gropes for a light switch on the wall. Frustration grows as his fingers fail to find any switch for illuminating his room. Suddenly, a voice from the darkness calls out, "Let there be Light!"

And there is.

## Back on EARTH in the cliff dwellings

You open your eyes and look around the dim hut. No shapely archangel emerges from the shadows, no Hollywood smile flashes to greet your gaze. But laughter still rings in your psyche at the surprise appearance there of Sharon Stone along with the interesting food for thought coaxed forth by imagination. Reaching down to touch your left side, you wonder what prompted the visionary archangel to poke you in the ribs. Perhaps writing down the recent dialogue with her would prove insightful, you think, as you unzip the side pocket of your backpack and fish for a pen. Your probing fingers detect another circular object, however, that distracts you from the task. Retrieving Lamaji's compact mirror from the pocket, you once again follow his advice to reflect on it.

You hold the round mirror at mug level, staring at a pair of eyes peering steadily back at you from a face grown thin, gaunt even, from weeks of trekking in the mountains. You find little of interest in the familiar visage, although the thumb extruding upon the mirror captures your attention. With your fingers hidden behind the surface, the bony thumb appears as thin and solitary as the man whose reflection it holds. You speculate that this isolated thumb, like yourself, comprehends little of its larger purpose in life as it mindlessly goes through its daily activities of grasping mirrors, tying bootlaces, cradling pens, and twiddling.

As an idea for an allegory suddenly enters your head, you return the mirror to the pack and retrieve a pen. Picking up your bedside journal, you open to an empty page and immediately write at the top, _The Carpenter's Thumb_. You think for a minute about a possible parable then simply surrender to the flow of words as they spill onto the page:

ONCE UPON A TIME there was a thumb who, like most thumbs, went about its daily routine without knowing or considering its function in life. But one day Thumb awakens with a strong yearning to understand his purpose in the grand scheme, to know what he is grabbing each day and why.

He tries praying for answers but gets only more questions. He plunges deeply into meditation but comes up empty. In desperation, Thumb starts reciting affirmations to force the meaning of life to the fore. _Grab for the gusto!_ he invokes repeatedly. _Get a grip on yourself,_ he emphatically intones _. Seize the...Seize the...?_

"Oh, damn it all _,"_ Thumb mutters to himself, "I'll never remember what I'm doing here." Without purpose or hope, Thumb gives up the ghost, growing listless and numb.

"Wake up, Thumb," a gentle voice intrudes upon the little guy's depression.

"Who's there?" Thumb asks.

"It's the Carpenter and you are my thumb, but you've gone numb right when I have an important task for you." Thumb's confused reaction prompts the kindly Carpenter to take a few minutes to describe their relationship and explain the use of woodworking tools.

The relieved and enlightened thumb responds, "So I can just relax and enjoy seizing the hammer and driving nails under your higher guidance?"

"Exactly," responds the Carpenter, "while I build the house with your invaluable assistance."

"What's a house?" asks Thumb.

The Carpenter replies patiently, "It's a shelter for my children."

"What's a children?" Thumb persists.

"Look, partner, until you've merged your consciousness with mine, your ability to fathom life's meaning is a tad limited." The Carpenter adds consolingly, "For now, however, I have a vital assignment for you in my ritual upon this seventh day of rest."

Thumb grows excited as the sense of an ancient covenant rises to the fore of consciousness. "Here, take this ring," the Carpenter directs. "Together we shall bear it to its righteous purpose. Now!"

Thumb pulls in union with his master and feels a glorious effervescence shower him in baptism, a familiar sensation but one that is intensified with his new awareness of self and purpose. "By what name is this hallowed ring called?" asks the ecstatic Thumb.

"It's a pull tab, little dude," the Carpenter answers between gulps. "Nothing like tossing back some brewskies on my day off."

Thumb nods solemnly, realizing much remains to be understood on his sacred path to awareness.

## Meanwhile, back in HEAVEN...

"Surprise!!!" a chorus of voices greets the Seraph of Desire as brilliant light fills his office.

"What the...?" he mutters as cheery folks hoist foamy steins in toast to his entry. The Archangel of Duality emerges from the crowd to hand her colleague a cold one and to welcome him with a peck on the cheek. "Who are these people," asks the befuddled Seraph, "and what's going on?"

He spies Mohammed and Christ waving from the far side of the room as the archangel answers, "They're just a few friends who have enhanced our world of duality on Earth and who I invited to the graduation party."

"What are they graduating from?" Desire asks looking around at the happy faces filling his office.

"You don't understand, my dear. These brave spirits long ago transcended their earthly plunge into duality and have returned home to heavenly unity," the Archangel of Duality explains. " _You_ are the graduate we honor today."

The archangel raises her glass to the befuddled Seraph as the crowd encircles him and breaks into a round of, _For He's a Jolly Good Fellow_. The guest of honor tries to smile through his confusion but feels uncomfortable amidst this mass of humanity, particularly with the stocky fellow in mangy furs heartily slapping him on the back. The Seraph glances nervously at the muscular man's nametag that announces, _Hi, I'm Genghis!_

As the chorus comes to a halt, more friendly pats and words of congratulations are offered by the genial partygoers. Genghis Khan looks down at the Seraph of Desire and remarks, "If you think it was tough experiencing the trap of duality here in your office, think of what we must have gone through on Earth!"

"Ain't that the blinkin' truth," agrees Mother Teresa taking the Khan's brawny arm as they head to the hors d'oeuvres table.

The Archangel of Duality looks at her bewildered colleague, asking him, "Now do you get the punch line?"

The Seraph of Desire remains beached by confusion until a sudden wave of clarity washes him back into the sea of understanding. He exclaims, "The Chief set me up to experience _first-hand_ the madness of flopping around while beached in duality!"

"Bingo."

Faith interjects with a laugh from behind, "And a fine job you did, boss, in getting totally lost in dual thinking, even here in heaven."

The archangel asks the Seraph of Desire, "Are you ready now to leave thoughts of duality behind with a greater appreciation for what true unity and bliss actually mean?"

"Oh, my heavens, yes," he sighs thinking back on the difficult centuries spent in worry, judgment, and divisiveness over the problems of Earth.

Duality pulls an envelope from her pocket that she hands to Desire. "The Chief asked me to pass along these three travel vouchers to use at your leisure—one for a cruise on the Ocean of Bliss, another a safari into the Plains of Abundance, plus a tour through the Heights of Beauty guided by your companion of choice."

The Seraph is overwhelmed with relief and gratitude. "I don't know whether to laugh or to cry," he stammers.

"Do both," his secretary suggests brightly, "now that you're no longer trapped by opposing choices based in dual thinking."

"So which trip will you take first?" the familiar voice of Buddha calls as he elbows his way through the crowd.

The two friends share an embrace as Desire replies with a touch of anxiety to Buddha's question, "Maybe I'll defer any vacation until we've straightened out this mess that duality has created on Earth."

"Tut-tut," Buddha clicks his tongue in mock admonishment. "Instead of casting a stone Duality's way, perhaps you should pause to reconnect your consciousness with unity and to remember the perfection of all creation."

More distress appears on the Seraph of Desire's face as he implores, "But how can it be so all-fired _perfect_ that Earth has been taken over by the hungry ghosts of human ego that are preventing spirit from returning to heavenly union?"

Christ emerges to drape an arm over the Seraph's shoulders as he intones, _"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth, as it is in Heaven."_ The bearded savior explains, "Your plunge into duality has made you forget that nothing can happen on Earth—or anywhere else in our universe—that lies outside the holy will, our collective consciousness, god's plan, or whatever you want to call it."

"But what about that horrible flood that the Archangel of Duality let happen that triggered all the ensuing mess on Earth?"

The archangel smiles smugly as she replies to the disgruntled Seraph, "Perfection. It was the Chief who called to tell me to leave the water running for forty days and nights."

"And god was the one who instructed me to preach all that right action, right thought, and right everything crapola to plunge humanity further into dual thinking. Perfect," Buddha asserts.

"Same here for the Ten Commandments," the stentorian voice of Moses calls from the throng, "along with the NRA bylaws, of course."

Christ interjects, "And I was following the Chief's instructions to perfection by devoting Jesus' earthly mission to preaching the madness of duality, thereby sending people deeper into their fears, confusion, and judgments."

"Why, why, why," the Seraph of Desire mumbles as he shakes his head, "when all this did was lead to the creation of a powerful human ego—a hungry ghost—steeped in fear and hope, love and hate, and the other trappings of duality?"

The room grows silent as each person turns toward the Seraph of Desire to answer his question. No one speaks, no one smiles, no one moves. The Seraph stares into the bare face of humanity sensing that something important lies just outside his grasp, just beyond the realm of understanding by one who has not walked the earth; not received the scars on earthly flesh pulsing with living blood; not suffered the losses carved deeply into the brows before him; not made the sacrifices for causes, kin, and country reflected in the weary eyes that look knowingly back at him.

The power he senses threatens to overwhelm the Seraph as he turns to the master of duality and asks her in desperation, "What in heaven's name am I feeling here amongst these beings?"

The archangel replies softly and simply, "Humanity has become endowed with a soul."

Silence reigns for a full minute as Desire attempts to grasp the concept. "Each human being has developed a soul?" the Seraph finally asks on the edge of comprehension. "The hungry ghost?"

"The earthly ego may have originally arisen from human needs as a hungry ghost," Genghis asserts from where he stands among his peers, "but it is evolving into a _holy ghost_ with a hunger to fulfill its destiny as a human soul—to experience wholeness."

Buddha adds, "So not only will _spirit_ return from its worldly journey to rejoin its heavenly source, but the human _soul_ of each person adds a third dimension to the glorious union."

Buddha feels a tug on his sleeve and looks down to see Mother Teresa remarking, "Some might call this sacred union a trinity of the Father, the Son, and the holy ghost—or if you prefer, the trinity of the heavenly Creator, the spiritual offspring born in her image, and the holy ghost of humanity."

"Regardless of labels," the Archangel of Duality declares with satisfaction, "this triune blending of Source, consciousness, and the human soul far surpasses anything we've ever felt in the funhouses of heaven. Humanity, through its suffering and sacrifice on Earth, is bringing a lovely new dimension of experience to the universe, for which we are deeply grateful."

"Hear-hear," the Seraph acknowledges with understanding and appreciation as he sips his drink in toast to the throng.

"And now with everything in place for opening to new horizons, the fun can really begin!" shouts the archangel, throwing back her head and chugging her beer in a gulp.

Cheers erupt from the crowd as Christ jumps on a table and yells above the tumult. "Anyone wanting to bus down for a return to Earth can sign the sheet by the door." He hops to the floor and adds tenderly to Magdalena, "There's plenty of room in the driver's seat, you know."

As the cheering slackens and people break into friendly chatter, the Seraph of Desire and the Archangel of Duality make their way to the penthouse window. Desire looks fondly at his partner in creation and states, "We've come a long way together, my friend."

"Quite a journey it's been, too," she remarks looking down upon the view of Earth.

"When did you discover that humanity had developed a soul?" asks the Seraph. "Or did you know this was part of the process all along?"

Duality shakes her head. "I only discovered the human soul after I fell into the earthly plane last month and began connecting with various individuals struggling on purpose in life. During that exhilarating time I also glimpsed the rich possibilities for humanity's ongoing development amid the current extremes of duality on Earth." She looks the Seraph in invitation. "Care to stick around and see how things progress in our little world?"

"Tempting, but I've got other desires," he replies patting the envelope in his pocket filled with travel vouchers. The Seraph turns to his desk and starts dumping piles of paperwork into a wastebasket, adding, "I'm eager to cast off the cloak of duality and explore heavenly oneness with a fresh perspective—starting with the cruise o'er the Ocean of Bliss. But I leave you with this stack of candidate files which may be of help in your follow-up efforts."

As he hands the folders to the Archangel of Duality, a familiar loud ring arises from the telephone on the desk. She notes, "It must be the Chief calling you."

The Seraph of Desire simply shrugs, clears the last of the papers, unplugs the ringing phone, and locks it in the bottom drawer. "There is neither God nor anything that's not-God," he murmurs to himself.

The archangel lays a gentle hand on his shoulder and states, "Happy graduation from dual thinking, my friend."

## EARTH on the way out of Spiti Valley

The smell of boiling lentils greets your approach to the cave where you find the old lama quietly cooking his midday meal. "Joolay, Lamaji," you call out in greeting as you release the backpack from your shoulders.

"Welcome," the elderly monk states while stirring a steaming pot. "Join me for lunch?"

"I'd like to but my bus leaves Tabo for Shimla within the hour," you answer with a tilt of your head at the village below. "I just wanted to drop in to say good-bye and to return your mirror. I think I finally know why you gave it to me as the most influential invention of all time."

The lama looks up from his cooking with an expression that invites you to explain. You describe your latest view of truth, "Rather than it helping people to know themselves better, as I concluded before, the mirror actually transmits a colossal case of mistaken identity that swept like an epidemic across human history."

The old man nods. "So what do you see now in reflection?"

"I see a ghostly apparition born of flesh that I mistook for being _me_ instead of seeing my real identity as consciousness."

The lama adds in understanding, "And like the Narcissus of your culture's mythology, you grew so enamored with your earthly reflection that your true identity drowned in a pool of illusions."

You agree with his point, remarking optimistically, "But I may have finally come up for air."

"So with this fresh breath, are you ready to transcend the illusions of your human identity to return to spiritual oneness?"

You break out in laughter and reply, "No such luck yet, Lamaji. I've still got a few attachments to this seductive world and more falsehoods left to uncover. But in the meantime, my hungry ghost of ego and my heavenly consciousness have at least arrived at a truce in their battle over this lanky territory of flesh and mind. I'll honor the human ego for a lifetime of service and mindfully feed its hungers, but I'll stop identifying so strongly with it—while my consciousness continues to play a mindgame to remember what this earthly journey is all about."

"One small step for man," the worldly sage remarks, "one giant leap into the restaurants of Shimla."

"Something like that," you concur with a laugh as you retrieve the mirror and hand it to the lama along with a piece of paper. "I wrote a poem last week summing up my journey which I leave with you now along with my thanks for our time spent together." You give the revered monk a deep bow.

The elder briefly scans the sheet while you hoist your backpack in preparation for hurrying to catch the bus. "Does your journey end, on purpose, with a dash?" the old man asks looking up from the poem.

"For the time being," you reply as you wave and start trundling down the hillside to the Tabo bus stand.

"Who's the time being?" the lama calls.

You come to a sliding stop and call back, "Who's who?"

"This _time being_ you're running off for."

"What?" you ask in confusion.

"No, _who_. The being of time," he emphasizes as you stare at him in confusion. The lama's serious expression breaks into amusement as he concludes, "On the pathway home to remembrance, don't forget to identify who's on first before dashing off to what's on second. You simply can't get ahead of yourself in this game, you know."

You grin at the clever teacher. "I wish I had time to cover all the bases with you, but I'll have to save my questions for _the time being_ ," you close with a final wave, "whenever I find him."

The elderly sage nods in farewell and returns his attention to the boiling lentils as you scurry down the hillside. "Or find _her_ ," Lamaji chuckles to himself as he slowly stirs the pot.

THE END

of the journey _On Purpose_.

And a search for the Time Being begins...

### NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

(January 2004)

All the earthly events, experiences, people, places, dreams, and thoughts detailed in _On Purpose_ are real and generally arose in the sequence expressed. The numerous philosophical conversations in both heaven and Earth, however, blossomed in the fertile fields of imagination and were harvested with liberal swaths of poetic license. Also, my apologies go to Lamaji for taking liberties with his true nature, which is far quieter and less swayed by Western cultural influences than is expressed in our embellished dialogues within this book.

For those readers wishing to experience Tibetan Buddhism with an afternoon break for _Shakti Man_ , this surreal combination took place at the Komic Monastery (yes, its actual name) in upper Spiti Valley. If you prefer a quieter form of enlightenment, you can access the Dehradun meditation center or one of its worldwide sister institutions—including several in the USA and Europe—at www.dhamma.org to learn more about their ten-day meditation retreats.

Fellow journeyers who kindly wish to toss salient breadcrumbs of guidance, humor, and comment in the path of this wayward seeker are invited to do so at KOANnowhere@yahoo.com. The rocky road to remembrance is indeed made smoother by sharing our stories and clues. Or if you prefer picking up stones from the pathway and casting them at a sacrilegious author, please feel free to have at it with gusto at the above address. The target is regrettably small, however, as my glass house was long ago shattered by a hailstorm of difficult truths that destroyed my cozy sense of self-righteousness—although I trust you can help me ferret out one or two more delusions still hiding amidst the rubble.

Finally, the needy ego demands its due and insists that the poem given to Lamaji at the end of the story be shared with larger audience. So begging your indulgence, the sum of the journey follows, as calculated recently in an isolated Himalayan cliff dwelling. And yes, it does end with a dash.

THE SUM OF THE JOURNEY

In each moment, perfection.

In each action, perfection.

In each life, perfection.

Beyond duality's veil that obscures human vision

Lies a vista with all creation in perfect harmony.

In obscured human vision, perfection.

In each moment, madness.

In each action, madness.

In each life, madness.

Beneath the flow of human existence lies an undercurrent

Of madness born of earthly duality and desire.

To transcend duality and desire, surrender.

Surrender to the perfection—faith.

Surrender to the madness—laughter.

Surrender to the unseen—vision.

Surrender to the inexpressible—

### Addendum

Obviously, writing this latest addendum indicates that I have yet to fully surrender to the empty whiteness of blank page or to the infinite depths of the unfathomable. Long after scrawling my closing poem in Himalayan cave, this author is still dashing off in attempt to express the inexpressible. As a result, the second half of _A Mindgame to Remembrance_ has been penned and appears on the other side of this brief addendum.

The _Dream On_ story picks up a mere half hour from when _On Purpose_ ended, both in heaven and Earth. It, too, reflects an actual Himalayan trek through Spiti Valley, one which detoured up the Pin River and over a perilous pass to freedom of the open road. This high-altitude journeyer, however, concurrently sought a deeper, inner sense of freedom by taking additional twisted byways into heavenly realms whose inhabitants and conversations arrived in mind and imagination along the way. Enjoy the view.

DREAM ON

A Mindgame to Remembrance: Book Two

### CHAPTER 1

Someday you will realize that you do not reside within the universe,

but that the known universe rests entirely within you.

HEAVEN at the Seraph's graduation party

"A grand party, my dear," the Seraph of Desire warmly states to the Archangel of Duality. "Thanks for such a lovely sendoff."

"Great food, too," remarks Mother Theresa while licking sweet and sour sauce from a serving spoon. "Nothing like a taste of duality to spice up festivities in heaven."

"And on Earth," Genghis interjects. "Amazing, is it not, how the human ego's addiction to its desires and to dual thinking keeps growing down there?"

"Sad but true," the Seraph states on his way to the office exit. He turns to the archangel to query, "Are you sure you don't want me to stay and help with the next efforts to reawaken individuals to their true heritage of spirit?"

"No, my friend, go sailing on the Ocean of Bliss with an open heart and clear conscience. The candidate files that you selected and graciously left with us will be excellent aids to our efforts."

