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I’m not sure I knew I was setting out on an important journey. It was a nice day; the gate was open; I went out. By myself, without Claude! It was exciting! Something I’d wanted to do for a long time. Here’s what happened out there. I hadn’t gone but a few blocks when I was attacked by a large dog. Lucky for me, the owner was able to control him before he could hurt me. Frightening, but I was not going to let that discourage me. Then, in the park, I saw this guy sitting on the grass. He was leaning against a tree, reading a newspaper and his jacket was on the ground beside him. He looked a little like Claude. I trotted up to him, sniffed the jacket and WOW! What a wonderful smell! I laid down on my back on the jacket, squirming around, to get some of it on me. . . and the guy whacked me with the newspaper! Hmmph! Exiting the park on the other side, I saw some people at a bus stop. One of them, a man, was leaning against a lamppost. I checked out the lamppost, then I lifted my leg to pee on it, like I’m supposed to do, and he kicked me! I yelped and ran into the street. SREECH! CRASH! Another, CRASH! A car had almost hit me! Looming over me! So big! It rocked forward with each CRASH. Scared the b’jeesus out of me! I scurried to the sidewalk. Trembling, looking back, I saw three cars stuck together. People were getting out. They were yelling at each other. One of them was pointing at me and shaking his fist. I could see hatred! He wanted to kill me! I ran and ran and ran, until I could at last calm down and stop shaking. This wasn’t fun anymore. I was hungry and thirsty and frightened. Now I wanted to go home, but I couldn’t remember how. It was getting dark and cold. Scent of rain on the breeze. I ran this way and that. Nothing familiar. I was lost!. A boy paused to look at me. He held out his hand. I sniffed it. He petted my head, murmuring in a gentle way; then he stood up and walked off. I followed. When he realized I was behind him, he stopped and turned to me. “Oh, no!” he said, “Go away! Go away!” He turned again and hurried on. I hurried too. Again he stopped, “No! Go away!” Stomping the ground. Threatening. But I could see that he would not hurt me. I had to follow him; I needed help, and only he had shown me any kindness. We came to a cellar door in the rear of a home. The boy took me inside. He brought a cushion, then a pan with water, then another with food, and spent a while petting me while I ate. Then he went upstairs. No longer hungry or thirsty, I lay on the cushion in the warm, musty darkness, listening to hiss of rain outside, I felt safe; except for the occasional flicker that lit the windows, always followed by a scary rumbling. Suddenly, a monstrous flash and a huge, horrible BANG! It hurt my whole body, especially my ears and head! Terrified, I started barking. The upstairs door opened and the lights came on. A short, heavyset woman came down. “Brian!” she yelled, angry. The boy came running. “Get rid of it! . . . Now!” “Ma! Please! Just wait till the rain stops!” “No! . . . Now!” “Ma! I can’t!” Crying. “Then I will.” She grabbed my scruff – I yowled in pain -- and threw me outside! In no time I was drenched. Shaking the water off was futile. O, misery, misery! Head down; tail down, dripping, shivering, cringing along. Where was home? Where was Claude? Finally, I curled up under a car, out of the downpour, on the hard, sopping pavement. By morning, the rain had stopped, but I was still wringing wet, cold and trembling. People passing by; a few of them noticed me, but walked on. Then, about noon, a nice man picked me up and put me in a cage in a truck. There were other cages on the truck, some with dogs inside. I was toweled off and, still damp, put in a pen with a bunch of other dogs. All were scared, some so much that they couldn’t stop yapping. There was a small white one in the center. He was nasty, snapping at any dog that approached, even those much larger than he. From time to time, the door would open and one or more people would come in. All of us looked . . . hoping. A few went home. Then, late next day, the door