If Philip noted the surliness in Tony`s question, he gave no evidence of it and
replied ingenuously, «Like Schopenhauer, I want to will as little as possible and to know
as much as possible.»
Tony nodded, obviously baffled about how to respond.
Rebecca broke in: «Philip, what you or Schopenhauer was saying about friends
was right on the mark for me—the truth is that I`ve had few close girlfriends. But what
about two people with similar interests and abilities? Don`t you think that friendship is
possible in that case?»
Before Philip could answer, Julius enjoined, «Our time is growing very short
today. I want to check in about how you all are feeling about our last fifteen minutes.
How are we doing here?»
«We`re not on target. We`re missing,” said Gill. «Something oblique is going on.»
«I`mabsorbed,” said Rebecca.
«Nah, too much in our heads,” said Tony.
«I agree,” said Stuart.
«Well, I`m not in my head,” said Bonnie. «I`m close to bursting, or screaming,
or...” Bonnie suddenly rose, gathered up her purse and jacket, and charged out of the
room. A moment later Gill jumped up and ran out of the room to fetch her back. In
awkward silence the group sat listening to the retreating footsteps. Shortly Gill returned,
and as he sat he reported, «She`s okay, said she`s sorry but she just had to get out to
decompress. She`ll go into it next week.»
«Whatis going on?» said Rebecca, snapping open her purse to get sunglasses and
car keys. «Ihate it when she does that. That`s really pissy.»
«Any hunches about what`s going on?» asked Julius.
«PMT, I think,” said Rebecca.
Tony spotted Philip scrunching his face signifying confusion and jumped in.
«PMT—premenstrual tension.» When Philip nodded, Tony clenched his hands and poked
both thumbs upward, «Hey, hey, I taughtyou something,”
«We`ve gotta stop,” said Julius, «but I`ve got a guess about what`s going on with
Bonnie. Go back to Stuart`s summary. Remember how Bonnie started the meeting—
talking about the chubby little girl at school and her unpopularity and her inability to
compete with other girls, especially attractive ones? Well, I wonder if that wasn`t
recreated in the group today? She opened the meeting, and pretty quickly the group left
her for Rebecca. In other words, the very issue she wanted to talk about may have been
portrayed here in living color with all of us playing a part in the pageant.»
18
Pam in India
(2)
_________________________
Nothingcan alarm or move him
any more. All the thousand
threads of willing binding us
to the world and dragging us
(full of anxiety, craving,
anger, and fear) back and
forth in constant pain: all
these he has cut asunder. He
smiles and looks back calmly
on the phantasmagoria of this
world which now stands before
him as indifferently as chess–men at the end of a game.
_________________________
It was a few days later at 3A.M. Pam lay awake, peering into the darkness. Thanks to the
intervention of her graduate student, Marjorie, who had arranged VIP privileges, she had
a semiprivate room in a tiny alcove with a private toilet just off the women`s common
dormitory. However, the alcove provided no sound buffer, and Pam listened to the
breathing of 150 other Vipassana students. The whoosh of moving air transported her
back to her attic bedroom in her parents` Baltimore home when she lay awake listening to
the March wind rattling the window.
Pam could put up with any of the other ashram hardships—the 4A.M. wakeup time,
the frugal vegetarian one–meal–a–day diet, the endless hours of meditation, the silence,
the Spartan quarters—but the sleeplessness was wearing her down. The mechanism of
falling asleep completely eluded her. How did she used to do it? No, wrong question, she
told herself—a question that compounded the problem because falling asleep is one of
those things that cannot be willed; it must be done unintentionally. Suddenly, an old
memory of Freddie the pig floated into her mind. Freddie, a master detective in a series of
children`s books she hadn`t thought about in twenty–five years, was asked for help by a
centipede who could no longer walk because his hundred legs were out of sync.
Eventually, Freddie solved the problem by instructing the centipede to walk without
looking at his legs—or even thinking about them. The solution lay in turning off
awareness and permitting the body`s wisdom to take over. It was the same with sleeping.
Pam tried to sleep by applying the techniques she had been taught in the workshop
to clear her mind and allow all thoughts to drift away. Goenka, a chubby, bronze–skinned,
pedantic, exceedingly serious and exceedingly pompous guru, had begun by saying that
he would teach Vipassana but first he had to teach the student how to quiet his mind.
(Pam endured the exclusive use of the male pronoun; the waves of feminism had yet not
lapped upon the shores of India.)
For the first three days Goenka gave instruction in theanapana–sati —mindfulness
of breathing. And the days were long. Aside from a daily lecture and a brief question–and–answer period, the only activity from 4A.M. to 9:30P.M. was sitting meditation. To
achieve full mindfulness of breathing, Goenka exhorted students to study in–breaths and
out–breaths.
«Listen. Listen to the sound of your breaths,” he said. «Be conscious of their
duration and their temperature. Note the difference between the coolness of in–breaths
and the warmth of out–breaths. Become like a sentry watching the gate. Fix your attention
upon your nostrils, upon the precise anatomical spot where air enters and leaves.»
«Soon,” Goenka said, «the breath will grow finer and finer until it seems to vanish
entirely, but, as you focus ever more deeply, you will be able to discern its subtle and
delicate form. If you follow all my instructions faithfully,” he said, pointing to the
heavens, «if you are a dedicated student, the practice ofanapana–sati will quiet your
mind. You will then be liberated from all the hindrances to mindfulness: restlessness,
anger, doubt, sensual desire, and drowsiness. You shall awaken into an alert, tranquil, and
joyous state.»
Mind–quieting was indeed Pam`s grail—the reason for her pilgrimage to Igatpuri.
For the past several weeks her mind had been a battlefield from which she fiercely tried
to repel noisy, obsessive, intrusive memories and fantasies about her husband, Earl, and
her lover, John. Earl had been her gynecologist seven years ago when she had become
pregnant and decided upon an abortion, electing not to inform the father, a casual sexual
playmate with whom she wished no deeper involvement. Earl was an uncommonly
gentle, caring man. He skillfully performed the abortion and then provided unusual
postoperative follow–up by phoning her twice at home to inquire about her condition.
Surely, she thought, all the accounts of the demise of humane, dedicated medical care
were hyperbolic rhetoric. Then, a few days later, came a third call which conveyed an
invitation to lunch, during which Earl skillfully negotiated the segue from doctor to
suitor. It was during their fourth call that she agreed, not without enthusiasm, to
accompany him to a New Orleans medical convention.
Their courtship proceeded with astonishing quickness. No man ever knew her so
well, comforted her so much, was so exquisitely familiar with her every nook and cranny,
nor afforded her more sexual pleasure. Though he had many wonderful qualities—he was
competent, handsome, and carried himself well—she conferred upon him (she now