The Seraph remains hesitant to desert his colleagues until the archangel gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and a hefty shove through the door amidst a chorus of farewells from the group. Closing the door, Duality announces to the gathering, "As soon as we finish cleaning up from the party we can get down to the business at hand. The Seraph of Desire left us several files on Earth individuals whose consciousnesses appear ready to transcend duality and come home to oneness—and we'll start forming teams to assist them right away."

A voice is heard from the back, "Are those the people who are finding peace amidst earthly chaos and living contemplative lives?"

The Archangel of Duality, understanding earth-life well, laughs heartily and replies, "Dream on!"

**EARTH: Early 21** st **Century, in northern India**

"Damn it all," you mutter dropping your backpack onto the dusty floor at the Tabo bus stand. You sit dejectedly on the pack, holding your head in your hands. After a moment you look up at the bearer of bad tidings to ask, "So how long until the buses to Shimla start running again?"

The local official replies, "Hopefully by next June, if all goes well."

"Ten months!" you exclaim in disbelief.

"Six major bridges were washed out by the flood and we can only hope for sufficient government aid."

Knowing that this road is the sole lifeline connecting Spiti Valley with the rest of India, you ask the obvious question. "Is the highway open in the other direction to Manali over Kunzum Pass?"

The man sighs with a shake of his head. "Landslides. But we expect to have it open again soon, at least for a few weeks before snow closes the pass for the season. We desperately need the Manali route to stock up on supplies for the difficult months ahead."

Your self-pity comes to an abrupt halt. Thinking of these high-country people isolated during the long winter puts your current problem into perspective—at worst a few days stuck in Spiti Valley while they clear rockslides from the road to civilization, albeit in the wrong direction. Or maybe, you suddenly wonder, is this a push from the Guiding Hand to nudge you on a walking trek over the 15,500-foot Pin Baba Pass to pick up the highway to Shimla beyond the flood damage—a chance to test the theory that all apparent roadblocks in life, no matter how disruptive, are actually part of a grand design to guide each person to one's true destiny?

You thank the helpful official and hoist your backpack with a grunt. Making the most of this unexpected change in plans, you start by backtracking the path which you walked down a half hour ago. After ten minutes of scrambling up a rocky slope, you pause to gaze at the opening of a nearby cave and its familiar inhabitant—an elderly lama who is calmly rinsing his empty cooking pot.

Meanwhile, back in HEAVEN...

"Toss me a dishtowel, Genghis," the Archangel of Duality requests as she turns from the washbasin and heads to the other side of the room. "I don't want to get the candidate files wet."

"Sure thing," the Khan responds as he follows her to the richly carved desk. "Nice that the Seraph of Desire let us use his penthouse suite while he blissfully cruises. He certainly looked ecstatic about returning to the fruits of oneness as he left the party."

"If we succeed as planned we'll soon be seeing that same bright expression of liberation on many human faces as well. The clutch of duality may be exciting and seductive to humanity," she states while abruptly grabbing Genghis by his furry lapels and yanking him down to her face. "But the relief from being freed from my grasp is beyond measure, remember?" Duality laughs at the startled Khan, releasing him from her hold. "Be a dear and call the meeting to order."

The archangel shuffles through some papers while Genghis shouts for attention. The noise level tapers off as the room's heavenly revelers move closer to the desk to receive instructions from their organizer. Greeting the gathering with a quick nod, the archangel wastes no time in getting down to business. "First, I'd like to identify captains to help coordinate the efforts of each team."

"Teams designed for what purpose?" someone queries.

"Designed to help awaken Earth individuals to their true consciousness in a manner appropriate to their cultural backgrounds, spiritual beliefs, and states of mind." The Archangel of Duality picks up a small stack of files from among the candidate folders and hands them to a handsome swami in the front row. "For example, I'm assigning the revered guru, Ramaghudwan, to spearhead assistance to those people on Earth who, through ancient yogic techniques, have pierced through the illusion of the physical realm and are thereby ripe for reclaiming their oneness with spirit."

"An honor to serve the cause of freedom, madam," Ramaghudwan states humbly while accepting the candidate files.

The archangel retrieves another handful of folders to give to Magdalena the Christ. "You, my dear, will lead the team to assist those candidates who have unabashedly embraced both their brilliant light and their darkest shadow, thus bringing them into a balance beyond the shackles of dual thinking."

"My pleasure to assist," Magdalena states while turning to share the folders with her significant other.

As Duality reaches for a third set of candidate files, she asks, "Is the seventeenth-century Japanese Zen master, Sakitumi, still here?"

An elderly monk wearing a black robe embroidered with rowan tree and a single flying martin emerges from the group, bowing to Duality. The archangel hands him the folders and states, "You will kindly coordinate the team to assist those individuals on Earth who have reached a point of emptiness, those who have tasted their nothingness and are thereby ripe to merge with the All."

The frail man responds in barely a whisper, "In the tradition of emptiness, I am honored to serve." He indicates the symbols on his robe while adding, "My lineage is as deeply rooted as the rowan tree yet acts swiftly as the martin." To emphasize his point, in one smooth, lightening-quick motion he pulls a Zen stick from his sleeve and crisply whacks Duality on the side of her head.

"Sakitumi?" the puzzled archangel responds in search of explanation for this unexpected action.

The enigmatic master bows respectfully and replies, "Precisely."

Back on EARTH above Tabo

"Very interesting," Lamaji states upon seeing you approach his cave. "Are you a ghostly afterimage of the man I recently said goodbye to or just a wandering fellow who missed his bus? It's getting harder for me to distinguish such nuances of reality these days," the genial sage adds with a smile.

"I think I'm the real man but maybe you can help me sort out what that actually means." You follow him into the cave and awkwardly fold your legs into a sitting position in the dirt. "I was hoping to get some clarification of your parting comments about my identifying who's on first and finding the mysterious Time Being."

The lama stashes his eating utensils in a niche as he responds, "Riddles can prove enlightening, but only when one discovers his or her own answers. Plus, all I was suggesting to you is the same basic advice that has been given for ages: _Know thyself_."

"That simple, huh?"

"Both simple and complex. Simple because everything that you truly _are_ already resides within you. There is nothing to find, nothing you have to become, nothing to gain. Just discard the false layers, the lifetime of faulty conditioning about yourself and you will discover the totality of your true being that has been lying within all the while."

"So all my searching for insights and truth is futile?"

"All good intentions serve but as I like to remind myself: _The spiritual seeker, if diligent, invariably becomes a spiritual loser_."

"I can relate," you state wistfully, thinking of the past years of spiritual search that has left you wandering through this foreign landscape with no home, no career, and little if any certainty about a future.

Silence prevails until Lamaji continues with his explanation. "The complexity of the task arises from the fact that when you truly know yourself, you also grasp the entirety of existence."

"How so?"

The wise elder answers while looking directly into your eyes, "Because someday you will realize that you do not reside within the universe, but that the known universe rests entirely within you."

You open your mouth to object but are stopped short by a sudden feeling that somehow, truth lies in the lama's statement. You give him a weak smile and mumble more to yourself than to him, "I think I'm having a _Twilight Zone_ moment."

In HEAVEN at the Penthouse

"Rod. Rod Serling?" The Archangel of Duality looks at the group and inquires, "Has anyone seen Mr. Serling?"

A voice answers, "He left an hour ago to spy on the Outer Limits."

"Rats," says Duality while reaching for the final set of files that she has been distributing to various team leaders, "I wanted Mr. Serling to captain the team that will handle the Westerners who have reached the twilight of their known self and world."

A short man with bushy white hair raises his hand and states in heavy Swiss accent, "I'd be happy to give him the files at our team meeting. I'm eager to read about the Western candidates and check their science backgrounds."

"Thank you, Albert. You'll certainly be a key player to help them transcend false conditioning about time, space, matter, and the basic structure of the universe," notes Duality as she hands him the candidate files.

"Hey, Dr. Einstein," Ghengis calls out jokingly, "how many columns does it take to hold up the Earth anyway?"

"Actually, a humongous turtle supports our world," Albert quips back, "but it's hiding in the fifth dimension of the space-time continuum."

A bovine bleating draws the group's attention to the rear of the room. White Buffalo Calf Woman calms her albino bison and explains, "The little guy wants me to remind you that the entire universe rests in the _mind_ of the Great Turtle, not on its back."

"Wrong," Professor Jung interjects, "the world is merely a dream of the collective consciousness."

"Nonsense, it's an illusion of our limited perceptions," argues Sakitumi.

"Nay, fool, it be but a play that resideth in the eye of the beholder," sayeth the great Bard.

"Absurd," counters Ramaghudwan, "the universe is pure emptiness, the Absolute that transcends mind."

"Poppycock, it's an experiential metaphor to give consciousness a feast of flavors at the banquet of life," professes Genghis. "Tastes great!"

Mother Theresa squares off in front of the Khan and retorts, "Less filling."

"Settle down, everyone!" the Archangel of Duality shouts above the growing clamor. She pauses a moment to let quiet and calm descend upon the office then whispers to the Buddha, "Perhaps I am the wrong one to be chairing this meeting. When led by Duality, folks get a bit testy as their views of reality are challenged, do they not?"

A bit later in the cave on EARTH

"That's an irrelevant example, Lamaji, which explains nothing," you assert with growing agitation.

The patient elder states, "You needn't raise your voice in this cave to be heard, my friend."

"Oh, sorry," you respond sheepishly, a few decibels lower. "But I just don't see how a quantum physics view of electrons is supposed to demonstrate that the entire universe is within me."

"Simply try to grasp that your power of to perceive is not only at the _center_ of your world, but that your perceptions form the outer limits of the known universe as well." In response to your continuing mental block, Lamaji pulls you to your feet and leads you to the cave mouth. The two of you gaze down at the village of Tabo where colorful prayer flags flutter in the noontime breeze. The old monk points to the Buddhist temple complex and states, "I once saw a full, brilliant rainbow whose arc appeared to end directly at the monastery gate. Do you understand the conditions needed to see a rainbow?"

"Sure," you reply. "The sun must be shining from low behind me, with a bit of rain or mist in front."

Lamaji nods. "Now picture that rainbow which ended at the gate, about a half kilometer away. What would have happened if I had shouted to my brother at the monastery to look at the beautiful rainbow lying between us by the gate—assuming of course he could hear my voice? Would he have seen it?"

"Of course not. He would simply be looking into the sun and mist thinking you had gone a bit silly."

"Correct. But if he then turns around with his back to the sun, he would see a rainbow lying about a half kilometer further beyond _his_ position at the monastery."

"Two people seeing two rainbows in two locations," you state to demonstrate you catch the lama's drift.

"And if _you_ had been looking out the cave one hundred paces to my left, you would have seen another rainbow in a third location, ending about a hundred paces to the left of the monastery gate." The monk queries, "So what was actually out there?"

You ponder a minute and reply, "Rain and sunlight creating the conditions for rainbows to appear at spots relative to the observers."

"Well put. So three observers, three rainbows. And no observer..."

"No rainbow," you conclude, "even though the rain and sunshine together create a potential field from which countless rainbows could emerge."

"Right, if countless eyes were observing." The lama returns to a sitting position. "Think now, where is the rainbow _actually_ located that you see?"

"About a half kilometer from—"

He cuts you off with a raise of his hand. "Think carefully."

Thoughtful silence is followed by your sudden exclamation of clarity and surprise, "I get it, Lamaji. Only raindrops and sunlight are present in the sky. The rainbow takes form solely in my mind."

"Indeed, sunrays may be out there in space being refracted by raindrops, but their energy waves only become a colorful rainbow when perceived in your flashing brain." The old monk continues with his explication, "Finally, consider that not just beautiful rainbows, but one's entire known world takes form in the eye of the beholder out of a universal energy field that each observer subjectively perceives. Kind of shatters your old view of there being only one solid, real world if you think about it long enough."

In HEAVEN as the meeting continues...

The crash of breaking glass interrupts the discussion as all heads turn to see a man in white shirt and skinny tie flying through the penthouse window. "Rod, I wish you'd learn to use the door one of these days," complains Mother Theresa.

"Sorry," Mr. Serling responds with a boyish grin. "Old habits die hard when hurtling through new dimensions of time and space."

"How were the Outer Limits, Rod?"

"Kind of second rate, plus I had a hard time controlling reception. At least, however, I was able to monitor your conversations from there, so I'm up to speed on this team effort stuff." Mr. Serling puts down a large travel trunk and continues, "I even brought back some nifty space suits and alien masks for us to wear when contacting modern earthlings to help them awaken to the deeper realities."

Amused glances are exchanged throughout the room followed by an awkward silence. Buddha finally responds, "Uh, that's great Rod. And when we break into smaller groups your team can discuss strategies for how best to approach communication with the, uh, _earthlings_ in your jurisdiction. But space-alien visitations might not always be the appropriate strategy to promote a person's spiritual awakening."

"Rod does make a good point, though," Magdalena remarks while leaning back in her chair at the office's large table. "Compared to the rest of the world, candidates from Western cultures will be less apt to embrace our direct contact and assistance—and we'll need to get innovative to reach them."

White Buffalo Calf Woman adds in agreement, "My team will have an easier task working with indigenous cultures since visitations by spirit guides, vision quest messages, and various forms of other-worldly communications are commonly accepted there."

"My team, too," observes Ramaghudwan. "In south Asia, we'll be able to appear as familiar local deities and communicate directly with people consistent with their cultural norms."

Mr. Serling interjects enthusiastically, "That's exactly why I brought the alien disguises to wear, to make candidates from Western societies feel comfortable when we a contact them."

Dr. Einstein puts a placating hand on Rod's shoulder. "I've scanned their files and I'm afraid that a friendly E.T. visitation will succeed with very few candidates who are ready to transcend their known self and world. With some others, our manifesting as angelic heralds may also work for direct communication. But for the vast majority of Western candidates we'll have to find less dramatic ways of entering their awareness."

"Dreams," Professor Jung states matter-of-factly. "We'll communicate with them through dreams, although there's the problem of people often not remembering the dreamtime messages."

Magdalena glances through the folders as she states, "Also, some Western candidates appear capable of channeling, guided writing, and other telepathic communication with us. But for most, we'll have to rely on that universal tool that has for ages supported delving into the human psyche."

"Commercial advertising?"

"No, Mr. Serling. Imagination."

On EARTH in the Tabo cave

"I still can't picture how this rainbow thing relates to what the quantum physicists are saying about electrons," you admit with frustration to the lama.

"Because they tell us that a field of _potential_ electrons lies outside the nucleus of an atom—much as a field of potential rainbows exists in the proper rain-sun conditions—but no actual electron exists until it is observed or detected, just like the illusory rainbow." The old monk adds, "Or so say articles in my science e-mag subscription."

"Pretty metaphysical sounding," you remark, "but such is the nature of the subatomic world, from what I gather."

"Again, don't limit the remarkable to just atoms and rainbows. Science and sages tell us that the entire universe is one big unified field of energy that we only _perceive_ as having substance, linear time, and three-dimensional space—false concepts that Einstein and other great thinkers blew apart long ago. If one could only break free of the human mind's limited perceptions, science says we could experience a multidimensional curved space-time continuum where our thoughts influence the nature of light, and where the energy of matter and anti-matter dance in and out of existence in a twinkling of an eye."

"No doubt fascinating," you respond, "but for now, I'd be satisfied to simply journey beyond the confines of Spiti Valley. A half dozen bridges are washed out on the highway to Shimla."

The lama remarks helpfully, "Well, the roadway west over Kunzum Pass is usually open through September, unless rockslides or early snows have shut it down."

"Actually, I've decided to _hike_ out, trekking over the Pin Baba Pass trail that will eventually connect me with the highway route to Shimla beyond the flood damage. Forty miles of wilderness hiking over a fifteen-thousand-foot pass sounds less daunting than a long, jolting India bus ride over an iffy road in the wrong direction. Plus, maybe some surprises await a spiritual lone-walker in the rarified air ahead," you conclude with a smile.

"Sounds invigorating and a trifle incautious. I do hope you take a tent since snowfall in late August is not uncommon at the elevations you'll encounter."

"Not to worry. I'll pick up a tent at the Kaza market today in time to catch the local bus into the Pin Valley region this late afternoon. Then it's off on foot into the wild blue beyonder."

"Be sure to pack plenty of food for that hungry ghost of your ego," suggests the kindly lama. He then presses his right index finger to the middle of your forehead. "And carry lots of creative imagination to explore the depths of your true consciousness."

Back in HEAVEN

"Why the furrowed brow?" queries Jesus the Christ.

Mr. Serling scratches his head and replies, "I just don't see how we can tap the imagination of people on Earth without having a syndicated television series to open their minds to alternative realities."

From across the table Professor Jung explains, "It's quite easy, really. When people are daydreaming, creatively writing, or otherwise involved in imaginative thinking, we enter the picture with our higher consciousness and interact with their thoughts. The person simply considers it all a part of his or her imagination and goes with the flow."

The Buddha chimes in, "Of course, the tone of the conversation and the visual setting is dictated by the particular mind and reality of the candidate with whom we are working. But within the framework of their imagination, our higher consciousness can interject the messages, insights, and food for thought to help them expand their thinking."

"Such use of human intuition and imagination has been applied throughout history to bring higher consciousness to light on Earth," observes Dr. Einstein, "such as planting the seeds of Relativity Theory into this Swiss clerk's mind to advance scientific progress, or helping to stimulate ideas for popular science fiction books and movie plots that open people to alternative realities."

Master Sakitumi explains to Mr. Serling, "We'll just be applying the technique now in a more focused way to help candidates awaken to the fullness of their true selves."

Buddha looks out the penthouse window at the earthly setting below. "The Archangel of Duality demonstrated the approach quite effectively when she contacted individuals down there last month. The dialogues and forms in which she appeared to people in their imaginations proved quite interesting and varied, depending upon the individual's cultural conditioning and mindset. In their intuitive eyes, people perceived the archangel as everything from the Antichrist to a Buddhist goddess of compassion, and from Sharon Stone to Bugs Bunny."

"Bugs Bunny?"

Magdalena the Christ looks up from reviewing files with a serious expression, "Yes. A distressingly high number of North American candidates currently reside in mental institutions or have lost themselves in some fantasyland. Mainstream Western culture simply provides no context, let alone support, for a person's true spiritual awakening beyond the known self and world."

Professor Jung expounds, "For example, important psychic insights, both visually and verbally perceived by spiritually-evolved people, are typically deemed mere hallucinations by psychiatric experts."

"Plus the crucial stage of emptiness is commonly diagnosed and treated as depression," adds Sakitumi, "thereby robbing a person of the opportunity to let go of their empty existence to experience full liberation into the bliss beyond."

"And even those Western candidates who escape their limited cultural landscape often end up lost in some foreign setting wondering what in blazes they're doing in Amazon tree house or Himalayan high country."

Mr. Serling resolutely pushes back from the table and grabs his costume bag. "Then it's time we quit chatting among ourselves and start making some door-to-door house calls. Where is that Avon man?"

"Right here, good sire."

"Is the stage set?"

"All the world," Mr. Shakespeare confirms, "with its players at their marks."

### CHAPTER 2

Dream On

I perceive thought, therefore I am not what I think.