opened . . . and it was Claude! In no time, I was in his arms and he was hugging me and laughing and I was shaking and wagging and licking his face. In the car, secure at last, I was calm enough to realize that I had learned something important:, something that I had not suspected: it’s really hostile out there! Back in the yard, everything was the same as it had always been, and I understood that finally I had come home. Well, today was the day! Lenny wanted everything to be perfect. He’d chosen McGuillicuddy’s, one of the best restaurants in town. The ring, in its box, was a bulge in his jacket pocket. In his mind he had rehearsed the evening over and over again, imagining the way Carroll would react and the way he would react to her reaction. He wasn’t expecting a refusal; for several weeks the notion of marriage seemed to hover just beyond the range of their conversation. Still? . . . He was quite excited! The maitre de met them as they entered, “Two?” “We have reservations. Glassberger.” “Oh, yes. Follow me, please.” He moved swiftly away, Lenny and Carroll scurrying after him. McGuillicuddy’s was very modern, so it strove for an old fashioned, rustic atmosphere. The interior walls were bare red-brick, decorated with antique artifacts -- muskets, crossed sabers, harpoons and snowshoes -- and with posters and photos from once upon a time. Because there were several seafood items on the menu, fish nets, rope and lobster pots were hung from the ceiling. The lighting was romantically, intimately subdued, consisting of dim lamps with amber shades at intervals along the walls and, on each table, a tiny candle in red glass. Hurrying in the gloom, Carroll did not see the up-step at the dining room entrance. She tripped and fell. Lenny, running too close behind, could not stop and fell on top of her. They were seated at a cozy table near a wall, about midway between two of the lamps. When the waiter came Lenny ordered champagne. Gradually, they recovered from the embarrassment, from the too obvious disdain of the maitre de (once he was sure that there would be no law suit) and from the sympathetic amusement of the other diners. Watching Carroll, Lenny recalled, with some amazement, that, at first, he’d thought her only moderately attractive. As their relationship had grown she had become more and more appealing. Tonight she was the most exquisite, desirable creature he had ever seen. He could feel it in every cell of his body, especially those in his groin area. “I love you.” he said, gently squeezing her hand. “I love you.” she replied and squeezed his. Lenny couldn’t actually hear the words, but he saw her lips and he knew. He couldn’t hear Carroll because, unlike with the light level, McGuillicuddy’s did nothing to subdue the noise level. The more people spoke the higher it rose, which made hearing more difficult, which made them speak louder, which made hearing even more difficult, which made them speak even louder, and so it would go. Also, bare brick walls are excellent sound reflectors, and this dining room was surrounded by four of them. Since McGuillicuddy’s was quite popular, dinner hour consisted of about eighty people shouting at, yet barely able to hear, each other. Furthermore, it was Saturday. So there was a small ensemble, playing its heart out, determined that its talent would not be drowned in customer cacophony. Carroll and Lenny opened their menus. It was too dark. Lenny couldn’t make out the items, only the section headings -- Appetizers, Soups, etc. He put on his glasses. It didn’t help. He brought the tiny candle close, moving it too and fro across the page. It illuminated only a few words at a time -- small, brown, script-like letters on beige paper. Still, mostly unreadable. By this time the initial ear pain was gone. They had adjusted to the noise in the way that artillerymen and airport tarmac workers do. Carroll was frowning as she looked at her menu, like she often did when making up her mind. Frustrated with being unable to read his, Lenny decided to have whatever she ordered. “What do you want?” he asked. “What?” “WHAT DO YOU WANT TO EAT?” “Oh, you choose for me