Oob. What was that? Nothing, I guess. Distant shots. I've made myself this cozy nest in Vikshipta's old A-frame-he left his blankets, and a lot of Lowenbrau.in the fridge, and all this Freud in German that I can't read. And, Midge, I found a little whip, and some funny black leather outfits I can't even figure out how to put on, all straps and rings. Maybe he's supposed to put them on. I feel rather hurt, that he never shared this with me. I wonder if that's what he and Durga had between them-when he came back from Seattle he went straight to her and didn't give me the time of day. At any rate-
Uh-oh. There it was again. It sounded closer than way up the canyon, but then that's how sounds are out here-the spaces are so huge and the air so dry, it's hard sometimes to know if a sound is up in the hills or right around the corner. Anyway, this harness or whatever it is is held together by big brass buckles and rings with these designs that if you look-
Oh no. No. That was definitely footsteps outside, on the gravel. Now something's fiddling at the door! My God, Midge, what shall I do? Somebody's coming in!
[Amplified clatter and scraping as of drawer being opened and shut. Subsequent conversation faint and transcribed with, difficulty. Male voice in italics below as before.]
Master. It's you.
Who is with you?
Nobody. I'm alone. All alone. You scared me. My heart's pounding.
Iheard your voice talking.
I often talk aloud, before I go to sleep. It empties the mind. It's like saying a mantra.
To whom do you speak, Kundalini, in this spiritual exercise, since God in the Occidental sense does not exist?
My daughter. My old friends back home.
They are still real to you?
No, Master, only you are truly real. It's just I have to relax my chittavrittis away from all this disturbance lately.
Let me feel your heart pounding, my dear. It is true, you are afraid. Whenever we talk, it is of fear. Yours or mine. We should attempt to talk of joy. When you speak in solitude, is it also to your husband, this Charles?
Rather rarely, Master. For years I didn't much interest him and now he doesn't interest me.
Perhaps you both self-deceive a little in this. You said be admired your breasts. He was correct. They are admirable.
I usually wear a nightie, but it's been so hot lately-
Kundalini blushes. Also she smiles. It is good, to be admired. I think despite your shyness you like being admired. I admire your smooth darkness, your old-fashioned upright way.
I find your kindness to me rather stunning, actually. I mean, I'm forty-two and just a former housewife-
Please. No fishing, Kundalini. You are magnificent. Your breasts are magnificent. Once, you did not let me caress them. You did not let me caress them like this.
Perhaps the context was different. Time has moved on. I was then in your abode, now you are in mine. You are my guest, one refuses a guest nothing. Master, why have you come to me?
Iwas alone. I was nervous. I thought of you, perhaps also alone. There has been so much disturbance but I am left alone, at the hurricane’s eye-is that an expression? Ma Prapti has the many reporters to fascinate with her horrifying confessions. Durga has her fellow-warriors to exhort and imbue with thirst for glory. In my solitude I enjoy samarasa, the divine immobility. But for the condition ofsabaja, of the non-conditioned and purely spontaneous, to reach that ofadvaya, of non-duality, and from this to attain Mabasukba, of which we once spoke, there must be yuganaddba, the principle of union, which implies an initial duality. I thought of you. My inkling has been that you, too, wish to confront the other, the opposite, and thus achieve advaya. It is perilous, because within it one loses the self.
You said you felt nervous. How can this be when you are a jivan-mukta, always in a state of samadhi?
Iam Arbat, a follower of Buddha. The Blessed One did not leave the world, did not disengage himself from the confusions ofjiva and ajiva and withdraw into nirvana like your cowardly Jesus. He stayed upon earth, instructing and consoling bis disciples to the age of eighty. If we stay on earth, we stay inprakriti. If we stay inprakriti, we are subject to thevasanas and cbittavrittis of other men. We are subject to nervousness in the forms of lust and fear. This is the great sacrifice the enlightened make, out ofkaruna, out of compassion. Indeed you are smooth, as smooth as Hack Kali. As smooth as Satyavati after bathing in the river Jumna. As smooth as Radba upon the flower couch in the groves of Vrindavan. There is that faint oiliness which I much love. It makes an iridescence.
My father had dark skin. My mother is quite pale. She takes a terrible tan, but keeps trying.
Yes. Your rich mother. We discussed her. I think you are very close, mother and daughter.
Not really. We got off on the wrong foot somehow, when I was very little. About your fear. Is it that you are afraid of death?-of course not, how could you be?-or of the troubles in the ashram sending you back to India?
I am not so afraid of India. Perhaps I am afraid of non-India. I am afraid ofadvaya, of non-duality. Tor as long as there is duality, the spirit does not need to unrobe. I am not afraid of unrobing the body and will do so. But I am afraid, yes, of the spirit unrobing itself of the body. Ofjiva shedding ajiva. That is what I promised you, I think. To turn your body into spirit, to have the great bliss, the Paramabasukha.
Do you think I'm ready for that? Maybe to start with we could have just a little sukha.
Let us concentrate, Kundalini. That is stage one. We will let Durga have her shootout on the bills and the FBI men shoot back and the poor little sannyasins run for cover while we enact maithuna. Maithuna is not what is called in this coarse country "fucking. "It is cosmic play. It is lila. The soul's journey is lila. The emergence of prakriti from purusba is lila. From the truth of the body, bhanda, emerges by lila the truth of the universe, brabmanda.
I love it when you explain things. Would you like to touch me again?
That comes later, the touching. First is concentration, sa-dbana. We concentrate upon the beloved. It is best if she is parakiya rati-the wife of another. That is why I so much like your Charles. We need him. Otherwise you are apakva, unripe. Otherwise you are samanya rati, ordinary woman. We must mentally conceive you into visbesha rati-woman extraordinary, divine essence of woman.
Shall I concentrate on you, too?
Itis not so necessary, what the woman does. But yes. I am nitya manus, eternal man. lam sabaja manus, man unconditioned, lam ayoni manus, man unborn. My linga is all lingas. My mouth is all mouths. My hands are all bands.
That idea gives me the creeps. I want them to be your hands, your hands only. When can you start touching me?
I am Krishna and you are Radba and we are in Vrindavan. Many flowering trees all about us. The smell of much mai-tbuna all about us. The sound of water running. Birds unseen singing. All things rank, ripe, deep. We gaze and concentrate upon the other.
Is there a next stage?
Smarana, recollection. I think ofKundalini as when she first came in her rented Hertz, in a checked suit too hot for the sun, with the bold manners of a woman who thinks well of herself.'