EARTH, on the road to Kaza

You gaze out the bus window at layer upon mountainous layer of stratified rock, marveling that an ancient seabed could rise at jumbled angles and intricate bends to twenty thousand feet into the sky and more. Another of the many contradictions of this stark valley that receives little precipitation yet which is a water wonderland of streams and rivers cascading from glaciers and snowfields wrested from the clouds by surrounding peaks. Green patches in the valley floor, few and far between, reflect both the importance of irrigation water and the scarcity of flat, arable land in this arid region of jutting slopes and falling stone.

As the bus slows in the small town of Shichling you look at the villagers along the road whose brown, weathered faces mirror the rugged landscape which their tribal ancestors settled. Both land and countenance indicate it is not an easy life in their chosen home. The harsh summer sun and long frigid winters are etched into the faces, particularly in those of the elderly who struggled to raise their children long before road machinery, electricity, and reliable import of food and fuel brought comfort and a measure of certainty to survival in the Spiti region.

Your musings are rudely interrupted as a surge of people at Shichling makes the crowded bus even more packed, prompting your seatmate to cram you tighter against the window. You start to protest but wisely shut your mouth when your neighbor takes a young boy onto his lap to help ease the crush in the aisle. Before long, another mighty shift by the Good Samaritan makes a few inches available for a woman to sit sideways at the edge of your twosome seat, now occupied by four. Opening the window provides some relief to your left shoulder and arm, but it fails to soothe your growing irritation. Then, when a dusty gust hits your face, all patience is cast to the wind. You shut your eyes tightly against the blast and mutter aloud, "Jesus H. Crist."

Retreating into the Realm of Thought...

"Was that an oath or a summons?" the bearded savior in robe asks upon entry into your psyche.

"Definitely an oath, but nice to see you nonetheless," you answer silently in the play of your mind. "Any messiah or other imaginary playmate is welcome to delivereth me from this lousy bus ride. What a mess."

"Are you complaining?" your conjured Christ asks with surprise as he glances through a folder. "Your candidate file states that you already understand that each event in life, pleasant or not, serves you perfectly in the Mindgame to Remembrance."

"I know, I know," you reply impatiently, "but the habit of reacting like a victim to discomfort is deeply ingrained. Plus the whole of American society is geared to constantly trying to improve our circumstances. And now on this chapter in my spiritual journey I'm supposed to dump a lifetime of conditioning to gratefully accept everything happening to me as pumpkin-perfect."

"Starting with accepting yourself," your divine visitor adds. "As the Khan recently summarized in our heavenly meeting: _A hungry ghost becomes the holy ghost when baptized in the fount of unconditional acceptance_."

You shrug. "I guess I'm still wading in the murky puddle of judgment."

"But not for long, we hope," asserts Christ as he snaps his fingers.

You gasp at suddenly finding yourself transported in mind's eye to a peaceful seaside setting. "Where is this?" you ask gazing across still, blue waters.

"You tell me. It's all in your imagination, remember?"

"Well then, this must be the Sea of Galilee where I'd expect Jesus to do his savior bit."

"Good, because I am indeed here to help you to ultimate salvation, redemption, rebirth, remembrance, or whatever you wish to call it."

"Is that related to some covenant I made with you?"

"Ah, your covenant with Christ," he muses. "I'm pleased you heard that subtle message from higher consciousness the other month in the Shimla Church. Intuitive missives are generally difficult for Western men to receive, but your grip of rational control is fast slipping."

"And that's a _good_ thing?" you query with concern.

"In order to break free from the colossal case of mistaken identity that people have, yes it is—to a degree, anyway. As you well know, letting go of your human ego and reclaiming your true self as pure consciousness takes a reality shift or two." The robed gentleman lays a friendly arm over your shoulders, "And that, my brother, is at the heart of our covenant—for you to follow in the footsteps of myself and other folks who have gone all the way in their journey to remembrance."

You inquire warily, "Does crucifixion have anything to do with this?"

Christ laughs. "Well, it certainly helped me to release earthly attachments. But no, there are less traumatic ways of giving up the ghost. In fact, you yourself have already spent two years of life as a liberated being, completely unattached, selfless, at one with the universe as pure awareness."

A wave of pleasure and pride washes over you upon hearing that your spiritual efforts have paid off so well. You strike a humble pose and respond, "Well, I _have_ been trying awfully hard lately to be—"

"And then you had your second birthday," Christ quickly dispels your faulty assumption. He explains, "You, when in infancy, lived without a false self-concept in a world of pure experience. Then came the terrible two's, that fall into duality when the self-identity forms, thus the experience of oneness with All is lost even to memory."

You query, "So that's why you recommend becoming as a little child again to enter the kingdom of heaven—a means to return to oneness from the adult illusion of a separate self-identity?"

"Sure as hell beats crucifixion."

A short time later on the physical plane

The dusty lane of the Kaza market appears before you like an old friend—slightly bent, a bit ragged round the edges, but full of effusive greetings upon your return. You smile back at the noisy hawkers while peering into their shops and open-air stalls to find trekking necessities. No freeze-dried food, no hi-tech tent available, but you eventually gather enough biscuits and nuts, instant noodles and canned mackerel to fuel your pedestrian flight from Spiti Valley. Plus, after the customary price haggle, you buy a small, cheap tent as a buffer against the upcoming elements in the wild.

With shopping complete, you can enjoy the relative comforts of town life before the bus takes you up the Pin River to the end of the road at Mudd village—where lies the beginning of the difficult foot trail leading back to civilization over Pin Baba Pass. For now, however, appetite dictates the course as you to take a bench at one of the many Tibetan food stalls in the Kaza market.

"Momos," you state to the man behind kerosene burners while pointing to a large plate, envisioning it soon piled with steaming, vegetable-filled dumplings. "Big," you add in emphasis. These single-word sentences have been typical of your speech the past eleven weeks in this remote region where the English language ranks a distant third to Hindi and the local Tibetan dialect.

You finish eating the momos, pay your bill, and head for the Kaza bus stand. Upon boarding the bus to Pin Valley you are pleasantly surprised to find that your favorite roomy spot adjacent to the driver is one of the few seats still vacant. You put your heavily-laden backpack in the nook behind the driver then plop down in the shotgun seat, soon to discover why this prime place is unoccupied. Reaching out to test what your eyes indicate, your hand confirms that the pane of glass is missing in the passenger half of the large, double windshield frame.

The driver laughs as he watches you reach into empty space in front of the bus. You respond with a smile and a gesture of surrender in anticipation of the upcoming assault of wind and dust in your face. "Ready?" he asks while shifting into gear.

"Bring it on."

In the Realm of Thought, an hour later

"An excellent symbol, is it not?"

"Huh?" you utter in response both to the question as well as to the sudden appearance in your psyche of the frail monk in black, embroidered robe.

"The pane-less window," the robed sage replies in your imagination. "Pure nothingness, absolute emptiness, yet given a form and function by that which surrounds it. Just like you."

You pull the jacket tighter over your head that has protected you from the constant onslaught of wind the past hour, and then focus back to the silent conversation in your mind. "Not to complain, but I fail to see any positive function in this empty windshield blasting dust in my face."

"Did it not prompt you to withdraw your focus from the outer world, thereby giving us opportunity for discourse here in your imagination?"

"I guess so," you state while considering what the enigmatic monk has espoused. "But why do you say I am just like an empty window?"

The etheric visitor reaches into the folds of his black robe to retrieve a folder. "Your candidate file informs that you have already tasted emptiness and have begun to release your false self-identity of the human ego. Is that not so?

"In theory, yes, but in daily practice the habits of the ego and my self-image seem to hang on for dear life."

"To facilitate letting go, notice how arbitrary and ephemeral your self-image actually is," suggests the monk. "As your imaginary messiah recently noted, one is not born with a self-identity. It is shaped by the expectations of others, primarily parents, and then takes on a life of its own, seeing everything else in the world as 'not-self'. The self versus not-self is the greatest duality which spawns all other perceived polarities of life."

Nodding in agreement, you contemplate the self-identity as the root cause of love and hate, war and peace, joy and sorrow, and other daily dualities.

The inner lecturer continues, "Thus by releasing this false notion of self, your emptiness becomes as an open window, a portal surrounded by a world of duality through which the light of oneness and fresh air can flow into the earthly prison. And, perhaps, the opening may even provide an escape route to dimensions beyond duality's grasp."

You give him a questioning look. "But if I truly realize I am nothing—like empty space framed in a prison window—then there is no one left to escape."

The old monk smiles knowingly and explains, "When you fully realize your nothingness, you know too that you are All—including _every_ prisoner in this earthly realm."

You scratch your head through your jacket. "It's unclear and paradoxical, but the truth in what you say somehow feels familiar."

The elderly gentleman unveils the embroidered emblem of tree and bird on his robe. "A familiarity well justified, since you and I were both raised in the spiritual tradition of the rowan and martin, learning early not to take one's self too seriously."

"Who are you anyway, some ancient Zen master?"

"You bet your sweet bippy I am." The old man bows respectfully and adds in introduction, "Sakitumi, at your service."

"Sock-it-to-me?"

"Precisely," he answers while deftly withdrawing a Zen stick.

You flinch, but the stick and its master disappear as you open your eyes to the journey in the dusty physical realm.

On the road to Mudd village

Taking the protective jacket off your head, you are hit by a blast of cool, late afternoon air blowing through the empty windshield frame. You barely notice the nuisance, however, as your thoughts continue racing on the topics raised by the Zen master of your mind. After retrieving journal and pen from the backpack, you lurch back to your seat to write down the inner conversation that just took place. Soon, however, the jostling bus makes penmanship difficult prompting you to simply enjoy the view.

The road climbs the winding course of the Pin River through a vertical landscape of rock, water, and stark beauty that is familiar to you from summer trekking in this valley. Before long, you gaze out the right side of the bus up at the old cliff dwellings where you recently resided in silence and solitude for three weeks. You fondly recall that contemplative experience wrapped in Himalayan grandeur while observing both the clarity and craziness that emerge in a mind left solely to its own devices.

Some days you were filled to bursting with the glorious scenery and exhilarated by new insights that flowed freely through your thoughts. Other periods found you sitting in the stone shelter in utter boredom—restless and ready to bolt to any distraction that might take you away from being alone with yourself, away from a monkey-mind that chattered incessantly while you wished only for rescue from its lifetime of noise. But always you were surrounded by the beauty of nature.

Memories of this lovely local landscape and solitude prompt you to abruptly shout to the bus driver, "Here!"

He looks confused and responds, "Mudd is twenty more kilometers."

Yes, you had paid to travel to road's end at Mudd village but you hoist backpack and reiterate to the driver, "Now, please." Pointing down to the grassy bend by the river, you explain, "Good place for tent, maybe."

The cooperative driver brings the bus to an unscheduled stop as you happily enter this familiar setting of nature-in-the-raw bathed in evening light. You scramble down the rocky road embankment to alight on the grassy flat, delighted to find that the normally soggy floodplain is dry enough for camping now that the primary snowmelt season has ended. The crystal clear spring from which you drank during your cliff-dwelling retreat still flows from the base of the slope, adding to the campsite's excellence, as do plentiful willow bushes that soon will fuel a small cooking fire.

You unpack the new tent onto dry grass, eager to test it out before trekking into the uninhabited high country beyond Mudd village. Although made of thin nylon with cheap plastic stakes, the tent's low, sloping design should help it withstand the strong winds likely to be encountered at higher elevations. You finish its assembly, slip inside, and lie on your back to check its potential comfort—barely wide enough for shoulders, just long enough for your body, and less than a foot of vertical clearance for breathing room. Sort of like a coffin, you think with a smile, appropriate for the self-identity's long trek towards the abyss of ultimate oblivion, liberation, or whatever a spiritual loser encounters at the end of his rainbow.

Descending into the Realm of Thought...

"In your Western culture, I believe that a pot of gold awaits at rainbow's end, does it not?" an unfamiliar visitor pops into your psyche to suggest.

"And who might you be?" you inquire of the stately swami clad in red robe.

"In my last incarnation they called me Ramaghudwan, the guru of earthly love."

"Ram-a-good-one?" you respond nervously, hoping he expresses his name with less vigor than Master Sakitumi.

"Precisely. But not to worry," he hastily adds, noting your anxiety. "Your candidate file indicates you need no further prodding to fully embrace your ego, duality, sexuality, and other aspects of your human identity before transcending their limitations." Thumbing through your file he notes with surprise, "Goodness, as a recovering nice boy, you certainly had a lot of work to do to get honest with your hidden underworld and to love forth your shadow."

"That's an understatement," you sigh while recalling the exhilarating and excruciating early years of the inner journey to know thyself on all levels.

Ramaghudwan observes, "Many spiritual seekers who deny their duality and balk at embracing their entire shadowy humanness often give themselves over to some religious cult or guru like myself to really get screwed." The swami shrugs nonchalantly. "But all actions serve in the worldly drama of awakening to spirit. It's just that some pathways in this Mindgame to Remembrance are mercifully easier than others, such as your yoga path."

You shake your head and object, "I've dabbled at yoga but have never been much good with the stretches and postures. Maybe you grabbed the wrong candidate file."

"Your narrow view of yoga is a common mistake in the West," Ramaghudwan explains. "Yoga is an ancient Sanskrit word meaning _union_ ; specifically, the yoking of two oxen to plow forward together. At a basic level, this can involve uniting body and mind in order to haul the self to a higher level of health and clarity—typically, yoga American-style. Ultimately, however, yoga is the teaming of one's individual consciousness with the universal Mind, thereby experiencing the Supreme Reality where no separation exists."

"I've recently grasped that punch line," you reply, "but I still fail to get the yoke."

"No need to despair, my friend. Of the four ancient paths of yoga, you have been following the one best suited to the Western mind—the Path of Self-Enquiry, or distinguishing what is real and unreal within yourself and in the universe you perceive."

The swami's eyes fall to your file as he observes, "Your brief efforts in the second yoga tradition, the Path of Pure Devotion, fell far short since you never had an appropriate deity or enlightened teacher with whom you could fully surrender and merge. Many Westerners profess this unconditional devotion to their Jesus Christ, but most desire solely to be _saved_ rather than to lose themselves to the universal oneness beyond their limited notions of self and God."

Thinking back on past chanting encounters in airports and such, you interject, "And Westerners who adopt Hindu deities as their object of devotion often have a hard time assimilating their process into the culture, it seems."

"Hare Krishna." Ramaghudwan nods in agreement. "Similar cultural barriers for Westerners are faced in the Path of Karma Yoga, or the way of becoming selfless through absolute service to others. Your society's approach generally involves an individual finding personal fulfillment in helping the needy rather than dissolving the self-identity into nothingness through unconditional service."

"How true," you agree from personal experience. "In fact, trying to serve people and help the world has been the toughest of my ego addictions to release."

"Have no regrets, since it is all part of the 'divine sport', the _lila_ , in this blessed and blasphemous world of _maya_."

"You mean _maya_ , as in Sanskrit for this three-dimensional world of illusions?"

"Yes, although I don't like calling the earthly world an illusion, since our fleeting perceptions of it do become the mind's reality of the moment. More correctly, the false illusion arises with our mistaking the world we see as being solid, permanent, and somewhere fixed in time and space. I find it difficult to fathom that you Westerners cling to an antiquated worldview when your own scientists long ago unveiled the universe as pure energy. Try telling your neighbor that instead of being a smelly mass of flesh and blood, he is actually a wondrous, vibrating energy field that is given fleeting form by his perceptions—and he'll have you thrown into an asylum."

"Maybe it's a good thing I have no neighbors these days," you muse while unzipping from your tent, "just a stand of willows waiting to fuel a cooking fire to satisfy this hungry ghost's appetite."

Meanwhile, on the Ocean of Bliss...

"Waiter, more sausage please," the Seraph of Desire requests of the tuxedoed man who just brought the fourth course of poolside brunch. Settling back in plush deck chair, the vacationing Seraph turns his attention to carefully tapping around the shell of a soft-boiled egg cradled in delicate silver cup.

Concentration is rudely disrupted, however, by a seductive voice whispering behind his ear, "Hey sailor, you likee good time with bad girlie?"

The Seraph's annoyed expression abruptly shifts to delight as he spies the Archangel of Duality grinning behind him. "What a lovely surprise!" he exclaims.

"May I join you?"

"Of course, my dear, of course," replies Desire as he stands and retrieves a lounge chair for his friend.

The archangel adjusts the recliner angles to her liking then stretches out with a sigh of pleasure. "So how has your cruise been o'er the Ocean of Bliss?" she inquires.

The Seraph gazes at the posh ship, tranquil sea, and perfect weather before answering, "Utterly blissful." He reaches out and squeezes Duality's hand while adding, "But I must admit I'm pleased by your arrival to spice things up a bit. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"I'm in self-imposed exile for a while," she explains while turning her face to enjoy the sunshine. "After your departure and my initiating some efforts at headquarters to help awaken consciousness from its earthly prison, I've taken an extended leave of absence to remove Duality's disruptive influence from future team meetings."

"Did you find the selected candidate files useful that I had left for you?"

"Very," replies the archangel, "and I immediately assigned teams to work round the clock to help those candidates awaken from their limited self image on Earth and to remember their true heritage as spirit. It feels important to act swiftly to take full advantage of the current opportunity."

The Seraph of Desire remarks, "I would hardly call the growing fear and duality on Earth in the new millennium an _opportunity_. Am I correct in assuming that in Earth's early 21st century we still see few, if any, spirits breaking free to return to their heavenly home?"

"I think it's just a lull before the tsunami," comments Duality, "a building up of potential energy to fuel the next wave of spiritual awakening. Dr. Einstein likened the conflict and dissension among peoples on Earth to two poles of a magnet which, the stronger they get polarized, the stronger the energy field that can be beneficially utilized."

Desire catches on and points towards the deep end of the swimming pool. "And like a diving board, the further down it bends with the density of duality the higher an awakening individual can soar to gracefully reenter the heavenly pool of oneness."

"True, but I sense that the opportunity at hand involves more than our original goal, more than just individual consciousness returning to its heavenly source."

"Are you referring to the emerging trinity we identified at my graduation party—where the holy ghost of the human soul enhances the reunion of consciousness with Source?"

"Partially," observes the archangel, "but I can't shake this niggling feeling that there is more to it." She looks at the archery range on Deck Two and speculates, "Like a bow pulled back to near its breaking point, the powerful energy of duality and conflict building up on Earth may ultimately fling humanity to a target beyond our current vision and understanding."

"Salt, sir," states the tuxedoed waiter while placing an ornate, crystalline shaker by the boiled egg. "And purified water for the lady."

The interruption prompts the two friends to relax in silence and simply enjoy their poolside refreshments. Upon finishing his egg, Desire strolls to the deck railing to gaze into the deep blue, soon joined by Duality. She takes his arm and says, "Forgive me for disturbing your blissful cruise with these speculations about earthly duality."

"Not a problem, my dear. In fact, I still feel surprisingly connected to the collective human consciousness on Earth." The Seraph leans closer and whispers, "At times it seems as if my actions are somehow being influenced, or even controlled from Earth—including these very words I'm speaking right now. Probably just an old fool's imagination."