please.” “What?” “YOU CHOOSE FOR ME, PLEASE.” Slightly embarrassed, Lenny took the menu and stood under a wall lamp. After about a minute the maitre de approached, “Sir, you can’t stand here.” “What?” “YOU’RE IN THE WAY, SIR! PLEASE DON’T STAND HERE!” Lenny returned to the table. He’d barely been able to read enough to make a selection. When the waiter came to take their order, Lenny pointed on the menu to one of the three items that he had been able decipher and said, “We’ll both have this.” “Very good, sir. And the soup? “What?” “WHAT KIND OF SOUP WOULD YOU LIKE, SIR?” “OH, UMM, SOUP OF THE DAY, PLEASE.” They waited for the food, sipping champagne, not speaking, only holding hands across the table. Carroll, looking down at their entwined fingers, was lost for the moment in a warm reverie. Now it was time! Lenny took a deep breath. “I want to marry you,” he said. “What?” “I WANT TO MARRY YOU!” he repeated. “Carry me? Why? Where?” The ensemble was blaring towards a finale. “What?” “WHY DO YOU WANT TO CARRY ME?” Her gaze rose to his face. “NO! NO! MARRY YOU!”, showing her the open ring box. “I WANT TO MARRY YOU!” At that very moment the ensemble, after a huge closing blast, stopped playing and the diners at nearby tables heard the proposal. There was applause and cheering: “WHOOPEE!”, “GO FOR IT!”, “RIGHT ON!” But, for a couple at one table, the declaration caused a problem: He, “HEY, BUDDY, YOU SURE YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOIN’?” She, “SHUT UP Y’ BIG JERK! . . . YOU’RE DRUNK!” He, “HEY, I’M JUST WARNING HIM.” She, “YOU HAVE TO BE SUCH AN ASS ALL THE TIME?” He, “WHAT? I JUST DON’T WANT THE POOR SAP TO MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE I DID.” She, ”YEAH? WELL, MY BIGGEST MISTAKE WAS YOU!” Then, turning towards Carroll, “Y’ HEAR THAT, HONEY?” The ensemble started a new number, so the rest of the argument could not be heard. But, soon the woman ran out, crying. The man remained, pounding the tabletop lightly, rhythmically with a clenched fist. He seemed about to explode. Nevertheless, three months later Carroll and Lenny wed. During the intervening days, they planned their lives together. At times they were delighted by their apparent compatibility. At other times they were disturbed by differences which seemed irreconcilable; fortunately those were few and rather petty. The expectation was for a good life together. Still? . . . They were quite excited! The
End
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Chup. Chup. Chup. Chup. Chup. Chup. Eyes fixed on the ground immediately before him as he climbed, with each foot-scrape on the gravely path a roughshod foot came into view below the hem of his cloak. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. The shoes were stuffed with dry grass for insulation. A copper hatchet, pouch and leggings were suspended from his belt. On his back a longbow and quiver with arrows. His outer cloak was made of grass; an inner cloak, the leggings and the shoes were made of well-crafted skins. When Ötzi did raise his eyes from the path, all that he could see were an ashen, angry sky; bare rock, covered here and there with lichen, and snow that gleamed on distant peaks and had collected in nearby hollows and depressions. Behind and below him was the zone of sparse grasses and shrubs. Still further down began trees and meadows, and way, way below, out of sight, the small village where he had spent the night. Also, somewhere down there, would be his pursuers, grim, determined and vengeful. The time – it was nearly dawn of the Bronze Age. The wound in his shoulder had almost stopped bleeding, but had become much more painful, throbbing with each step and with each little, involuntary movement of his arm. The thick, sticky blood had run down to his leggings. His thighs ached from the sustained effort of ascent and his lungs fought to suck in more air. As he climbed his brain gave in to the monotony of fatigue, and his mind wandered:
He thought bitterly about the donkey and the precious load that he’d
had to abandon. What god had inflicted this
situation on him and why? For what transgression was he being punished?