"Perhaps not," the archangel responds while pondering recent developments. "I find it strange that we, the two forces of Earth-world creation—Desire and Duality—have both been written out of the action while the story unfolds on the planet without us."

The Seraph of Desire concurs, "Some hand, it seems, does want to push our influence aside, at least for the time being."

"Shall we go against the tide and return to reenter the Mindgame to Remembrance, partner?"

"Perhaps later. After having so little to do on this voyage except to bask in bliss, I look forward to using my next travel voucher for a safari through the Plains of Abundance where I can enjoy creating anything I wish through the application of pure thought."

The archangel raises her glass and declares, "Well then, to the Plains of Abundance."

Desire joins in the toast, "Where the grass grows as high as the minds which create it."

At the Pin River campsite, early next morning

Sunlight filters into your small tent and beckons you to greet the day. You have been awake for a while but have enjoyed lingering in the comfort of your thick sleeping bag and the hi-tech mattress pad brought from the United States. Despite the tent interior being damp from breath condensation, you are well-satisfied with the new shelter to tote into the high country tomorrow after an overnight stay in a Mudd village guesthouse. Unzipping the tent you crawl out of the nighttime refuge again thankful for the soft meadow oasis on which you are camped amidst rocky terrain.

The rugged mountain view that envelops you is awesome. Even after two months in the Spiti region, it is still hard for the mind to adjust to the Himalayan scale where river bottoms and farming villages exist above timberline, and the ensuing elevations rise by another vertical mile or two. Your body, however, has adapted well to high altitude thus enabling you now to trek solo with fifty-pound pack over Pin Baba Pass, the highest place you have ever stood on the planet. That summit experience occurred last year when hiking over the pass in the opposite direction, from Baba Valley to the Spiti region. When traversing the rugged high country again in the next days, you hope that both your memory of the basic route and the current good weather hold sufficiently to get you safely over the rugged forty-mile, uninhabited route.

After breakfast, you wash and take pause to observe the shallow spring water curve its graceful path through the grassy flat. The flow becomes hypnotic as one after another swirling eddies emerge for no apparent reason then, after whirling in the current, spin off into smaller spirals which ultimately dissipate back into the flow without a trace.

Such, too, is the nature of consciousness, you speculate while kneeling down to fill a liter bottle. Out of the stream of consciousness a mind swirls into momentary form, drifting with the current and giving birth to spiraling thoughts until all fade back into the source, returning to the flow of consciousness from which they were never separate. Yes, you like that description of the relationship between consciousness and one's swirling mind and thoughts—perhaps an eddy of energy is a more accurate self-image than is a human blob of protoplasm. Peering again into the water, you wonder if a Narcissus has just glimpsed his deeper reflection spiraling beneath the ego's surface image.

Submerging into the Realm of Thought...

"Take me to your liter," a familiar voice calls out from behind an impressive alien mask.

When the humanoid fully materializes in your psyche, you casually pass the water bottle to him and respond, "As you wish, Mr. Serling."

Rod whips off his fierce mask, looking disappointed. "How did you know it was me and not some Imperial warship captain with an intergalactic message for you?"

"Klingon warriors rarely wear white socks with dark slacks, plus that's the same skinny tie you wore while hosting the _Twilight Zone_ ," you respond while beckoning him to sit. "But thanks for the effort and for joining me on this planet of fearsome dualities and empires of paradox."

"Shifting through realities can be a real bummer without corporate sponsorship," Rod observes sympathetically while noting your cheap, sagging tent across the meadow. "In what reality do you find yourself at the moment?"

You review the past twenty-four hours and reply, "Oh, just wandering the great void of nothingness, chasing the rainbows of my mind, and spiraling through endless whorls of thought while tripping merrily down the noble Path of Self-Enquiry—and ultimately feeling beached here on the shore of confusion."

Mr. Serling puts a sympathetic hand on your shoulder and speaks poetically:

Consciousness in perfect stillness is the Absolute,

the sum and source of all existence.

Consciousness in motion is the creative Mind which births

wondrous worlds of perception.

Consciousness in chaos is you-know-who.

"I can relate," you remark with a sigh.

"Look, to avoid the chaos we need to get you better grounded in the scientific basis of these concepts before losing yourself in esoterica," Rod firmly declares. "Do you recall what advice the Dalai Lama gave to his audience at Tabo Monastery the other week?"

"Yes, he suggested we meditate only on what is real," you answer with a laugh, "leaving me with zilch to ponder since in this illusory world of _maya_ nothing is certain to me any longer."

"I'd revisit the Dalai Lama's sage advice, if I were you," Rod suggests. "Specifically, consider for a moment—from a straight scientific standpoint, from your most rational and intellectual perspective—what can you say is most real, most true to you?"

"Well, when asked a similar question in high school philosophy class, my answer was that _I exist_ — probably influenced by Descartes', _I think therefore I am_. But that feels like an obsolete paradigm now. A better adage from my new self-image as the watching awareness, as pure consciousness, might be: _I perceive thought, therefore I am_ _not_ _what I think_."

"So what can you say is most true from your new paradigm," he asks, bringing you back to the original question.

You take a deep breath and conclude, " _There is perception_. I may not know what, if anything, is being perceived or even be certain if there is a definable perceiver, but there is perception at this moment. That is the sole truth which I can state with certainty."

"Good," responds your inner guide. "So next, what does science say you perceive?"

"In my mind, I perceive thoughts, memories, dreams, and imaginary scenes like this one with you. Plus, of course, I perceive an external world of mountains, rivers, friends, family, and such."

"An external world, you say?" Rod interjects skeptically. "Consider, if you please, that when you think you see a mountain or hear the river or sense anything in that supposed real, external world, you are only interpreting neural signals flashing inside your brain. Your known universe has been a lifetime of electrical firings in your mind, given form by your personal perceptions. What, if anything, is 'out there' as an external world is pure conjecture."

"So my actual experience of the world takes place solely in my mind," you ponder aloud with growing understanding and excitement. "Which helps my logic embrace what Lamaji said yesterday about the universe existing within me."

"It should also help you grasp what all those sages and yogis say," he remarks while standing up, "that when you truly awaken to know thyself, you will see that your life and world have been little more than a dream." Mr. Serling starts flapping his arms to slowly rise towards the heavens.

You shout to him from the ground, "Say, if the world is all in my mind, can I fly beyond the illusory bounds of gravity, time, and space, too?"

"Maybe someday when you've broken free from old conditioning, you will. But for the time being," he states with a wave of farewell, "dream on!"

### CHAPTER 3

Dream On

When the minds of the dreamer and the dreamt unite in lucidity,

the perceived world bursts into a wondrous universe of boundless potential.

That evening in Mudd Village

Emerging from a small cafe after an early dinner, you decide to check out the many pathways through adjacent barley fields to determine which is the main trail leading to your Pin-Baba route. Identifying the correct path now is preferable to making false starts in the early morning while packing fifty pounds, you wisely conclude while walking down a lane where women and children with plastic containers gather at a community water pipe. A staccato of noisy _hello's_ are barked out by the children less in greeting than in demand for your attention. You silently raise a hand to your chest in acknowledgement but do not make the eye contact that invariably leads to persistent requests for rupees, pens, and most frequently, chocolate.

Turning your attention to barley fields, you soon discover the correct path for tomorrow's route leading down the slope and over the Pin River via a simple wooden suspension bridge. Satisfied that all is ready for the morning departure, you take a minute to sit on a stone at the edge of a quiet field and enjoy the changing hues in the cloudless evening sky.

Gazing towards the awaiting mountain range that harbors Pin Baba Pass, you ponder what future will unfold beyond the summit. Replenishing your money supply at a Shimla bank ATM is the first stop when returning to civilization. But beyond that pragmatic need, there is not a single plan or obligation left in your life. No place to call home, no possessions demanding attention, no bills or taxes to be paid, no mailbox filling with correspondence, no friends or family anticipating your return. You have worked hard to establish this level of freedom, this ability to live only in the moment and follow your heart's desire.

But that's the joke on yourself now, you suddenly realize while thinking of where to go after Shimla: You have no desires to follow. You search in your heart and mind for the aspirations that have faithfully fueled and guided your lifetime of exploration and service—and you come up empty. No urges arise, no desires call for one more adventure, one more client, or one more goal to pursue. This startling discovery leaves you feeling empty and stunned. You attempt to take refuge in the tenet that letting go of all desire is a high state of spiritual evolution, but it sure as hell doesn't feel like one. Heaviness descends, dropping you deeper into the void of emptiness.

"They'd call this a midlife crisis back in the States," observes the attractive Jewish woman in traditional attire who sits next to you. "Nothing a few pills and psychotherapy can't fix to make you a slave again to your human desires instead of liberating into the realm of pure consciousness beyond earthly attachments."

"An astute observation," you respond to the visitor, "but do you mind if we move this conversation from my daily reality into the realm of thought?" You look nervously around the barley fields while adding, "Talking aloud to an imaginary playmate at my age is a tad suspect."

In the Realm of Thought

"There, is this better?" the woman asks, popping into your psyche.

"Much, thank you."

"Sorry to have threatened your delicate sensibilities by appearing as a tangible vision," she states, "but the team thought that you might be ready for more direct communication than just your imagination."

"Say, are you a manifestation of Moth—"

"No, I'm _not_ Mother Mary," interrupts the frowning woman. "Those visions are a shekel a dozen and not the least suited to your path of awakening."

You stare at the striking woman with long black hair flowing down a simple yet colorful robe. "Mary Magdalene?" you venture tentatively.

"At your service," she replies with a nod. "Although it's Magdalena the Christ, in my heavenly incarnation."

"Does Jesus object to the competition?" you query with a grin.

"To the contrary, we're teaming up to help people reconcile their inner duality—symbolic, if you will, of the yin and yang merging into wholeness beyond the male-female polarity and other dualities plaguing you Earth folk."

"Should make for an interesting and surprising Second Coming," you muse.

"No doubt it will, at least for those who shall perceive a Second Coming as part of their awakening to spirit." Magdalena pulls a manila folder from her robe to thumb through your file. "In your case, though, I've dropped by primarily to congratulate you on your growing sense of emptiness, your deepening alienation from people, your intolerance towards the vagaries of life, and your lack of motivation and desire."

You look askance at your visionary visitor. "How can losing my spiritual compass and acting like an intolerant idiot with people be commendable?"

"Frankly, it's the only way that a formerly self-satisfied ego is going to end up jumping into the abyss in order to be reborn in spirit." Magdalena explains, "Look, if you were still in America enjoying your illusions of being a competent, dedicated spiritual man, you'd never fully surrender that comfortable self-image and its associated desires, no matter how committed you are to liberation."

You think about her point and concur, "I guess that India has been a great teacher for my journey, pushing me out of a complacent identity plus getting me fed up with life on the planet."

Magdalena continues, "And that's precisely what Christ meant about hating your brethren, family, and verily, your own life also in order to follow his path. Do you recall that passage from the Book of Luke?"

"Sure I remember, since it surprised the heck out of me to read such a message supposedly coming from a savior who had professed loving thy neighbor and all."

"Actually it's loving your neighbor _as thyself_ ," Magdalena clarifies, "which is what happens after getting fed up with your life, losing your false identity based in duality and thereby knowing thyself fully—which includes knowing your oneness with neighbors, nature, the Divine, and all existence. A pure state of love flows naturally from that awareness, expressing with no effort or false sense of duality between a lover and a loved."

"So how am I doing so far?" you ask while trying to peer over her shoulder at your candidate file.

She reviews some papers while answering, "Fine, but you still have a ways to go in reconciling aspects of your inner duality, particularly the toughest one that your American culture never prepared you for—integrating your human identity with your higher mind."

Suddenly, from the barley field...

"Hello, chocolate! Hello, chocolate!" shout a half dozen young voices from the edge of the field behind you. The intrusion snaps you out of your thoughts and into a more irritating reality. You too often have seen the phenomenon of well-intentioned Western trekkers who, with coin and chocolate, turn local children into pushy and persistent beggars—and you now remain steadfast not to further fuel this cycle. Sitting motionless on the rock, you stare down at the Pin River with hopes that the youngsters will disappear. The longer you ignore their entreaties, however, the noisier they grow.

The clamor brings your patience dangerously close to the breaking point when suddenly a shower of pebbles peppers your position. This common local tactic for herding livestock sends you over the edge. You leap up shouting and pointing at the rock-throwing children, eliciting terrified expressions on their faces. You drop to the ground as the youngsters flee back to the safety of the village.

Retreating again to the Realm of Thought...

"Madness, utter madness," you groan while your head sags to your knees.

Magdalena puts a reassuring hand on your back. "Don't forget, brother, acceptance is the key."

"I know it is and that's precisely why I get so frustrated at my strong responses these days when my buttons get pushed instead of just accepting others and their actions."

"Oh, for pity sake," Magdalena responds sharply to your statement, "it's not about accepting those whiney little bastards in the barley field. It's about accepting your actions towards them."

You respond with a surprised look. She immediately adds, "And quit playing stupid. You know that unconditional self-acceptance is the only way to stop projecting your internal judgments onto a needy child wanting chocolate or onto others who mirror the parts of humanity you want to deny in yourself."

"But I've tried to be more—"

Magdalena cuts you off, stating, " _Trying_ to be more self-accepting, or _trying_ to see the perfection in all actions, or _trying_ to transcend duality will only tie you up in more knots." She lifts your chin with her hand to look you in the eyes. "Know thyself," she commands. "The solution is that simple. Because when you fully grasp the totality of what you are, all judgments, fears, and futile efforts will simply dissipate as irrelevant to your true being."

She pats your chest, adding, "Even after full self-awareness, this flesh and bone vessel of duality may still react like an idiot or madman at times, but you won't be identifying with it. Instead, you'll enjoy watching this featured character with loving detachment, viewing the-man-you-used-to-be continue to play out his role of a lifetime within the earthly theater. Your bodily self as the actor; your silent witness as the audience; and your higher mind, the director of the production once you get to know her."

"Her?" you ask with surprise. "My higher mind is a she?"

"In a symbolic sense, yes. Since your male physical body is the yang aspect of creation, your mental body necessarily reflects the feminine yin—a natural consequence of your consciousness taking on the dualities needed to experience worldly life."

You cogitate on this concept, recalling numerous clues you have gotten in your dreams and intuitive writings the past few years about the presence of a female guide waiting in the wings of your psyche. "So maybe the time has arrived to fully embrace my inner feminine in order to know my total mind," you surmise.

Magdalena laughs, "That's like Jonah embracing his inner whale—and remember where he ended up. No, a union with your higher mind swallows your known self and world, regurgitating you into a far larger universe where even your body's sense of space and your mind's sense of time merge into an experience beyond duality."

A thought suddenly occurs to you. "Hey, I bet that's what Lamaji meant by finding the _time being_ —to discover the source of my true mind." You look at Magdalena and ask excitedly, "Are you she? Do you represent my higher mind, my illusive female guide with whom I can journey beyond this earthly madness and into oneness?"

"Sorry, but a two thousand year-old Hebrew woman is hardly the appropriate match for your psyche that was molded on the plains of Kansas and warped by a twentieth century media barrage of television and cinema. For the Time Being, just keep the faith that she will ultimately arrive to release you from mindless stagnation at the crossroads, give you courage to transcend a heartless world, and guide you to greener pastures—or perhaps to an emerald city."

"And Toto, too," you state as the distant barking of a village dog brings your attention back to the rocky slope of the moment.

On the heavenly Plains of Abundance

"Excuse me, sir, but you have a visitor," states the butler of the Mánafi Station Lodge. The Seraph of Desire finishes tying his bootlace and looks up at the man who announces, "The Archangel of Duality wishes to see you, sir."

"Excellent!" the Seraph responds with delight. "Show her to the verandah overlooking the Plains of Abundance. I'll join her in a moment." As the butler turns to leave, Desire adds, "And bring us each an extra-large wheatgrass shake, pronto."

The Seraph walks to the mirror, smoothes out the sleeves of his tailored khaki jacket, and takes a minute to place a safari helmet atop his head at just the right angle. A riding crop completes the outfit as he strides onto the verandah and greets the awaiting archangel. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this time, my dear?"

"I have little to do these days and always enjoy our collaborations," the Archangel of Duality answers while gazing at the expansive vista from their hilltop perch. "Plus being with you, the master of desire, should be particularly rich on the Plains of Abundance where our thoughts and wishes instantly manifest into physical form."

"And with you, the master of duality, creation is always enlivened, for better or worse. A wheatgrass cocktail for your pleasure?" offers the Seraph as a waitress in African sarong approaches with two big glasses of green liquid topped with tiny parasols.

"Yes, thank you."

Desire states to the server, "Bring us breakfasts of eggs Benedict and chicken cordon bleu, and ask the chef to pack an extra lunch for today's safari." Addressing his angelic tablemate, he queries, "Ever ridden an elephant through the Plains of Abundance while employing the creative power of higher thought?"

"No, but it looks lovely down there," the archangel replies gazing across the grassy savannah teeming with creatures and dominated by a large lake.

"The mountains are a little short on snow this season, however," the Seraph remarks. He stares at the distant peaks, focuses his thoughts on his wish for more abundance—and presto, mountain beauty is instantly enhanced by new, glistening snowfields across the horizon.

"Nice trick," notes his tablemate, "although the vista was pretty enough as it was."

"Nonsense, my dear, the more the merrier. How about some flamingos to offset the blue of the lake?" he asks rhetorically while manifesting a huge flock of pink birds along the shore. "And that wildebeest herd could stand to be bigger. Plus, let's put more color into that floral bloom along the safari trail. Hey, and why don't we add—"

"Very impressive but don't get too carried away," interrupts Duality as her companion's feverish eyes and thoughts continue to dart about the landscape instantly manifesting more abundance in accordance with his wishes.

"And we'll need another elephant for your ride and some extra lion and rhino sightings would be nice for our safari. And giraffes. Yes, more giraffes would add to the beauty," Desire's words race on while new animals instantly manifest below the verandah.

The concerned archangel puts a gentle hand on the Seraph's arm hoping to stop this _more-is-never-enough_ pattern that she has seen run rampant on Earth. But the waitress interrupts with a question, "More wheatgrass juice, sir?"

"Of course," the Seraph of Desire mindlessly responds. "Plus bring me a big Fruit of Abundance Smoothie, to go."

"Would you like an apple turnover with that order?"

"Sure, make it two."

"And some french fries, sir?"

"Right, a large bag," Desire replies with sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Get a grip on yourself," cautions the Archangel of Duality. "Perhaps you were correct when you said last time that your words and actions are somehow being manipulated from forces on Earth."

The Seraph seems not to hear as he shouts to the departing waitress, "Aw, what the heck. Supersize me!"

Pin Baba Trek, afternoon of Day One

You have come to a crossroads, to the first big decision in your uphill day of solitude while backpacking through miles of Himalayan high country. As you stopped a short while ago to enjoy a lunchtime snack, the sun gave way to fast-forming clouds that now enshroud the mountains harboring Pin Baba Pass. With the wind picking up and air temperature in the forties, you hesitate to continue on the trail disappearing into the misty curtain of gray even though several hours of daylight remain for hiking.