He must make himself wish for snow and wind. Maybe that would trick the spirits and they would send good weather instead of the menacing storm. Sometimes they could be fooled that way. But a storm would hinder the pursuers. The gods would know. Would they smile or scowl upon him? With a rueful sob he thought of Seffetzi, his first daughter -- of her laughter, of the way her lively little form had squirmed in his arms -- little Seffetzi, who had died in her fourth winter, with fever, great wracking coughs, gasping and vomiting of phlegm, crying and begging for help. His eyes moistened. He blamed himself! He had been unable to conceal his affection for her. That was a temptation which no mischievous or malicious god could resist. Then he had pretended not to care and didn’t ask for the shaman. But the gods had not been fooled. They were angered. It had been a terrible winter. The whole village had suffered the same curse. All the young children and several adults had died. Gods could not be understood or trusted. One could only hope to placate or deceive them. *
* *
Ötzi was a trader. Every year, between the end of the spring planting and the start of the autumn harvest, when the mountain passes were relatively easy, he would make two, maybe three, journeys. From the North he carried obsidian, fine pelts and the golden, magic amber. From the South he carried salt, red corral and ochre, the iridescent shells of sea mussels, and the thick purple dye of the Murex snail. Various beads, amulets and fetishes moved in both directions. He was welcomed everywhere, not only for the goods he brought but also for his stories and information. Ötzi was an important man. He had arrived at the village the previous afternoon. After making the ritual salutations and distributing the expected small gifts and engaging in the customary exchange of news, he prepared to display his wares. Suddenly, Tatabatadzi, the old shaman, spoke up, hissing and wheezing, gesturing towards Ötzi, “Eradzedze! Eradzedze! Eradzedze!” Eradzedze, destroyer of harvests, bearer of pain and death, was the most powerful and most fickle of gods, demanding, jealous, usually malevolent, implacable, never seen but always present, watching, listening. Confused, the people looked fearfully between Tatabatadzi and Ötzi. They could see that this was Ötzi. But, they knew that Eradzedze often took possession of people, to make them ill or to make them evil. And Tatabatadze had been able to see such things even when others could not. It was a dangerous situation for Ötzi. He stood up and removed his garments. Arms outspread, he turned slowly. “This is Ötzi. Only Ötzi. No Eradzedze! No Eradzedze!” Smiling so that they would not see the throb of his fear. No one knew the age of Tatabatadzi, only that the number of his winters was many times the number of fingers on two hands. He was older than anyone had ever been. His sparse hair and his beard were white as mountain snow. He was frail. On visits to the sacred places, he had to be carried. The women and children chewed his food for his teeth were long gone. But he knew the names of the fathers of the fathers of men long dead. He knew the rites and incantations that summon or dispel their ghosts and the capricious gods. He could intercede with them; often they would heed him and, when they did not, he knew why. People bringing many gift came from afar for his council and his magic. Clearly, Tatabatdzi was slowly dying and loosing his powers. But there was no one to replace him. And from time to time he seemed to be his former wise and resourceful self. So the family cherished what they had of him and dreaded the time certain when they would have no more of him. Finally, after some discussion, they agreed that it was indeed Ötzi before them, that he had not been possessed and that Tatabatadzi was, once more, mistaken. So they listened politely, even affectionately to Tatabatadzi’s words, but only pretended to heed his warning. Then they pretended to banish Ötzi with curses and invective. Ötzi pretended to cower away. And they tried to soothe Tatabatadzi with praises and made a song to honor him. But, though he stopped complaining, he was not mollified, and was still muttering when all had retired. *
* *
Fortunately, only the dogs were astir when Ötzi had departed the village. Carefully, quietly to avoid awakening anyone, he had gathered his gear and outer garments and taken them outside, where he'd dressed. He'd even been able to grab a slab of coarse bread and a chunk of meat. Forsaking the donkey and the two heavy panniers of trade goods, he made a stealthy departure. He had awakened well before dawn and, under a limpid sky ablaze with stars, had gone to a pissing place. On his way back, Tatabatadzi had come behind him taunting, accusing, wheezing, “Spawn of toads! Eater of pond scum! Evil one!” As Ötzi had turned to reply, Tatabatadzi had jabbed an arrow at his breast. Ötzi parried and it went into his shoulder where the tip had broken off! Ötzi pushed hard! Tatabatadzi fell backwards, but got up immediately and attacked again! Now, Tatabatadzi was dead, and Ötzi was running, climbing for his life. *
* *
Chup. Chup. Chup. Chup. Chup. Chup. Higher now. More snow. Ice too. Less bare rock. Ötzi paused to rest in a depression at the foot of a large outcrop. Though it was not visible, he knew that the sun was well past its zenith. He had not even reached the high point of his route, the point from which he could begin to descend towards his home village. The coming storm was going to be a bad one. Leaning against the rock, shivering in his sweat and blood soaked garments, exhausted and aching, Ötzi realized, at last, that he could not make it. The form of little Seffitzi appeared, arms outstretched, running to him. With a joyful sob, he reached for her as a huge wave of nausea and dizziness surged over him and he fell forward. Ötzi dreamed of a smoky hearth with hot porridge in a familiar and friendly place. But, when he tried to eat, the porridge was frozen! And the fire was frozen! Even the smoke was frozen! Everything . . . frozen! The first flakes were big and fragile, descended gently as ghosts and melted on Ötzi’s cheek. But soon the wind increased, moaning and howling. No more flakes but tiny wind-driven ice pellets swirling about him; sticking to his clothes, hair, hands and face; filling the hollows -- ears and eyes; piling around him. Ötzi did not move. It snowed for three days. Then, after a pause, it snowed again, and again. Many, many snows, year after year, snow upon snow, each one pressing and packing down all the previous snows. And there became a great glacier grinding, scraping, scouring over and around the rock outcrop and the corpse that it protected. There was melting every summer, snowing and freezing every winter. Each summer's melt was replaced by the followings winter’s snow. And for more than five thousand years it was just so. Then began a change. More and more, every year, the winter’s snow was not enough to restore the summer’s melt. The glacier was shrinking. On September 19, 1991, nearly two miles above sea level, climbers near the Austro-Italian border came upon an arm, shoulder and part of a head protruding from the ice. They informed the authorities. Ötzi had been found. THE
END
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JEFFREY JOINS THE COSMOS
The Veddram occupied the two top floors of a walkup tenement on B-Street in Manhattan’s East Village. On the 4th floor the largest apartment had been converted into a chapel, a meditation room and an anteroom. The other three apartments were made into offices and living quarters for the Vahedra and his staff. Members of the Veddram occupied the entire 5th floor. But most members lived by themselves or with family or roommates. As Jeffrey climbed the narrow stairway, he fingered the copper medallion suspended from the chain about his neck. The Sacred Amulet -- a triangle with a large central spiral and, at each apex, a disk, a star or a crescent. It represented the Cosmos, and was an object of devotion that identified those who wore it as members of the Veddram. Jeffrey had received it when he’d become a member, after his third visit, by contributing $100. Such offerings were used to spread the message of the Veddram, and to support its other good works. Jeffrey could see the need and was glad to help however he could. Nearing the Veddram, the old-hallway smells -- mustiness and the faint ammonia smell of stale urine mingled with cooking odors – gave way to the scent of spicy-sweet incense. He made way for Alfred and Inez, like Jeffrey two new members, who were descending. They were smiling broadly and seemed quite pleased with themselves. At the door, he removed his shoes and placed them on a rack with several other pairs. When the two acolytes, Tranquility and Bliss, opened the door in response to his knock, the cloying incense smell and a wispy celestial music swirled over him. They gave Jeffrey the customary greeting, adjoined palms touched to a slightly bowed forehead. “Transcend.” they murmured. Jeffrey responded in kind. As always, the acolytes wore identical turbans and long sleeved, silver-blue gowns that covered them from their chins to their bare feet. Their faces were aglow with expressions