The other option at this juncture is a pathless slope plunging down to what looks like a minor miracle to eyes grown accustomed to a harsh, rocky landscape jutting at sharp angles into the sky. Far below, a large stream appears to gush directly out of the base of a mountain into a narrow ribbon of grassy green. You are reluctant to call it quits so early in the afternoon, but the promise of a perfect camping spot in the natural wonder below prompts you to take the plunge.

Scrambling down the steep slope is difficult but well worth the effort, you conclude, as your boots trod upon soft grass along the pristine stream pouring directly out of the mountain base. The flow forms a deep pool then cascades through grassy banks before joining a river of silt-laden glacial melt tumbling down the adjacent gorge. Tomorrow morning you expect to follow the steep gorge up to the river's icy headwaters at Pin Baba Pass. For the moment, however, a cup of tea sounds perfect if only you could build a fire.

Strolling down the gently sloping meadow that runs for two hundred paces parallel to the river gorge you are disappointed, though not surprised, to find no fuel wood growing at this altitude of 13,000 feet. Perhaps low shrubs once thrived here but if so, they were long ago burned by trekkers and traders who traversed this route, or eaten by their pack animals. At a spot where pack ponies were obviously kept, you kneel to investigate one of the many manure piles that look surprisingly similar to charcoal briquettes. You gingerly pick up a blackened, sun-dried nugget, pleased to find it composed entirely of sterile hay-like roughage that would seem to burn well.

With a little patience and help from some paper, the nuggets do indeed blaze into hot flames that soon bring Tibetan tea to a boil. Another minor miracle, you think, as you lean back against a boulder while breathing in the steaming tea vapors, grateful for the reminder that even a pile of horse puckies can add immeasurably to the sensations of the moment.

In the Realm of Thought

"Quite a cozy little nook you've created here in the space-time continuum," notes a familiar looking face that pops into your psyche.

"Glad you could drop by, Dr. Einstein," you comment to your latest imaginary playmate. "Tea?"

Your question is answered by his producing a china cup and saucer from his oversized coat. While pouring, you spy a candidate file sticking from his pocket, prompting you to ask, "So what aspect of the Mindgame to Remembrance are you here to assist me with, sir?"

Dr. Einstein takes a quick sip first, remarking, "Good tea. Nothing like the earthy taste of Tibetan herbs to keep one grounded while drifting in this rarified Himalayan atmosphere."

"Sounds like you're here with your logical mind to bring my imagination back down to Earth."

"Don't be so sure, mein freund. Remember, I'm the chap who kick-started Relativity Theory by picturing myself riding on a beam of light."

"That _thought experiment_ certainly carried you a light-year or two ahead of your colleagues," you remark with admiration. "Proving in the early 1900's that time progresses at different rates depending upon the speeds at which people or clocks travel through space, was revolutionary."

"And not intrinsically logical to the human mind, I daresay. It was even more difficult for people to grasp that space, too, contracts or expands relative to the speed of the traveler, as do the size of objects observed. Then a decade later my General Theory of Relativity really blew some minds." Your visitor chuckles and explains, "That was when I demonstrated that we live in a multidimensional space-time universe and that the gravity we experience, rather than being some mystical invisible force between two bodies, is a natural effect of the fourth-dimensional curvature of space-time that is bent sharply by massive bodies, such as planet Earth."

You comment, "Strange to think that behind this seemingly real landscape, lies a fourth dimension whose realm is impossible for my 3-D brain to picture."

"Don't limit yourself to only four dimensions in the universe, candidate," cautions Dr. Einstein. "Looking at it as five-dimensional produced my best, if insufficient, equations to unify all the forces of physics into a single, cogent theory. Moreover, more recent attempts at explaining the universe delve into the _eleventh_ dimension where infinitesimally small, massless Superstrings vibrate to birth electrons and the other subatomic particles as seen in our three-dimensional reality. And if that doesn't shake your worldview paradigm, you can listen to the quantum physicists who say there actually is no substance to those familiar particles in an atom since they are just blips in the unified energy field which our perceptions turn into a world of solid matter."

I shake my head. "Are there no absolutes, no constants to grab hold of in the physics of this universe?"

"Try looking at E=MC2, indicating that the amount of energy converted from mass, and vice versa, is a function of the equation's constant, C, representing the speed of light. There's a bona fide constant for you, particularly since light—the very element giving both life and visual form to our world—invariably is perceived by us as traveling at a constant velocity. You follow?"

"Sure, I understand that regardless of how fast a person speeds towards or away from a light source, the relative velocity between the observer and the light remains inexplicably constant at 186,000 miles per second."

The physicist queries, "Does not this hint strongly at a special relationship that you and light share, independent of the vagaries of the world given form through the teamwork of light and your perceptions of it?"

"I guess so, but I still can't logically explain the velocity paradox of light."

"Nor can any scientist who is looking _out_ at the world for an explanation." Dr. Einstein leans closer and states quietly, "But maybe your Lamaji and other sages, who understand the inner universe, could provide an answer. What if light—which you have unquestionably accepted as energy from an external world—is actually a stimulus arising from _within_ you to trigger the perceptions of a universe? That would explain why you never see light vary in speed, because you are always traveling together."

You consider this hypothesis, thinking aloud, "Light as consciousness itself?"

Albert looks pleased as he adds supportively, "Yes, consciousness with a capital 'C' that constantly transforms energy into matter as you give form to the material world with your perceptions—with your light of consciousness."

Meanwhile, back at the Mánafi Station Lodge...

"Cancel that last order, miss," the Archangel of Duality directs the server. "Just bring the breakfast plates when they're ready." She turns to the Seraph of Desire suggesting, "Take a few deep breaths, dear, and see if you can slow your racing thoughts and desires. The Plains are abundantly populated with enough animals for now," she concludes while watching the newly created pride of lions hungrily circle a giraffe yearling.

"I don't know what got into me. All those animals and snow and colors weren't really what I desired, but somehow my thoughts went spinning off into manifesting more of everything just as if I were some hungry ghost on Earth trying to fill insatiable needs."

The archangel thinks for a minute. "It's as if someone from Earth is writing our script, creating us in an image of his or her choosing, or at least as they picture us in their rambling imagination. Ironic, is it not?"

"Indeed. Here _we_ are the two who created Earth and its people through our thoughts, and now it seems as if they mold us through their thinking and writing."

"Another paradox in this cosmic dance of eternal creation where it is impossible to say which comes first, the chicken or the egg."

"Actually, they've both arrived at the same time," the waitress declares while delivering the sumptuous breakfast order. The heavenly duo proceeds to eat their eggs and chicken in silence while watching the lions take down and devour the struggling giraffe below the verandah.

"You know, many people lost in duality on Earth would view this wildlife drama with aversion rather than seeing the oneness of life recycling from form to form," notes the archangel.

The Seraph responds with understanding, "The universal life force transforms from giraffe to lion, then later from decaying lion to bacteria in the soil, from soil to growing plant, from plant to giraffe, and so on."

"A beauteous cycle of creation, is it not?" posits Duality while savoring a bite of her chicken cordon bleu.

The Seraph of Desire stops eating and stares off into space. Finally, he responds to his companion's question, "Beauteous perhaps, but to what purpose? Why all this cycle of life and death; why our constant creation of heavenly realms; why this plethora of experience? Just so that consciousness can forever taste more beauty, more abundance, more bliss? Frankly, this eternal cycle of heavenly experience is starting to seem futile and meaningless to me, almost like a prison."

"Now you _really_ are sounding like a flame of consciousness stuck in human life on Earth."

"Unlike me, at least those residing on Earth have a purpose and a means of escape—to remember their true heritage and thus return to oneness from the madness of human duality," observes the Seraph.

"True, but what you seem to be saying is that those people will be jumping from the earthly frying pan and into the fire, albeit a heavenly one of the eternal flame of consciousness. And there is no apparent end to our consciousness's cycle of creation and destruction, creation and destruction."

Desire nods his head in agreement. "Perhaps even heaven can become a hell after an eternity or two with no escape—or at least with no escape route that I can remember."

The archangel stands to pace as pieces start falling into place in her mind. "Do you recall how I told you on your cruise that there is likely more to the Mindgame to Remembrance than meets the eye? That somehow the strong duality on Earth could catapult humanity into magnificent, unknown heights like an arrow flying from a bow?"

"I remember."

"Well, maybe your feelings these days reflect some teamwork between heaven and Earth to not only fling humanity to new heights, but to liberate consciousness itself into a new realm of freedom which lies beyond our current reach."

The Seraph of Desire sighs, "Now there's a desire worth having."

Pin Baba Trek, Day Two

Two steps forward, one step back. Never has this adage been so apt as you plod slowly up the steep ice field, sliding back with each step. Breathing is difficult, vision even worse as a shroud of fog, mist, and random snowflakes blow by at this 15,000-foot elevation. Or maybe it is nearer 16,000 feet now, you think, as the ever-thickening cloud cover that you entered two hours ago has kept you from gaining your bearings. You believe Pin Baba Pass to lie somewhere to the left, but bare, steep ice prevents traversing that direction into the fog. So you keep trudging forward up the thin finger of sand, gravel, and silt that has accumulated a few inches deep atop the ice giving you just enough loose traction to plow a bit forward before crouching to catch your breath.

Two o'clock your wristwatch indicates. Fear would be your companion at this juncture of the cold, blind journey if it were not for the deep sense of connection you have felt all day. In fact, upon awakening this morning to inclement weather, you never would have attempted scaling the pass but for this intuitive sense of oneness with the weather, the mountains, the trail, and the body that strapped on a backpack and began to climb. During the subsequent hours of trekking, you have watched the interplay of these elements with little attachment or concern, just sensing that all is well even as the storm clouds strengthened and the faint trail disappeared without trace in the high, glacial basin of blowing snow, jumbled stone, and slippery ice.

Your logical mind fully grasps the current dangers as well as the imprudence of the morning decision to embark into foul weather. Even under the best of conditions, the Spiti locals consider you foolish for trekking solo in the Himalayan high country without guide and pack animals. But the constant support of some guiding hand that you've felt for decades has grown even more tangible in recent weeks, becoming today like an inner consciousness, a higher awareness that embraces all it sees with acceptance. _It is as it is_ , has been your silent mantra of the day.

Looking ahead, a welcome hue of brown emerges through the veil of white and gray, distracting you from the rambling thoughts. Your happiness at coming to the end of the ice field is short-lived, however, as the wall of jagged brown rocks blocking your route is too steep to climb. You immediately deduce that either you are cut off from reaching Pin Baba Pass beyond the rock face or you have already climbed beyond your target. With visibility down to only a few paces, you have no way of knowing at the moment which is the case.

You pick your way along the base of the rocks preparing for the worst. Although no real shelter is found amidst the jumbled stones, you drop your pack in a niche that could provide some protection from wind and snow, should you be forced to spend a night or two waiting for the storm to pass. Zipping into the high-tech sleeping bag and using the tent as a water-resistant blanket would likely prevent hypothermia, you conclude with little enthusiasm. You trust, however, that this survival theory will not be tested as you continue walking to the left hoping to discover the best news possible—that you have overshot the summit and can now work your way back to it around the ice field.

Thickening fog hampers the search but you soon come to what appears to be a ridge. As you top it, a steady gale nearly knocks you down, an encouraging sign that the wind is being funneled by the mountains while uplifted from a cloud-enshrouded valley below. Heartened, you scramble downward along the crest knowing that if this ridge is in fact the boundary between Pin and Baba valleys, the pass you seek lies at the ridge's lowest point. Encouragement soon turns to joy as, through the blowing fog and wind, you hear the flapping of cloth followed by the sight of colorful Tibetan prayer flags blessing those crossing Pin Baba Pass. You quickly descend to the ridge's saddle, bow to a small Buddhist shrine, and take cover behind a four-foot high wall of rocks piled together as a windbreak at the pass.

Sitting to rest against the wall, you catch your breath before the climb back up the ridge to retrieve your pack, about a half-hour roundtrip, you figure. Then a twenty-minute break for a snack should suffice before the two-hour descent to the lush meadows by the Baba River where you camped during last year's trek through the area. Looking at your watch, you smile realizing that you should arrive with just enough time to set up camp before darkness falls. Perfect timing, the perfect path around the ice field through the fog, the perfect orchestration of what could have been a life-threatening day.

You marvel at the power of intuitive guidance, one's higher consciousness, or whatever piece of Mind directs the path through life. The guidance feels like an intrinsic part of human nature yet it also feels like teamwork between you as a physical body-brain and some higher mind to which you are daily growing closer. You stretch out your legs on the ground, close your eyes, and contemplate this nebulous relationship between the earthly self and one's broader consciousness.

Resting in the Realm of Thought...

"For understanding this important relationship with your higher mind, nighttime dreams provide an excellent analogy," states the man in tweed suit who enters your psyche.

"How so, Professor Jung?" you ask, recognizing the renowned psychologist.

"When dreaming, you typically identify with the main character in the dream—seeing, hearing, and feeling his experiences as your own. But upon awakening in bed, you realize that you are the mind in which the imaginary scenes and the fictitious character took temporary form, and that your actual self resides in a higher realm of existence beyond the nocturnal dreamscape."

You think a moment then respond, "So the analogy is that my earth-based self is just a fictional character in a dream of my higher mind?"

"Correct, and when you fully awaken to the higher mind, the limited earthly dream ends and you are free to roam the higher levels of consciousness. Which is precisely what my heavenly teammates and I are helping you and other candidates to ultimately achieve."

Your new imaginary playmate takes a minute to peruse your candidate file and continues, "Actually, today's hiking experience was a milestone for you since your consciousness, instead of identifying with the character trekking up the mountain, watched the worldly drama from the standpoint of the higher mind without fear or attachment. We call this _lucid observing_ , which also has its nocturnal counterpart."

"Right. I've occasionally had that lucid experience at night when my awake consciousness realizes I am only dreaming, while the dream continues, becoming extra vivid and intense."

"And even dramatically more vivid when you fully awaken from this _daytime_ dreamscape as well," Jung adds while indicating the current foggy setting. "For when the minds of the dreamer and the dreamt unite in lucidity, the perceived earthly world bursts into a wondrous universe of boundless potential. The false notions of time, space, and matter can no longer hold you a prisoner of Earth once you realize that your daytime world is just a dreamlike perception in your unified mind."

Professor Jung looks at the darkening clouds and concludes, "But at the moment you had best start hiking again in order to get to the Baba River campsite by nightfall." He takes a last look at your file and adds, "You can soon explore this topic more thoroughly with your higher mind once you feel closer to her."

You ask with anticipation, "How far away am I from becoming at one with my higher mind?"

The instructor answers obtusely yet wisely, "How much distance separates the dreamer and the dreamt?"

### CHAPTER 4

Dream On

Unconditional self-acceptance lays the final

stepping stone on the path to pure selflessness.

In HEAVEN, at the new Candidates Corner

"Ouch!" cries the robed carpenter dropping his hammer and grabbing his thumb.

"Jesus Christ, are you okay?" a concerned Genghis asks his friend.

"It seems my carpentry skills are somewhat rusty after a couple of millennia with no practice." Jesus brings his throbbing thumb to his mouth and murmurs to it, "Sorry little guy."

"Well, the interior rooms all are constructed and we've only a couple of doors left to hang, so why don't you take a break?" suggests Magdalena.

"Thanks, but I still have some trim to finish on the _I-Do-Two Wedding Chapel and All-You-Can-Eat Buffet_."

The group banter is interrupted by a familiar female voice calling from the entryway, "So what's going on here, gang?"

All heads turn to the sound, followed by a bevy of smiles and hugs greeting the return of the Archangel of Duality. "Where have you been?" asks Buddha.

"Out exploring a few heavenly realms including a visit or two with our friend, Desire."

"How is that son of a seraph, anyway?" asks Theresa. "Still sailing the Ocean of Bliss?"

"Nope, his cruise ended and he's now finishing up a safari through the Plains of Abundance."

"And no doubt eager to cash in his final travel voucher to scale the Heights of Beauty," remarks Ramaghudwan.

"I'm not so sure," the archangel responds. "His mind is rather distracted by thoughts of Earth and the people who are ready to merge with their higher consciousness." She looks around at the nearly-completed complex and adds, "May I assume these construction efforts have something to do with helping earthbound candidates to return to heavenly oneness?"

"Right you are," replies Buddha. "We've created a little Candidates Corner here in heaven as a final boost for those on the brink of liberation from their earthly prison of duality and false self-concept."

Mother Theresa interjects, "Of course, we'll also focus some help on making life more comfortable for those souls stuck on Earth who cling to the security of their human self-image and old belief systems."

"The meek shall inherit the Earth, god bless 'em," Jesus comments sympathetically. "While those with the courage to die to their known self and world shall be reborn in spirit to a universe of limitless potential."

"You know, many people actually _want_ to remain on Earth for another thousand years to rule and reign with Christ until Lucifer is finally vanquished—no offense intended," Magdalena states with a respectful nod to the Archangel of Duality.

Genghis nudges Theresa with a questioning expression on his face. The nun whispers back, "Lucifer is the Latin word for _light bearer_ , applied to the archangel assigned to fashion life on Earth."

"Human beings from many religions and cultures, not just Western ones, tend to externalize their dual nature onto some satanic figure to avoid facing their own inner shadow," observes Master Sakitumi, "making their transcendence to heavenly oneness nigh impossible."

"Not to worry," proclaims Buddha optimistically. "Whether it is tomorrow or in a thousand years, I trust that all flames of consciousness that took on earthly form will eventually return to their heavenly heritage of beauty, abundance, and bliss. So let's finish building the Candidates Corner and we can begin shepherding them home posthaste."

As the group returns to work, the Archangel of Duality approaches Buddha to state, "The Seraph of Desire and I might disagree with your conclusion that _all_ consciousness will ultimately return from Earth to heaven. In fact, we sense that a unique, important alternative is emerging and that the destiny of some candidates will _not_ be their return to heavenly oneness."

"Well, my friend, that is a surprising premise. Can you give me more detail or identify the candidates whom you think might be taking an alternative path?" Buddha asks while retrieving a stack of files of those expected to arrive at the Candidates Corner over the next few days.

"Not at this juncture," she replies thumbing through the folders, "although perhaps I can identify likely candidates and gain more insight when they start coming here to your finishing school this week."

Buddha gently takes his colleague's arm. "I'm sorry but the team has voted to make this corner of heaven off limits to you once the candidates begin arriving. Since those individuals will be at the very crossroads of transcending their duality to return to heavenly oneness, you can understand the potential disruption of your powerful presence here as the master of duality herself, right?"

"I suppose so," the archangel reluctantly agrees. "Although I'd like to head down to Earth shortly to visit a few of the candidates I've met with before."

"Of course, my dear, of course. Any help you can be to facilitate their arrival here this week will be much appreciated."

"How about an appropriate disguise for your visit to the earthlings?" interrupts Mr. Serling while pushing a cart filled with alien masks and costumes.

"Thanks, Rod, but do you have anything more grounded in middle-American reality than this extraterrestrial gear?" Duality requests.

"I've got just the thing," Rod replies pulling out a large box from which loud yipping emanates.

The archangel looks into the container and states, "Perfect. I'll take the Kansas farm dress, the double-braided hairpiece, and the ruby slippers."