of serene ecstasy and with imperturbable smiles of perpetual happiness. Members of the Veddram, except for the novices such as Jeffrey, also bore that expression and that smile. They had approached Vahalata, a state of such inner rapture that it shined from one’s eyes. This was the promise of the Veddram and a goal of its members. So far, Jeffrey had made no progress towards it. Vahalata was communion with all of creation, with the Cosmos. Perfect communion was, of course, unachievable; but, by constant striving, one could draw ever nearer. Jeffrey had come today for a session in the Sanctum. These sessions were designed to facilitate or strengthen connection with the Cosmos. All Veddram members, especially novices, were urged to have one whenever possible. However, preparation was difficult, consisting of a 24-hour fast, ritual cleansing and prolonged chanting. A special contribution was customary, but not required. *
* *
Before Jeffrey joined the Veddram it seemed that his life had been a fruitless quest for purpose and meaning. He sought a way to quench the ennui, self-doubt and frustration that so often roiled within him. A modern young man, the esoteric attracted him. He’d tried Hare Krishna, Zen, Scientology, Unification Church and some others. Each time he had joined with enthusiasm and certainty, only to find his ardor dissipated. Once, very briefly, in bitterness and frustration, he’d even considered atheism. But it offered nothing of what he needed -- no rites, no sacred words, no holy place, no mystery. It promised nothing. And it required nothing -- no devotion, no commitment, no sacrifice. As much as he needed to belong, Jeffrey needed to give. Besides: “You have to believe in something!” “You have to have faith! ” Everybody said so! And he’d been assured that the Veddram was not atheistic, “because God is the Cosmos and the Cosmos is God.” *
* *
Jeffrey had taken some courses in hotel and restaurant management. Now he was night manager of a popular, up-scale pizzeria. The job provided for a meager life style, but there was promise of further advancement and reasonable security, if one could persevere. His promotion to night manager was nearly two years ago. Since then, he’d received one small raise and a small Christmas bonus, and he realized that there was little prospect of further promotion in the near future because it depended on a suitable vacancy occurring in a small company. Affable, presentable and able to affect a glib confidence, Jeffrey’s romantic life was a series of brief, superficial relationships few of which progressed much beyond the sexual. He needed more, or something else, but what? When a teenager, Jeffrey had taken to checking-off, on a calendar, each day, as it passed; a habit that he’d absentmindedly continued ever since. But, lately, when he did so, he sometimes felt that that measily act was the most important accomplishment of his day, and an angry frustration would engorge his breast. One chilly Sunday morning, he was sitting alone on a bench in Tompkins Square Park, feeling morose and empty, when a small group approached. They invited Jeffrey to a meeting where he could learn about a wonderful discovery, a new way to relieve stress and to find happiness and self-awareness through meditaton and chanting. David, the apparent leader, tall and lean with glowing eyes and an ecstatic grin, made the introductions. Rebecca, short, stocky, fortyish, with a similar expression seemed to be his sidekick. Kevin, a laconic Englishman, was on his first visit to New York. The others were Alfredo and Inez, an immigrant couple with their daughter, Frecia, a demure, passive, very pretty teenager. On the way to the meeting place David described how the new discovery had changed his whole life (he had once been a hopeless alcoholic, he confided) and the lives of many others. Rebecca, for example, had been homeless and she had suffered from depression, but now she was fine, "like she'd actually been reborn." “And there are drug addicts who are now clean! And writers and businessmen (even executives!) whose careers have been improved!” Rebecca eagerly affirmed everything David said. Jeffrey’d heard this kind of pitch before. Nevertheless, his restlessness made him receptive. David explained that the meeting was being held in an apartment. “The building is kinda shabby, but soon we’re going to buy it (the whole building!) and renovate it! And, after that, we’re going to get a farm, and have a retreat, in Pennsylvania or up state! It’s going to be great!” Unlike the seediness of the vestibule and stairway, the 4th floor landing, where they removed their shoes, was