"You don't want the costume in toto?"

"Nope, you can leave that noisy little mutt in the box."

Pin Baba Trek, Day Three by the Baba River

You awaken to river roar and the sight of sagging, black nylon a few inches above your face. It takes a moment to remember your location as you watch your frosty breath add more moisture to the dampness that permeates the tent. But you are warm, a condition for which you are grateful—and one that would abruptly change if you were to unzip the sleeping bag.

You prepared for this chilly and potentially dangerous situation last evening upon setting up camp and retiring to the tiny tent. A supply of crackers and nuts are stashed by your side along with a full water bottle and large plastic cup soon to be used as a chamber pot and emptied at arm's length through the tent flap. Unzipping the flap, you swear a mild oath as slush dribbles down your sleeve. A mix of snow and rain apparently fell during the night, you note while rising to your elbows and peering out the opening. Upriver in the higher elevations new snow covers the alpine meadow that leads to a low, dense cloud cover. Downhill, rain falls upon the narrow valley through which the Baba River rages, swollen by the storm.

You fall back to a full horizontal position feeling discouraged as you quickly zip the flap of your confining tent to minimize further wetness. You are stuck, plain and simple. Hypothermia would be a threat if you tried walking for a cold, wet two hours to the ford of the Baba River. Plus the chances are slim-to-none that you could successfully cross the swollen river to continue on to civilization at the end of the trail. Retracing your path back to Spiti Valley is out of the question, as well, with fresh snow covering Pin Baba Pass.

Even getting out of the tent to stretch and fill the water bottle would probably prove suicidal. The high-tech insulation of your sleeping bag is designed to hold in body heat even when wet, a feature which is currently lifesaving. But if you got out of the warm cocoon for even a few of minutes in the freezing weather, neither the bag nor you would likely ever heat up again.

So you surrender to the moment and its challenges, anticipating a day of dozing on and off, of rationing food and water, and of retreating into contemplative thought, fantasy, and imagination.

Later, in the Realm of Thought

"Care for some company today?" asks a young lady who fell from a star to alight in your psyche.

"You bet, Miss Dorothy," you reply, "particularly if you've arrived to lead me down a yellow-brick road and out of this freezing valley."

"Actually, _you_ are the expert at traversing space while my specialty is transcending time, leading you perhaps to remembrance of times past from whence you came."

"Sounds like you may be the Time Being who can guide me to somewhere over the rainbow," you respond with anticipation.

"For the moment, yes, you may think of me as an expression of the Time Being," she answers, "and you are my counterpart lost in space. Or better yet, consider me symbolic of the universal mind while your bodily self gives solid form to my creative thoughts through your perceptions of a world."

"Professor Jung might say that you are the dreamer and I am the dreamt."

"True, our partnership in creation can be characterized in many ways, wherein my thoughts of duality give birth to the Earth while your worldly desires fuel its expansion." The Dorothy character looks at a folder she carries and states, "But it appears that your plethora of earthly urges has finally given way to a single-minded desire to transcend the madness of duality and return to heavenly oneness. And I am pleased to announce that in a day or two you are expected to arrive at the Candidates Corner to wed with your higher mind to again become as one in divine consciousness. Sounds good, does it not?"

"Sure, although it would sound better if I knew what merging into divine consciousness actually meant."

"Not to worry; you will have that experience soon enough. After a bit more instruction in the new Candidates Corner of heaven followed by a simple marriage ceremony with your higher mind, you can spend eternity exploring the heavenly realms of beauty, abundance, and bliss. Congratulations!"

"Thanks," you respond with surprisingly little enthusiasm.

Sensing your reticence, she asks, "What's wrong?"

"I'm not really sure. Merging with the total mind sounds lovely but something feels off. Maybe after being lost in a false self-image and pursuing insatiable desires for a lifetime or more on Earth, I'm ready to slow down. Isn't there some quiet realm to enter beyond all this mind and consciousness stuff that exploded with a noisy Big Bang?"

"If so, we've never been able to access it from heaven," the Archangel of Duality states while taking off her Dorothy disguise. She cogitates a few minutes in silence then abruptly states, "Look, I hate to desert you in this wet tent but I've got to run some ideas past an old friend before he leaves the Plains of Abundance."

"Will I see you again in the Candidates Corner?"

"Probably not," she answers while clicking her ruby slippers and slowly fading into the ethers, "but keep an eye out there for your Sleeping Beauty."

Pin Baba Trek, Day Four

Colder, wetter, and still horizontal in the same spot after thirty-six hours, you awaken at dawn. This time, however, the roar of the Baba River that greets your entry to the day is less deafening. You take that as a positive sign, opening the tent flap to confirm that the storm has passed. Frost on your tent lingers as does a thin layer of snow on the adjacent ground, a layer which grows deeper with elevation. Snowline ends, however, slightly downriver to the east where morning light turns the sky to shades of blue.

This is your chance, a narrow opening that you immediately take. You quickly break camp, welcoming the warmth of the rising sun but racing against its effect on the new snow whose runoff will soon swell the river that could trap you on this isolated side of the crossing. Your footrace against time and snowmelt begins by hoisting the backpack made ponderously heavy by your wet belongings, then striding out on the slippery trail running parallel to the Baba River. Although hardy alpine flowers abound and the majestic Himalayas are adorned with fresh snow, you see nothing but the rocky trail at your feet, focusing intently on safe placement of your next step as you hurriedly attempt to shave valuable minutes off the race with the rising river.

The sun grows warmer, the river swifter, and your shoulders more strained after an hour and more of no rest. You finally sit for a minute and look down the valley towards the upcoming terrain. The river drops steeply over the next half mile then flattens into a broad field of rocks laid down millennia ago by retreating glaciers. The stony flatland tames the raging river by breaking it into numerous braided channels that wind their way through the rocks until they unite in renewed fury to tear again as one through a deep gorge.

Peering at the distant rocky ford of braided channels, you try to gauge the best route for crossing. But it is only after another twenty minutes of hiking that you finally decide where to take the plunge. You remove your pants and replace your hiking boots with waterproof sandals, grateful for their support and traction on the slippery stones as you enter the first channel. The knee-high water is surprisingly swift and not so surprisingly icy, and when it deepens to mid-thigh you must use all your strength to maintain balance as you slowly move forward step by careful step until reaching a strip of rock and sand.

You repeat this process a dozen times through a dozen channels—some shallower than the first, some slightly deeper. Finally you arrive at the far bank of the river feeling exhilarated and free. You gratefully drop your heavy pack and sit in leisure while enjoying the incredible vista illuminated by a sun that is now wholly an ally. No more racing today, no more obstacles to cross. Just a scenic downhill hike remains on a trail familiar to you from last year's trek up it. You will soon drop into forested splendor and by late afternoon reach a perfect overnight campsite with plenteous firewood. Then a few more hours of hiking tomorrow morning to reach Kafnu village from which a daily bus runs to the capital town of Shimla.

But you waste no time thinking of an illusory future as the perceptions of the moment create a wonderland of sights and sensations. Looking with appreciation at the crystal waters of the Baba River, you decide that a little symbolic baptism is in order, a cold but refreshing dip of gratitude to the past and a cleansing entry into the future. Not far from where you sit, the nearest channel opens into a small pool. You hang your shirt and pants on a bush, give a bow of respect to nothing and everything, inhale a deep breath, and plunge headlong into the icy source of life.

In the Rotunda at the Candidates Corner

"Looks like a man ready to be reborn in water and spirit," laughs Jesus as he heartily greets you with a slap on your bare back.

"Nice boxer shorts," Mother Theresa adds with a smile. "Welcome to the Candidates Corner."

You feel awkward, confused, and embarrassed standing in your underwear before the heavenly group while dripping on their Rotunda floor. "This feels like a recurring bad dream I've had," you state sheepishly, "where I'm half-naked in school at a total loss of what to do, completely unprepared for the next exam, and not even knowing where my classroom is."

"Ah, yes," Professor Jung responds. "We have been injecting that dream into the collective human consciousness for decades, trying to make people aware that they have forgotten their true purpose of spirit in the training ground of Earth and are wandering around like lost children in their lives."

Buddha state cheerily, "But your appearance here in the Candidates Corner indicates you have remembered your true self and purpose, and are ready to return to heavenly oneness."

"Is that what this is all about?" you ask while looking at the series of doors around the Rotunda.

"Yes, this is where you'll get some final insights into the Mindgame to Remembrance that began with your fall into humanity," answers Professor Jung. He points to a door marked _Dream Message Center_ , commenting, "For instance, that is the laboratory where my team implants important dream themes into the collective human consciousness as well as giving customized messages to individuals while they sleep. Perhaps you recall our dreamtime missive to you a few months ago hinting that Spiti Valley would be an excellent place to visit for your spiritual development."

Mr. Shakespeare pokes his head out the door marked _Media Headquarters_ and states, "Here, thou can learneth how we utilize literature, songs, cinema, and the arts to assist people in their process of remembrance."

"Perhaps that would be a good place at which to begin your tour of the Candidates Corner," Magdalena suggests.

An Elvis impersonator emerges from the door to _The I-Do-Two Wedding Chapel and All-You-Can-Eat Buffet_ to announce, "And you will end the tour in this room tonight when you unite for eternity with your true consciousness."

Jesus the Christ explains, "That's where you can enjoy a last supper, of sorts, before the marriage ceremony with your higher mind that lifts you back to oneness with heavenly consciousness. Quite an exhilarating ascendance, I must say, particularly after having been nailed for a lifetime by earthly duality."

You recognize the true identity of the Elvis impersonator as he approaches, kindly draping his rhinestone-studded white cape over your wet, bare shoulders. You remark, "Nice outfit, Mr. Serling."

"Thankyouverymunch," Rod mumbles, staying in character. "Remember hound dog, it's now or never."

A few minutes later in Media Headquarters

" _The Truman Show_ was my favorite."

"Actually, we did a lot better conveying our message with _Total Recall_ and _Vanilla Sky_ ," argues another research assistant.

"I think that _K-Pax_ was our best effort for the general audience," adds a third.

Mr. Shakespeare placates his cinema team by stating, "Each of those fine films served well to demonstrate the vagaries of one's perceived world and to open people's minds to alternative realities." He turns to you and explains, "We don't actually write the screenplays in heaven for those types of innovative movies. Rather, we come up with their basic premises that we then project into the psyches of members of the Screenwriters Guild."

"Divine inspiration, so to speak," remarks Buddha.

"Unfortunately, when filtered through the Hollywood system, the true message we want conveyed to the audience is sometimes lost, such as with _Bruce Almighty_ and _Click_ ," observes Mother Theresa. "Perhaps entertaining, but the movies do little to help the flames of consciousness stuck on Earth to remember their true heritage of spirit."

"Or a promising film sometimes becomes so overlaid with violence and commotion that the message gets blurred, such as with _The Matrix_."

Professor Jung quickly interjects, "Nonetheless, _The Matrix_ trilogy proved helpful for many individuals to awaken to a better understanding of their true consciousness by showing the physical world to be only a collective dream, and demonstrating that people mistakenly identify themselves as the characters in the dream world. Quite an apt allegory for the actual situation on Earth."

"I venture to say, however," the Bard of Avon posits, "that _Solaris_ when scripted and shot stayed most true to our message of transcendence from the false sense of self to enter a liberating, if paradoxical, state beyond duality." Shakespeare turns to address you in invitation, "We are showing the Hollywood version of that film to candidates in our screening room now if you'd like to join them."

"Thanks, but I saw that _Solaris_ in 2002 when it first hit the screens on Earth."

"Ah, one of only a few people who did actually attend its theatrical release," the Bard responds while shaking his head in regret.

Mother Theresa remarks to her colleague, "I told you we should have worked harder to inspire a nude shower scene for George Clooney in it."

While the cinema team argues the merits of Theresa's point, Mr. Shakespeare takes you aside and says, "Of course, we still use literature as well to influence the collective consciousness of humanity and to introduce new ideas to promote liberation."

"How long has this sort of divine inspiration been going on in the media?" you query.

"For thousands of years," the playwright answers. "No doubt you have read Plato's _Republic_ and its Allegory of the Cave?"

"Uh, I think that my basketball practice conflicted with Philosophy 101," you respond sheepishly. "But doesn't it have something to do with people chained for a lifetime in a cave who see only shadows of objects on the wall?"

Plato emerges from the research carrels and replies, "Yes, much as on Earth where the known world that people see is a mere reflection of a brighter, clearer realm existing beyond limited human perception."

"Similar to what Hindu sages say, that the three-dimensional world is _maya_ , or an illusory realm arising from a deeper reality," you observe.

Plato responds gruffly, "Contrary to common misconceptions, one does _not_ need to quote Eastern gurus to support this concept. Throughout Western history, major philosophical schools and writers have exposed that the known world is shaped by people's narrow perceptions which constrain their understanding and experience of the broader reality."

Shakespeare adds, "And here in Media Headquarters, as well as next door in the Science Center, we implant many new theories and allegories into the collective consciousness to help people expand their limited perceptions."

Buddha addresses you, "Take for instance the concept that you, candidate, are fond of using in your writings—of a fish not realizing what it means to be wet since it always is in water."

"Right," you respond, "analogous to how people remain unaware of our true consciousness since that is our all-pervasive, natural state of being."

"Well, after we projected this fish-in-water metaphor into the collective consciousness around the turn of the new millennium, sixteen authors worldwide have used it in their books, each claiming it as their original idea."

"Hey, but _I_ first wrote that analogy in a book manuscript a decade ago," you protest. "It was _my_ original idea!"

Plato rolls his eyes and sighs, "Make that seventeen."

Later, in the Rotunda...

"Did not the Media Headquarters provide an enlightening experience?" Master Sakitumi queries.

"Very interesting," you reply, "although I was sorry not to see Dorothy there from _The Wizard of Oz_ who visited me in my freezing tent yesterday."

"Unfortunately, your Dorothy friend was compelled by the team to leave the Candidates Corner before you folks from Earth started arriving this morning." Sakitumi whispers as an aside, "She's really the Archangel of Duality, you know."

Mr. Serling chimes in, "Prior to leaving, she asked me to give you these ruby slippers. Said they might come in handy in finding your way home."

"Thanks," you respond while cramming your bare feet into the colorful shoes. You then look around at the many doors facing the Rotunda, asking the team, "So where to next?"

"How about a visit to your Sleeping Beauty," suggests Magdalena while pointing to the Chamber of Dreams door, "to catch a glimpse of your bride-to-be before the wedding?"

"Isn't that unlucky?"

"Only if you believe it to be so. Remember, how you perceive things is what creates your reality here— _and_ on Earth." Magdalena takes your arm and ushers you into a small, curtained Chamber of Dreams where your Sleeping Beauty lies bathed in amber glow. "Lovely, is she not?"

You gaze fondly down at the figure slumbering in an ornate, casket-like bed. "She looks like a cross between a young Judy Garland and Sharon Stone," you observe. "So finally I meet the one who is dreaming the thoughts that manifest as my earthly existence."

"Remember," Jesus counsels as he and other team members join you in the chamber, "no distance actually exists between you and your higher mind—except the separation created by forgetting your true self when you took the fall into humanity."

"Your symbolic union with her this evening in the _I-Do-Two Wedding Chapel_ marks the end of that separation," Magdalena explains. "When you kiss your sleeping bride, she shall awaken from dreaming the earth world into existence thereby freeing you both to return as one to the heavenly realms of consciousness."

Genghis interjects, "The merging of your human soul with your higher consciousness to return to the Source of heavenly oneness is truly a wondrous experience, a new holy trinity of sorts, that all of us in heaven celebrate."

"And after this, what happens?"

"Then your consciousness may creatively explore the higher realms with a greater appreciation for heavenly oneness, after having tasted the bitterness of duality and suffering on Earth."

Looking affectionately down at your slumbering bride-to-be, you comment, "So you're the one who has guided me through a lifetime of earthly travels, from tentative first steps on Kansas prairie to striding through Himalayan heights."

"Yes, she is," Magdalena responds. "This manifestation of your higher mind is your twin flame of consciousness, the other piece of essence that you spent your adult years trying to find, without success because you were always looking outside yourself for her."

"No matter how loving, intelligent, and special a woman seemed to you, she was never enough," notes Mother Theresa, "and you were never enough for her because you each craved the true union, the ultimate meeting of mind and heart that can only be found within your spirit."

"I been looking for love in all the wrong places," you concur as you reach down to gently stroke your true partner's head.

Your hand is stopped short, however, as Genghis grabs your wrist and warns, "Better not risk waking her up before the dream reaches its finale this evening in the chapel. Remember, you are only a fleeting vision in her dream, as is the earth world that you perceive that supports your existence. When she awakens, both you and Earth will vanish—just as the landscape and characters in your nighttime dreams exist only as perceptions in your mind and disappear upon your awakening in the morn."

You cogitate on this notion before responding, "I can grasp how my earthly self-image and its illusory existence end when my mind awakens to its higher level. But to say that the entire Earth disappears when I stop perceiving it sounds like nonsense. How about the billions of other people whose perceptions give form to their lives on Earth every day?"

"What people, what awareness, whose lives?" Sakitumi says forcing you to delve more deeply into the paradox. "All those fellow human beings you refer to simply take form inside your mind from perceptions of energy flashing in your brain. For you to blindly conclude that a bunch of folks exist somewhere 'out there' complete with minds, consciousness, and perceptions of an earthly existence is pure speculation."

Buddha remarks, "You sound like a solipsist, Master Sakitumi."

"What the heck is a solipsist?" you ask.

"Look that up in your Funk & Wagnall's," suggests Sakitumi.

Noting that you have no dictionary, Buddha kindly explains, "Solipsism is an old school of philosophy which professes that only one's own self, just one being, can be proven to exist. Thus the perceived world and its inhabitants are merely expressions of yourself."

"That's a pretty unsettling and lonely idea," you remark, "that mine is the only awareness giving rise to the whole universe, population one."

"We could imagine and create another alternative, if you prefer," Sakitumi proffers while turning on a switch that opens the curtain and illuminates a cavernous room extending as far as the eye can see.

"What are all those things lining the walls?" you ask squinting into the vast expanse.

"Seven billion beds with seven billion higher consciousnesses dreaming their versions of life on Earth into existence—one personal, parallel world in the mind of each human inhabitant," answers Buddha. "This view of reality should make you feel less lonely in the universe."

"I guess so, although in almost all of those parallel earth worlds, I don't even exist since most people never perceive me."

"Correct," Buddha responds while looking at your candidate file. "In fact, your human identity is a significant character in only thirteen of the parallel Earths currently being perceived in the minds of other people. In a few of those thirteen people's perception, your character takes the form of a fool, in a couple others as something of a sage, in three you are their sibling, and in one person's perceived earthly universe you manifest as a total jerk."

"It's kind of strange to realize that there is no one, objective 'me' walking on Earth, but just a swirling energy of human potential being given physical form in people's minds perceiving a brother, friend, fool, or whatever their subjective views create of me in their known universes."

"And vice versa, as you give form to a cast of characters populating your perceived universe that serves to help bring you the experiences, challenges, support, and shoves that propel you to remembrance of your true consciousness of heavenly oneness."

You nod in understanding as you lean down to whisper to the Sleeping Beauty of your higher mind, "Dream on, dear one, until this eve when our lips shall meet to part the veil of earthly illusion."

### CHAPTER 5

Dream On

The world's illusions and its confining falsehoods take form when one

misidentifies the waking state as the touchstone of reality.

In the Science Center of the Candidates Corner

"Smile," a friendly voice directs as you exit the Rotunda to enter the Science Center. "And please don't move."

You freeze with a fixed smile while your eyes dart around to see Dr. Einstein holding a complex device, as a beam of laser light reflects off you to focus back into his apparatus.

"This holographic camera is great fun at parties," he states while beckoning you to come look at it. "Plus we use it to take three-dimensional pictures of arriving candidates—a final image of the prisoner of a 3-D world just before your rebirth into the realm of pure consciousness."

After counting to ten and pulling out the developed film, Albert comments, "Nice ripples, mein freund. Here, take a look at the holographic template, or a 'negative' of sorts."

You react with surprise, "It's just a bunch of concentric rings that intersect to make a pattern of light and shadow—like a picture of the surface of a pond after throwing a bunch of pebbles in it. Where the heck am I in all those circular ripples?"

"It's called a wave interference pattern. The laser light bouncing off your body, plus off a mirror or two, imprinted this holographic pattern onto the film. Now watch what happens," he states while putting the transparent film into the projector and shining a laser beam through it. "Voilá, a hologram!"

You look with wonder at the lifelike depiction of your body shimmering in the middle of the office, complete with awkward smile on its face. "Amazing that a 3-D figure can emerge from a piece of film with only circular ripple patterns on it," you muse.

"Even more marvelous is that our entire world arises from the same principal. Just as pure laser light penetrates this transparent energy template to form a lifelike three-dimensional image of you, so too does your light of consciousness shining through the unified energy field give form to your 3-D world," the wise physicist posits.

"I see now what you tried explaining to me the other day on my trek out of Spiti Valley, about consciousness converting energy into the appearance of matter to give form to the world."

"Correct. We at the Science Center are implanting..." Raucous laughter and cheering from the adjacent cubicle interrupts Albert, as he grits his teeth waiting for the commotion to subside.

"We at the Science Center— _or at least those of us actually doing some real work here_ ," he shouts as a sarcastic aside over the cubicle wall, "are implanting this model of a Holographic Universe into the collective human consciousness to help people escape from the prison of their antiquated perceptions of matter."

"Of their seeing themselves as dense human beings in a material world," you interject to show your understanding. "They can instead begin to know themselves as consciousness, and grasp their role as active participants in creating a fluid and boundless world as each person uniquely views the unified energy field."

"A world which arises like a hologram in their perceptions when their consciousness peers through the rippling energy wave patterns that pervades all space," Albert reiterates.

After a pause for more cogitation, you query, "Maybe this is more a theological than technical question, but what creates the unified energy field—the rippling holographic template—that our consciousness perceives to give form to our world?"

"No doubt, many folks would say God. Some physicists might contend that the vibration of tiny Superstring loops is what causes energy to ripple throughout space and form an intricate universal wave pattern. Whereas Hindu sages would call this vibratory energy that permeates space, _Om_ , or the divine universal sound from which all creation springs." Albert looks at you and asks, "What or whom do you think could generate the energy waves that create the blueprint for our world, the unified field from which all is perceived?"

You close your eyes to see if some insight flows from your intuition. "Maybe the energy template for our known world is created by the cumulative thoughts of our collective human consciousness. All our minds' thoughts—arising from humanity's history, emotions, beliefs, experiences, and education—ripple out into a single intricate energy matrix that becomes the blueprint for the world, for the reality that we each perceive in a slightly different way with our consciousness."

You suddenly open your eyes with excitement at the ramifications of this concept, "That would mean that the underlying structure of the universe—its rippling energy blueprint—actually changes and evolves along with human thinking!"

Albert responds with delight at your grasp of the topic, "Yes, a lovely cycle of ongoing creation plays out where expansion of human thinking alters the energetic pattern of the universe which further expands the human mind which further evolves the universe and so on. This cosmic dance of creation during recent decades has played out wherein human understanding of a new world of energy is gradually supplanting the old paradigm of solid matter.

"And in the next big shift," he adds with enthusiasm, "when people finally grasp that the known universe is formed and sustained by the energy of their human consciousness, a great evolutionary leap of mind will occur. Some folks will use this liberating leap to discover new potentials for creative thought on Earth, while others will become again as pure consciousness to explore limitless realms of creation—which is what you are here at the Candidates Corner to achieve, is it not?"

You start to answer but the boisterous noise from the adjacent cubicle distracts you. "Seven-come-eleven!" cries an enthusiastic roller, accompanied by a bevy of supportive shouts. Then, "Aw, crap."

An irate Dr. Einstein shouts, "Hey, Niels, can you and your buddies keep it down over there? I have a candidate here with more on his mind than gambling on uncertainly principles and watching little numbered doodads bounce around in games of chance." He turns to you for support. "Right?"

"In all probability," you reply and, with a friendly wave good-bye to your host, make a quantum jump back to the shell of the Rotunda.

In the Candidates Corner Rotunda

"We've got some time to spare before your reservation this evening at the _I-Do-Two Wedding Chapel and All-You-Can-Eat Buffet,_ " Mother Theresa announces while looking at her clipboard. "You're welcome to visit our television room or the video arcade, both of which are newly furnished with state of the art gadgets."

Your face registers distaste. "I'd rather not waste my time with silly games and distractions."

"Would you rather try a support group meeting?" Theresa asks while pointing to a nearby door with a sign announcing, _Make the Most of Your Senility._ "No?"

"Well then, how about this?" Buddha interrupts and guides you towards a conference room with _S.O.S._ on the door along with the welcoming words, _Come_ _one_ _, come all._ "You might learn something new here at the Society Of Solipsism meeting," he suggests while opening the door to a large conference room in which a single metal folding chair is set to accommodate the full membership."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I've had enough of thinking of myself as the be-all and end-all of the universe."

Magdalena states while pointing to a nearby door, "Perhaps you would enjoy listening to your friend, Shri Shri Cy Bubha, who is our guest speaker today in the lecture hall. Your candidate file indicates this gentleman had a significant influence on your spiritual path after meeting him near Rishikesh at Phool Chatti Ashram."

"Very true," you respond while smiling in remembrance of times past with this dubious guru.

"Who is this Shri Shri Cy Bubha fellow?" asks Theresa.

You answer, "Cyrus 'Bubha' Rajnish is an Indian-American whose well-honed sense of sacrilege, manipulation, and foolery makes him an excellent dismantler of self-satisfied spiritual identities, such as mine when we met around the turn of the millennium."

Mother Theresa nods in understanding. "The bona fide Trickster encountered along the spiritual path is worth his weight in gold."

"And he'll have a knack for mining it from your pocket," you add from firsthand experience with Cy Bubha. You turn to the Buddha and remark, "I find it a curious coincidence that my good buddy and favorite trickster guru happens to be your invited speaker in heaven today."

"Not a coincidence at all. You see, we in heaven can only construct the energetic template of the Candidates Corner," Buddha explains. "How you and other candidates actually see this instructional creation depends on your particular cultural conditioning, memories, and other factors that influence the nature of your perceptions."

White Buffao Calf Woman comments, "Do you really think that tribal people from Africa upon arriving in the Candidates Corner would find William Shakespeare in a Media Headquarters talking about Hollywood movies?"

"No, I guess they would perceive their revered ancestors discussing the traditional stories and beliefs of their people that relate to transcending the earthly realm."

Magdalena leads you to the lecture hall door. "Shri Shri Cy Bubha is speaking on this very topic of personal perceptions of energy, if you care to enter." She opens the door for you while warning, "But don't get lost in there."

"In a simple lecture hall?"

"In the University of Mind, the corridors of creative thought can easily become a convoluting maze."

You step through the doorway and immediately find yourself in a familiar setting in India, feeling disoriented as if just awakening yet possibly still dreaming.

At Phool Chatti Ashram...?

"...So you see, folks, one must simply go with the flow of energy that transcends old notions of a physical world," proclaims the speaker at the podium. You are happy to hear Cy Bubha's voice again as you quietly sit on a cushion at the rear of the Phool Chatti yoga hall. He gives you a friendly wave as an animated woman in the front argues with the lecturer.

"But you can't just pretend that time, space, and matter don't exist in the universe," she assert. "It's just plain stupid to tell someone to ignore what the rational mind tells them is true."

"So go ahead and think you're a material girl living in a material world," Bubha responds, "and keep disco dancing and stay about a century behind the rest of humanity. Even your best _rational_ scientists have been telling us for decades that we are boogying in a world of energy where simplistic notions of time and space are taking a beating. And solid matter is simply how we perceive energy."

"Are you really trying to convince me that my body is only energy and even the Earth is just my perception with no solidity?" The woman slaps her palm on the floor to emphasize her point. "Come on, Bubha, _get real_."

Your old friend at the podium smiles and retorts, "It sounds like you just walked off the _Pinta_ , lady."

"What?" the debater responds, wondering if she was just insulted.

"You know, one of Columbus' ships where the crew was ready to mutiny. Don't you read history?"

"I'm Dutch," she replies.

"Sorry. Okay, for those whose European ancestors missed the boat to the New World, here's the background to the year 1492. The learned minds around that time had pretty well determined that the Earth was round, spinning madly on its axis, and hurtling through space while circumambulating the sun. The common folk, however, were still stuck in believing that what they flatly perceived with their senses was the true reality.

"So a _Pinta_ crewman would grumble, _Damn it, no little Italian captain's gonna tell me I'm hurtling through space and spinning around on a big ball. Come on,_ _get real_ _._

" _Hell's bells_ , another crewman grouses, _I've never circumambulated anything in my life_. Then they'd move into a philosophical discussion of the universe, arguing whether cow patties or donkey dung held up the flat, stable Earth on which they clearly resided.

"It took a couple of hundred years for humanity to finally accept, contrary to their senses, that we are traveling at dizzying speeds on a sphere. It may take a hundred more before we accept that we are vibrant energy fields playing in a limitless world beyond simple concepts of matter, time, and space—even when the finest scientists have told us so for decades; and where I could show you a dozen guys here in Rishikesh who have mastered energy rather than remain slaves to limited perceptions of matter."

"Hold on, Bubha," one fellow objects, "don't ask us to swallow that these yogis can levitate, don't ever eat food, and all that stuff that isn't proven or that doesn't make any sense."

Bubha exclaims, "I'm not asking you to believe anything! Just quit being a hypocrite and arguing that the world you have accepted makes rational sense. Space is rationale? Time is logical? No way. We just came up with words like 'eternity' and 'infinity' to explain away the non-sense of time and space."

The fellow shrugs. "Who knows? My little sister was really sick once and swore she saw an angel by her bed."

"Hell, I can explain that without even opening _The National Inquirer_ ," Bubha proclaims. "That's one of the beauties of seeing the world as a unified field of energy. It really ends up making more sense than the old paradigm of a solid world of matter."

"So," the man asks, "was there really an angel there?"

"Yes and no," replies the purveyor of paradox. "When a child in the hospital sees an angel at her bed, I don't automatically start believing in angels. But I do believe that a healing energy field was present in the room that her senses were attuned to receiving. Your sister's mind then translated this energy template into an angel, something that made sense to her background. A Hopi elder might have perceived the same energy waves as a Kachina spirit. My pal Moontulip would probably have seen a friendly space alien. And the majority of us who have our subtle energy receptors shut down would call them hallucinating crazies."

"What makes the majority so deficient in our ability to perceive this larger world of energy that you and the mystics claim exists?" someone calls out.

"It's primarily a matter of our cultural conditioning. The behavioral science mucky-mucks say that all of us earthly creatures are neurologically imprinted in our formative years by what we are taught is reality. And that it takes a hell of an effort to undo what we adults hold onto as real, as the limits of our universe. This has been proven on everything from cats who bump into invisible—at least to them—table legs after being sired as kittens in a horizontal-only environment; to flies raised in a lidded jar which, after the lid is removed, cannot fly out the top beyond the extent of their conditioned world.

"And the lids on our human upbringing in Western culture were screwed on pretty damn tight. How many of us were laughed at for having an invisible playmate; taught that fairies lived only in books; instructed not to talk about seeing colorful auras coming from people; or told no, Grandma is dead and couldn't have visited your bedroom last night?"

Bubha peers at the Dutch woman who looks confused. She finally responds, "Well, I did read that babies lose trillions of their neural synapses when becoming toddlers, implying that some major change in perception and loss of brain function occurs that cannot be reclaimed later."

"Maybe someday we will each remember what that baby experienced and finally break from our prison of earthly illusions to enter a new world of clarity," the lecturer adds.

An audience member declares, "That's scheduled to happen in December 2012, according to the Mayan calendar."

"Perhaps," Bubha replies with a shrug, "but it seems to me that we each have a personal time frame and method of demolition for the old paradigm. Unless, of course, Moontulip is right about the glorious landing of friendly space aliens bringing a new dawn, or Reverend Jerry is correct about a global Second Coming. But from what I gather it's happening one by one, step by step, in a graceful process of personal awakening and remembrance."

"Is there any way to accelerate our release from the prison of old conditioning and fly off to freedom in a greater realm?"

"Absolutely," the master of this ceremony states with a grin. "A hefty monetary donation to your friendly neighborhood guru is a proven means to pave your way to heaven—or at least a good way to line my pocket." Cy Bubha retrieves a wicker donation basket from behind the podium and carries it around the room gathering rupees and saying personal farewells to the congenial group.

As the crowd exits, the guru sits next to you on a cushion and queries, "So how's it hangin', homeboy? Last time I saw you here at Phool Chatti Ashram you were heading out to climb every mountain and ford every stream."

"Quite a rewarding adventure it has been, too," you reply.

"Am I to assume that you followed every rainbow and found your dream?"

"In a way, yes, but the dream has turned out to be my very life on Earth. Distressing news to my grasping ego which thought that mountains, streams, and my sparkling self-image were all real instead of just illusory visions in an earthly dreamscape."

"Indeed, breaking into the realm of your true mind and seeing the universe existing within it can be a rather disorienting reality shift at first."

"Heck, Bubha, I barely even know what's real anymore. Am I now in a heavenly realm of instruction, called the Candidates Corner, perceiving it as a familiar room with an old friend? Or am I actually at Phool Chatti Ashram, having only imagined a visit to heaven after a difficult trek out of Spiti Valley?"

"Does it really matter, pal? When you understand that the known universe arises in your mind, your current perception becomes the only reality in the here and now, regardless of whether it is based in memory, fantasy, nighttime dreams, or some supposed earthly existence. Just enjoy the moment of awareness without the angst of your false self-identity trying to figure out the unfathomable and taking it all personally."

"Makes sense, but I still wish I had a better handle on what's really going on now," you conclude.

"Well, in determining whether you're actually sitting in a Hindu ashram along the sacred river Ganga, you might want to assess your current attire," your companion suggests while grinning at your outfit of boxer shorts, a rhinestone-studded cape, and high-heeled ruby slippers. "Maybe a former Kansan should click his heels three times to determine over which rainbow his homeland lies."

You stand a bit wobbly on your ruby footwear and respond, "I suspect that my current home reality is bouncing between Himalayan meadows and heavenly heights of imagination where I am scheduled this evening to unite with my higher mind at the _I-Do-Two Wedding Chapel_." Looking fondly at Bubha, you add, "Would you do me the honor of being my best man at the ceremony?"

"Nah, I don't much like weddings plus I'm pretty busy with—"

"There'll be a free all-you-can-eat buffet there," you interrupt.

Cy Bubha abruptly bows with respect and announces, "It will be my privilege to support the groom-to-be."

You shake your trickster-friend's hand, click your heels three times, and proclaim, "There's no place like home."

A timeless instant later at the Baba River

You emerge sputtering from the icy pool, taking a moment to again appreciate the magnificent panorama of mountains, glaciers, and meadows of Baba Valley bathed in sunlight. The cool morning breeze, however, sends you scrambling for a towel and dry clothing. While lacing up your hiking boots, you watch as a jumble of thoughts race through your mind.

Could it really have been only a couple hours ago that you were lying cramped in a freezing tent on the edge of survival? Sitting now in the sun—dry, clean, and absorbing warm rays—the past ordeal of cold and wet seems unreal, almost like a memory of a movie. Strange too, you think, that hazy recollections of Phool Chatti Ashram and Cy Bubha now arise in your mind amidst the isolated splendor of the moment. And was that a dream from last night of a visit to a heavenly realm of instruction that is knocking at the cusp of remembrance this morning?

You open a last package of crackers after deciding to take in a little nourishment to feed the mind and fuel your journey down to the forest. A final chocolate bar and the remnants of nuts and raisins round out your mid-morning snack. Repacking the remaining food supply, you savor the thought of having your first hot meal in three days after descending below timberline and setting up camp for the night. The simple joy of a blazing campfire after your arrival at wooded campsite will provide welcome warmth to your existence this evening—to body, mind, noodles, and a large tin of fish.

That evening in HEAVEN

"Holy mackerel," Genghis exclaims, "that was one busy day!"

"It's not over yet," Magdalena points out. "We'll keep the Candidates Corner continuously open during this initial phase of operation."

"How many candidates arrived on opening day?" asks Sakitumi.

"Twenty-eight, nine of whom, I am pleased to say, have already wedded with their higher minds and transcended to heavenly oneness." Buddha passes out a briefing sheet to each team member as he adds, "The three Western candidates who merged with their higher consciousness today were, not surprisingly, all Alzheimer patients who had successfully lost their false human identities and released all earthly attachment to family, possessions, the past, and future."

"Actually, we did have a few younger, healthy candidates of Western origin check in to the Candidates Corner today," states Mr. Serling, "although one American went AWOL to destination unknown."

"So where are the other eighteen arrivals who remain in the Candidates Corner?"

Buddha flips through his notes. "Let's see, a half dozen are in the TV room practicing their silent witnessing; eight others are in the video arcade perfecting their meditation technique; three are shooting craps with Niels Bohr and Dr. Heisenberg in the Science Center; and one is in the infirmary with food poisoning from some bad shrimp at the buffet table."

"Any clue as to the whereabouts of the missing American?" Jesus queries.

"He was last seen entering the lecture hall wearing a rhinestone-studded cape, red high heels, and boxer shorts," reports Mr. Serling.

"Maybe someone should beam down to Las Vegas and check for him in the back-street revues."

"It's not like that. The Archangel of Duality gifted him with the ruby slippers and I lent him my Elvis cape after he appeared here wearing only boxers while taking a high-country river bath." Rod adds after a moment's hesitation, "I fear that the archangel may have purposely sabotaged the candidate's path to heavenly beauty, abundance, and bliss by providing the slippers as a vehicle for his abrupt departure back to Earth."

"That devilish woman has gone too far this time," declares Genghis slamming his fist on the table. "We should send a search party out right away to find our wayward candidate."

"Let us not be too hasty in our response or in judgment of the Archangel of Duality," cautions Buddha. "Her actions likely reflect her sincere belief that the destinies of some of the flames of consciousness on Earth will _not_ lead them back to heavenly oneness but rather will involve using their experience of earthly duality to springboard into realms beyond heaven's reach."