very clean. The interior of the apartment, suffused with scent of incense, with subdued lighting and faint celestial music, bespoke a sacred place. That ambiance together with the sight of the two holy maidens who opened the door, so slender and pure in their silver-blue gowns, dispelled most of Jeffrey’s doubts. “You’re just in time for the service”, one of them whispered, “Please come this way.” They were ushered into a chapel, where a dozen people knelt or squatted on cushions before a low dais, upon which a gaunt man sat cross-legged. On either side of him flickered scented candles. His long graying locks merged with his graying beard rendering a Christ-like appearance. His partly open kimono revealed a boney chest with a patch of sparse back hair. His eyes were closed; elbows resting on his knees, conjoined palms touching his slightly bowed forehead. Behind him, framed by heavy drapes and illuminated from above by an amber spotlight, was a large, triangular bas-relief with a central spiral and, at each apex, a disk, a star or a crescent. One of the maidens knelt on a cushion on either side of the dais. Several more people entered. When the rustling subsided, the man raised his head, separated his palms and rotated them upward while spreading his arms sideways and intoning, “OUMMM . . . ”. Jeffrey was startled by the resonance and power of that voice from a rather frail figure. After a moment the assembled imitated, “OUMMM . . .” Another moment, then: “HAJIKAAA. . . .” “HAJIKAAA . . .” The antiphony proceeded. “MANIKIII. . .” “MANIKIII . . . ” “DURRR . . .” “DURRR . . . ” Then the leader and the congregants in unison, more rapidly, “OUMMM HAJIKA MANIKI DUR. . . . OUMMM HAJIKA MANIKI DUR. . . . OUMMM HAJIKA MANIKI DUR. . . . ” As the sonorous chanting suffused him, Jeffrey drifted into a restful languor. He closed his eyes and joined in -- OUMMM HAJIKA MANIKI DUR. . . . OUMMM HAJIKA MANIKI DUR. . . . A tap on his shoulder interrupted his reverie. David had come to fetch Jeffrey and the other guests away. He seated them, and Rebecca, around a table in the anteroom. Murmur of the congregation (a sermon now) could be heard, but no words were distinguishable. One of the maidens appeared with small, earless mugs of jasmine tea. Jeffrey’s gaze followed as she moved about the table. David told of the Vahedra and of his journey of spiritual exploration in Asia, where he’d had his Devine Epiphany -- the great discovery that one could approach Vahalata by uniting with the Cosmos, accepting it into oneself, and then, by submitting to it, becoming the master of one’s destiny. He told of the Three Commandments of the Veddram: Transcend mortality. Purify the mind. Sanctify the soul. He told how the Veddram had come together under the guidance of the Vahedra to bring enlightenment and peace to all of humanity and how, despite persecution and hardships, the Veddram was gradually growing and would one day, “maybe not soon, but one day” embrace all of humanity. “For the way of the Veddram is enlightenment and joy.” Kevin listened politely, seeming to oscillate between boredom and amusement. Alfred, Inez and Frecia listened with growing enthusiasm. Jeffrey had some questions. “Where did it come from – ‘OUMMM HAJIKA MANIKI DUR?’ What does it mean?” “It’s part of the Divine Epiphany. Helps you unite with the Cosmos. That's holistic, you know, because the Cosmos is everything. The more you chant the better your life will be.” . . . “Didn’t you feel it during the service?” “Yes, I did. But how does it work? What does it mean?” “Only the Vahedra knows. But that’s not important. What’s important is that it really works! . . . So? Will you join?” David looked at each guest. Kevin said, “I don’t think I can believe . . .” “Doesn’t matter.” . . .“Join.” . . . “Then it’ll come to you.” . . . “You’ll see.” The sincerity and fervor of David and others, plus the evident holiness of the Vahedra and the Veddram, plus the purity and attractiveness of the two maidens, were powerful inducements. A week later, after two more visits, Jeffrey made his $100 contribution and joined as a novice. Days later he heard the rumor, "The Vahedra is really Jesus come round again! But it's a secret until the time is right. So never tell anybody!" As required, he tried to proselytize the Veddram. At first fellow employees and others and others reacted with indifference or amusement. When he persisted, most became annoyed or hostile. Jeffrey learned to curb his enthusiasm. *
* *
In the meditation
room prior to his session, Jeffrey made the required 1000 utterances of
the sacred mantra “OUMMM HAJIKA MANIKI DUR, OUMMM HAJIKA MANIKI DUR, .