"Nonsense," someone mutters just loud enough to be heard.

"Perhaps so," responds Buddha, "but let us allow nature to take its course as we arrive at the final chapter of the day's events."

### CHAPTER 6

Dream On

When you know yourself as the witness beyond the personal self, you gain the freedom

of having nothing left to defend, with no stake in an outcome.

Pure experience, pure acceptance, pure being.

That same evening on Earth

The flames of the open fire dance high into the night sky sending sparks that glow momentarily with the stars. What began as a small cooking fire is now a roaring testament to the interplay of energy and matter converting from one to another in flame—as well as in the mind of the grateful beholder sitting in its warmth. As you breathe the night air, the fire and rich forest scents become part of a rite of purification, a celebration of journey's end from Spiti Valley to complement the cleansing baptism at river's edge you took this morning.

You rise slowly from the ground to wash the cooking utensils, feeling full and satisfied from the bowl of steaming noodles enriched by canned mackerel. A small kettle of water warmed by the fire makes cleaning easy; swipes with a flannel cloth complete the drying cycle. After placing the utensils neatly in the upper section of the backpack, you remove your journal notebook from the lower compartment. For a good part of the next hour you enjoy scanning by firelight the notes of a summer in Spiti Valley including the entries of your recent trek over Pin Baba Pass.

As words of the trek wane, so does your wakefulness. With eyes weary and mind spent, you put down the notebook and look up at countless stars sparkling through pine branches. Eyelids soon grow heavy, however, as you curl up against a log and pull the sleeping bag over your tired body. Sleep flows in swiftly and deep, as you unconsciously stretch your cold feet towards the glowing embers.

"Time to wake up, Candidate 105M," a distant female voice whispers softly in your mind.

In heaven at the Candidates Corner

You open your eyes and ask automatically, "Where am I?"

"In the television room back at the Candidates Corner," Jesus the Christ replies while helping you sit up on the sofa. "We were afraid that we had lost you to the world of duality."

"Welcome back to your rightful place on the brink of liberation to full consciousness," states Buddha standing behind the couch with other members of your heavenly support group.

"I would hardly consider a front row seat at the boob-tube _the brink of liberation_ ," you remark looking around disapprovingly at a half dozen candidates with eyes glued on the TV screen.

"Do not underestimate the spiritual benefits of being a couch potato who as a silent witness watches the flickering dramas of life with focused attention and detachment, knowing it is all a projected illusion. Consider it an excellent strategy to apply to all observed earthly dramas in order to transcend them."

"I'd prefer to meditate," you state self-righteously.

"Then please feel free to do so next door at our new video arcade," responds Mr. Serling in invitation.

"Say what?"

Master Sakitumi explains, "Nothing like several hours with all senses, muscles, and thoughts intensely focused together into the moment gaming action. I daresay," he continues while browsing through your candidate file, "that during _your_ usual meditation practice, your active mind wanders into thoughts of past and future nearly sixty percent of the time, unlike video game aficionados whose full awareness stays fixedly in the present moment."

Mother Theresa looks at you with a scowl adding, "And _they_ don't energize their earthly ego by feeling self-righteous because of some supposedly noble meditation discipline or spiritually-correct practice."

Magdalena the Christ responds to your hurt expression with a friendly squeeze of your arm. "What we're mainly trying to help you to remember is that when viewed from higher consciousness, all unfolds on Earth in perfection and that even excessive television viewing, video game addiction and, for that matter, autism or senility may help individuals to achieve their ultimate destinies as vessels of the divine."

"Judge not," Jesus the Christ adds as a gentle reminder.

"Understood," you reply, suitably humbled and ready now to take the final step in the path to heavenly oneness. "So what time is my reservation at the _I-Do-Two Wedding Chapel_?"

After a short stroll to the Chapel...

"I brought you here early to view a ceremony before your own wedding with your higher mind," Ramaghudwan states while ushering you through the chapel entryway. "It should help prepare you for the blessed event."

You stand at the back of the aisle as another earthly candidate enters along with her heavenly entourage who push the wheeled bed of her sleeping significant other, her higher mind. "Namaste and congratulations," you say respectfully to your fellow candidate, a middle-aged Hindu woman in colorful sari.

"Congratulations to you as well," she answers with a slight bow while pressing her palms together at heart level. "It is indeed an auspicious moment to finally return to the nirvana of heavenly oneness while merging with our higher consciousness."

You follow her eyes as she gazes down adoringly at the slumbering manifestation of her higher mind. "Arnold Schwarzenegger!" you cry out in surprise at seeing a familiar face and massive physique lying in the casket-like bed.

"How dare you insult the mighty Lord Krishna and desecrate this holy ceremony with your blasphemy!" the bride-to-be responds with anger.

"Aw, come on lady," your retort, "don't get so serious, particularly while that Elvis impersonator belts out _Blue Suede Shoes_ at the altar.

The irate woman turns her back to you in a huff and calls out to the musician up front, "Please ignore this commotion, Mr. Shankar, and continue performing the holy bhajans I've selected for this sacred occasion."

Ramaghudwan pulls you down to sit in the back pew as he states quietly but sharply, "Damn it, man, don't forget that each new arrival will view the Candidates Corner from her or his own perspective. That Hindu woman's intellect, breeding, and culture result in her seeing this place of union as a holy temple of Lord Krishna. While your perception of a Vegas-style quickie wedding chapel reflects your particular cultural, uh...eccentricities."

"Sorry about that, chief."

"Well, get smart and start imagining what this ceremony looks like through the Hindu bride's eyes, and when your ceremony follows, you can relax as it unfolds consistent with your perspective and desires."

"I just hope that my best man, Cy Bubha, arrives in time."

At that very moment, Shri Shri Cy Bubha enters the chapel, spies you in the back pew, and greets you heartily, "Howdy, homeboy. Want to grab a last supper before the big event?"

Keeping your voice down to avoid disturbing the ongoing Hindu ceremony, you reply, "No thanks, Bubha. I had a big bowl of noodles and fish a little while ago back on Earth."

"As you wish," he responds with a shrug. Addressing Ramaghudwan, Bubha asks, "Can you kindly direct a fellow Doctor of Swamiology to the all-I-can-eat buffet?" Ramaghudwan points to a side vestibule towards which your hungry best man quickly propels his short legs and hearty appetite.

"Are there any other friends from Earth that you wish to attend your wedding?" Ramaghudwan queries.

"It would be nice to have Lamaji, an elderly monk from Spiti Valley, here to witness my union with the higher mind."

"I'm glad to see that you've learned to manifest your desires into immediate form," Lamaji states while entering the chapel. "That must mean you have found who's on first and are ready to merge with her."

"So it seems," you respond while making room for the Tibetan lama to sit next to you on the back pew. "My higher mind, or the Time Being as you might say, is scheduled to unite with this 3-D Space Cadet right after the current Hindu ceremony."

"Congratulations," says Lamaji. "Then what's on second after you wed with your higher consciousness?"

Being more knowledgeable of the process that lies ahead, Ramaghudwan answers for you, "After saying the two-I-do vows and with a symbolic kiss, the wedded couple leaves behind the dreamtime world of duality to return as one consciousness to live happily ever after in heavenly beauty, abundance, and bliss."

"Your blissful heaven sounds like the Realm of the Gods, the highest of the six levels of conscious existence in my religious tradition," observes Lamaji.

"That must be a lovely place to incarnate," you remark.

"It is, if you desire to live comfortably in a paradise of endless pleasure." The old monk laughs to himself and continues, "After a Tibetan monk friend of mine visited Southern California, he equated the Realm of the Gods with a summer beach environment where all the beings were eternally young, healthy, and vibrant with nothing on their minds but volleyball, surfing, and other pleasing distractions." He looks at you and asks, "Sound good?"

"For a while, maybe, but not eternally."

"Then you should ask yourself, after getting to second base of heavenly bliss with your higher consciousness, who or what is on third?"

"I don't know," you reply with a shrug to the elderly lama.

"Is not the goal of your American game of baseball to circle all the bases in order to come home to where you first started?" In response to your nod, he utters, "From nothingness one began, to nothingness one returns. But in running the cycle, a point is scored to the delight of the spectators."

"Shhh," Ramaghudwan interjects. "The candidate is about to awaken her dreaming higher mind." You watch with the silent congregation as the Hindu woman leans over to kiss the sleeping groom, startled to see that when their lips meet, she vanishes in a puff of mist.

"The dream of duality has ended for this flame of consciousness," Ramaghudwan whispers to you with a sigh of happiness. "The higher mind is again fully aware, the illusory human character in the dream has vanished. Body and mind, time and space, male and female have all merged into one consciousness," he explains pointing to the awakened bridegroom who is stretching while sitting up in bed.

"Termination complete," the androgynous-looking being announces to the spectators who burst into cheers. With Schwarzenegger physique wrapped in colorful sari, this curious symbol of the Hindu woman's total self sashays gracefully to the exit marked, _Heaven's Door_. Pausing in the doorway and raising both brawny arms to quiet the crowd, the fully integrated bridegroom joyously proclaims, "I am back!"

A short time later at the Wedding Chapel

"Congratulations on your upcoming marriage with your higher mind," Albert states as he walks to the front of the chapel to greet you at the altar.

"Thank you, Dr. Einstein."

"Call me Albert. Not only is it more congenial, but it makes typing easier—a fact you already learned and applied when writing on your computer in Spiti Valley during our conversation in the Science Center as you bathed in the Baba River."

"Whoa," you groan as your mind grows dizzy in the swirling, paradoxical perceptions of concurrent realities and locations.

Albert reaches out a hand to help steady you. "I'm just getting you ready for integrating with your Time Being and watching timelessness suddenly emerge where all possible realities exist within the eternal moment of the now. From the higher realm of consciousness it is no big deal to accept that you are now present in the Candidates Corner talking with me while simultaneously resting by a campsite fire in India as well as typing these scenes on a computer at a third location and time."

"Right," you mutter without really understanding, still feeling disoriented as more well-wishers crowd around you at the altar. Words of congratulations and hearty slaps on the back barely register in your foggy mind. You start to feel claustrophobic as the crush of people is accompanied by an endless stream of phrases extolling the virtues of returning to heavenly oneness.

"What joy you will experience while freely exploring the space-time continuum and its beauty for an eternity."

"And abundance. Everything you ever dreamed of having during your imprisonment on Earth will be available in a blink of an eye."

"Such bliss to know your total self again and journey through the unified energy field to wherever your heart desires."

"Enough already!" you shout while pushing away from the crowd. Silence abruptly reigns as all eyes stare at you. You address the heavenly group with the query, "Isn't your constantly creating and exploring new realms of heavenly beauty, abundance and bliss simply another form of self-gratification, assertion of personal power, and chasing endless desires, much like the hungry ghosts do on Earth?"

A collective gasp and shocked expressions greet your questioning the very premise of heavenly existence. Ramaghudwan strides towards you, grabs your arm, and jerks you back to the altar. "Once you've wed with your higher mind, your thinking will become clearer and less heretical." He calls to the back of the room, "Wheel her on in, guys."

As Mother Theresa and Genghis roll the ornate bed of your sleeping bride up the aisle, you nervously note, "Perhaps this is all moving a little too fast."

"Nonsense," Mr. Serling responds while emerging with guitar in hand to break into _The Hawaiian Wedding Song_.

Genghis commands sternly, "Check your Sleeping Beauty's toe-tag to make sure we have the right bride."

You look and read aloud. "Higher mind number 105F. Yes that seems to be correct. But—"

"No _buts_ , candidate," Sakitumi cautions while reaching threateningly up his sleeve for his Zen stick. "Don't you want to merge fully with your higher mind and become whole again in consciousness and spirit?"

" _I do_ ," you respond emphatically, "but not—"

" _I do_ , too," murmurs your slumbering bride from the depths of her earthly dream.

"Excellent!" exclaims Buddha. "With the two-I-do vows now taken, you may kiss the bride and awaken from the dream of duality to bond in holy matrimony as One in heavenly consciousness."

Applause and words of encouragement sound from the congregation as you stand in confusion at the altar. "But my best man isn't here yet," you blurt, stalling for time to think things through.

Cy Bubha's voice calls out from a vestibule, "Go ahead without me, pal, while I work on some dynamite chili rellenos. This is one hell of a heavenly Mexican buffet."

All eyes look at you expectantly, waiting for the dreamt to kiss the dreaming mind awake and—poof—to vanish and forever end the earthly nightmare of separation from your true consciousness. You slowly lean down to press your lips against those of your Sleeping Beauty but stop, hovering a breath away from consummating the union. To help overcome your reluctance, Genghis applies an arm lock and half-nelson to push you closer to the cosmic kiss, the eternal wake-up call, the end of your earthly existence and the beginning of—

" _WAIT!_ " the Seraph of Desire shouts above the sound of shattering glass as he hurtles through a stain-glassed window. Having taken an inter-dimensional shortcut from the Plains of Abundance, he lands deftly on his feet at the altar followed by the Archangel of Duality in his wake.

"Stop the ceremony immediately!" she cries.

A distressed-looking Buddha addresses the archangel, "I thought you had agreed to keep Duality's disruptive influence away from the Candidates Corner while we process arrivals from Earth."

"The Seraph of Desire and I were summoned here by the candidate who is about to wed," she explains while pointing to you still bent in the Khan's wrestling hold, "and it appears we have arrived in the nick of time."

Genghis releases his grip on you and asks, "Summoned how?"

"Come now, Mr. Khan," the Seraph replies, "you must realize that these particular scenes in heaven emerge from this candidate's imagination, desires, and expectations of how a heavenly realm would look. His mind, in essence, is scripting this wedding chapel episode to reflect his true, if subconscious, wishes—which include the dramatic arrival of the Archangel of Duality and myself to intervene to prevent him from being strong-armed into an untimely return to heavenly oneness."

"And why would he or anyone want to avoid their heavenly homecoming?" an agitated voice shouts from the pews.

"Because unlike all of you here," the Seraph continues while sweeping his arm towards the congregation, "this candidate senses that there exists a preferable alternative to spending eternity creating worlds of beauty, abundance, and bliss for one's endless pleasure."

Pandemonium breaks out in the chapel as the spectators jump to their feet and shout in protest. Buddha motions for everyone to sit back down, then questions the Seraph, "What could be better than our consciousness forever creating and enjoying realms of heavenly wonders?"

"We don't know, and that's precisely the problem," replies Desire. "Our consciousness is so satisfied in heaven that we've no incentive to discover what lies beyond this realm."

Buddha ponders the point and concurs, "Trapped, in a way, by our own sense of fulfillment and pleasure."

"Yes," says the Archangel of Duality, "although we may have inadvertently constructed an escape route when fashioning Earth. This reluctant candidate at the altar as well as many other flames of consciousness stuck on Earth have gotten so fed up with fruitlessly chasing desire after desire, so tired of concepts of heaven and hell, so exasperated by their monkey-minds that constantly bounce between poles of thought, that they are ripe to transcend not only the earthly world of duality but also to leave behind the realm of mind and consciousness altogether."

"Exactly so," you announce, suddenly seeing clearly. "I'm being drawn to the nothingness, to the silent void beyond where consciousness manifests spinning worlds and minds and desires."

"I fully understand," Buddha responds while nodding his head. Yet he quickly reassures his colleagues in the chapel, "Not that there's anything wrong with being gaily drawn to enjoy heavenly wonders. And we'll certainly encourage and support those candidates arriving here to wed with their higher minds and to explore new realms of eternal bliss."

Magdalena calls from the rear pews, "Plus nothing is wrong with the flames of consciousness that still identify with their bodies on Earth to play out humanity's destiny, as they perceive it unfolding on the planet."

"But an additional option exists for spirits who took the Fall into physical embodiment," proclaims the Seraph of Desire as he looks upon you fondly. "Best wishes to our candidate who will return to the earthly fray in attempt to utilize the springboard of duality to catapult past the limits of mind and enter the great unknown."

The buffet manager calls out from the side vestibule, "Does this mean the wedding ceremony is cancelled?"

"No way, José," you answer resolutely. "I couldn't face returning to the madness of earthly existence without first being fully re-Minded."

Christ's hand rests gently on your shoulder. "So are you _now_ ready to kiss the bride and merge with your higher mind?"

"In just a minute," you reply while turning to the Archangel of Duality and Seraph of Desire. "I first want to thank you two for originally manifesting the earth world with your thoughts—and for helping me now to pursue the next story in it."

The archangel responds, "In turn, your recent creative thoughts have manifested this imaginative heaven and have kindly given us these angelic bodies and experiences."

"Tis a lovely dance of co-creation within the meeting of our minds of heaven and Earth," adds the Seraph, as he slips you a travel voucher promising a free trip to the Heights of Beauty guided by your companion of choice. "You're going to need all the help you can get down there in Earth, friend."

You share a hug of gratitude with the co-creators, then address the Buddha, "I guess it's time to kiss Sleeping Beauty and to awaken from the lifelong dream as a hungry ghost of ego."

Lamaji interjects, "As the old dream ends, the new one begins in which the dreamer, the dreamt, and the earthly dreamscape all merge into one awareness. Mindful now of the forces of creation, you will not be fooled by your fleeting perceptions on Earth, no longer mistaking them for a physical world and yourself caught in it. Instead, your consciousness will embrace all with detached acceptance as the earthly realm manifests within your lucid mind—all in perfection, all in awareness, all for the evolution of existence."

"Do you think that this new, mindful journey through earthly duality will, in fact, ultimately lead me to a place beyond mind and consciousness?" you ask.

The wise lama answers with a bow, "Only timelessness will tell."

You bow back then turn to wave farewell to the crowd. "As long as you're headed back to Earth, don't forget the prime directive," Cy Bubha shouts as a final reminder. "Keep your sense of humor, pal."

"Amen to that," you whisper as you lean down to the Time Being for a first and last kiss in heaven. And, _poof_ , the Candidates Corner and all in it vanish.

An instant later in the Baba Valley forest...

Awakening to amber embers glowing at your feet, you smile as the inner voice of the Time Being gently whispers to you with a final reminder:

THERE IS NO SPACE,

only an infinitesimal point of awareness in which a limitless universe takes form.

THERE IS NO TIME,

only _the now_ in which the eternal moment of aliveness dwells.

THERE IS NO SELF,

only a creative force arising within the union of awareness and aliveness.

You are the creative force giving form to the void.

You are the awareness beyond perception, the timeless beyond the now.

You are the perfection breathing life into the moment of existence.

You are the dummy who forgot it all.

THE END

of

A Mindgame to Remembrance

About the Author

The author, in his earthly form, drifts as a global nomad currently without base or basis. His consciousness continues exploring the mystery.

For more about the author, visit: <https://www.facebook.com/steven.shupe.733>

For those who wish to explore the _The Nyxall Chronicles_ in their entirety,

go to <https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/SJShupe>

**The Now or Never** (2001)

**A Mindgame to Remembrance** (2004)

**The 'I' of the Storm** (2010)

**Beyond Illusion** (2016)

Your comments for the author are welcomed at KOANnowhere@yahoo.com

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