. . ” Each utterance was accompanied by a tap on a sounding board by
Tranquility or Bliss, who took turns counting in whispers. It took
nearly an hour. When he finished, the acolytes escorted him to the
Sanctum.The Sanctum was, in fact, merely an empty closet. On the walls were crude paintings of spiral galaxies, ringed planets, comets, shooting stars and various constellations, all done with fluorescent paint on a black background. High in one corner a tiny blue bulb spread an ethereal glow. The only furniture was small stool. From a hidden speaker, superposed on the ever-present celestial music, a deep, syrupy voice, not the Vahedra’s, whispered, over and over, “Transcend. Purify. Sanctify. Transcend. Purify. Sanctify . . . ” Several times during his confinement Jeffrey heard the sounds of a service -- the resonant voice of the Vahedra, the chanting of the assembled, “OUMMM HAJIKA MANIKI DUR, OUMMM HAJIKA MANIKI DUR, . . . “ It was not easy for Jeffrey in the Sanctum. After what seemed like hours of meditation and chanting he felt nothing but discomfort. “Still my same old miserable self!” he thought. But he was determined. “Try harder, damn it!” He lay down on the hard floor beneath the galaxies and the stars and the planets. Still chanting sotto voce, “OUMMM HAJIKA MANIKI DUR, OUMMM HAJIKA MANIKI DUR, . . . “ Because of the fatigue, privation and discomfort Jeffrey alternated between sleep and wakefulness. When he slept, he was among the heavenly objects, gliding around them and through them. And the celestial music of the Cosmos was everywhere. And the voice of the Cosmos was commanding him, “Transcend. Purify. Sanctify. Transcend. Purify. Sanctify. . . .” When awake he was amid the painted galaxies and stars and planets, and the celestial music flowed over him, and the voice commanded him, “Transcend. Purify. Sanctify. . . .” After a while he did not know if he was asleep or awake for the two states had blended and there was no difference between one and the other. Thus did Jeffrey meld with the Cosmos. The immensity of it and the energy of it enveloped him and merged with him. And the Cosmos was a part of him just as he was a part of it. He could feel it! Really feel it! He came out of the Sanctum muttering over and over, “I have it! I’ve done it!!” Bliss and Tranquility were as happy as he was. It seemed that they wanted to hug him; but, of course, as acolytes of the Vahedra, they could not. Bliss took his hands and danced around him, turning him as she went. Tranquility was clapping her hands and jumping up and down like a child. This was greater happiness than Jeffrey had ever known. His eyes brimmed with tears of joy. Jeffrey was proud! Though he’d had neither food nor drink for more than two days, he felt neither hunger nor thirst. He had transcended, not only desire, but also the tyranny of the flesh. He was refreshed, contented, strong! Reborn, a child of the Cosmos! When they brought him before the Vahedra, a reward for having approached Vahalata, Jeffrey was surprised to see Frecia, kneeling on a cushion beside the dais, clad in a long-sleeved silver-blue gown. An acolyte! Already? “Your sojourn in the sanctum, it was successful?” The deep voice of the Vahedra stabbed into him. “O, yes, Holy One! Yes! Yes!” “You have merged yourself with all of creation? The Cosmos is now within you as you are within it? You can feel it?” “Yes! Yes! Yes!” “Good. Very good. Now you must go forth and proclaim your rapture. Invite all who will listen to come and receive the Word and the Wisdom. Do not be discouraged though you be laughed at and spat upon, for the world is a sewer of ignorance and stupidity. It is our sacred duty and our burden, as well as it is our joy, to bring Truth unto the unenlightened and Vahalata unto all of humanity. Go now. Be certain in your mission. May the power of the Cosmos protect you.” When Bliss and Tranquility ushered Jeffrey out of the Veddram they handed him a stack of pamphlets. There were two kinds. One kind was adorned with the Sacred Symbol, with photos of the Vahedra and members of the Veddram in prayerful poses. The text, printed with a gothic-like script, invited the lonely and lost to visit and join the Veddram, which would embrace them and lead them into Vahalata. The other kind used medical and psychological terms to describe a new method to relieve stress and to gain holistic harmony trough meditation. As he stepped from the fetid hallway into the late afternoon sun, Jeffrey knew that, at last, he had found the meaning and the purpose of his life. He was at peace! His face was aglow with an expression of serene ecstasy and with an imperturbable smile of perpetual happiness. THE END
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