Tantric Coconuts (22 page)

Angel continued the instruction. “You should welcome this energy to reside within you. Nurture it with your own positive energy. Imagine that this energy is awakening or acting as a catalyst for your own light, the energy of your higher or true self. Think of it as
love
. It’s akin to the feeling you experience when you hold Argo tight to your chest. Let it swell. Allow yourself to attune to this energy that now dwells within
you. Sense it in your entire chest cavity. Come to know this space well. This is the real Ted Day, not just Ted Digit.”

As he listened to Angel’s words, Ted stayed with the energy sensation and it did seem to unfurl, to grow in intensity and become more focused in his heart and lungs. The energy force was palpable, and though he did not yet have the vocabulary to describe it precisely, it seemed to take on a physical dimension like a bright white light. The light seemed to possess a molecular density and even a temperature—it frightened him. He’d never felt anything like this before, and its unfamiliarity was making him uneasy, as if he had lost control of his mind. He opened his eyes and looked about nervously to get his bearings. He noted to himself that what he had experienced seemed quite strange and was now gone.

Angel called an end to the exercise. “That’s enough for now, Ted.”

Ted was slightly concerned. First there had been the finger trance and now there was this energy transfer. Where did Angel get these unusual skills? Hell, he told himself, all he could do was write a good legal brief.

That evening, as Bertha the Bookmobile made her way out of Kansas and into the lovely, low, rolling hills of western Nebraska, Angel slowed so they could take in the scenery along the highway. Ted was surprised by the landscape. He wasn’t sure if it was beautiful or if his growing powers of awareness only made it seem that way.

“As a third-grade graduate,” Ted quietly observed, “I don’t
really believe in elves, fairies, or leprechauns. But if I did, this is where I would look for them. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I agree. The plains are magical. I can almost sense the buffalo and antelope grazing under the watchful eye of my ancestors.”

As they traveled along a rural Nebraska highway in silence, a long list of questions wandered, uninvited, into Ted’s mind. He wondered if he would reach the sixth level and get the full value of his Spirit Tech tuition. If his appreciation of beauty had changed so dramatically after a few meditation sessions, what could he expect at even higher levels of awareness? Or would it be like getting an improved eyeglass prescription—sure, his vision would be crisper, but nothing in his life would really change except his perception of it.

Ted thought more about Aunt Lilly and his future as a lawyer. He had promised himself not to think about it for at least six months, but with his rather sizable inheritance, he did not really have to work. If not work, though, then what? His mind raced, but in the end he found his growing connection to Angel the most troubling of all.

Ted wanted to reach over and rest his hand on Angel’s wrist to bridge the space between them. He hesitated. Would the pursuit of the lesser goal of romance thwart the greater goal of enlightenment? There were doubts. It might not be a good idea to consider a future with Angel. He was a lawyer, grounded in the real world. As much as he adored her, Ted sensed that Angel’s spiritual mooring made her less than practical—in the being-able-to-make-the-rent-payment kind of way. What would they be like together? Would
they drive around in a bookmobile, saving souls? It couldn’t work.

Ted figured it was unfair to make assumptions about Angel, to not even give her a chance, so he impulsively broke the silence and asked, “Angel, before you were a spiritual consultant, what did you do?”

If Angel didn’t know better, she would have thought that Larsen was sitting beside her, insisting in his own kind way that she needed a different line of work. She made a conscious effort not to be defensive, but still, the question hurt. Ted couldn’t know what a sensitive subject he had broached. She tried to be honest, but the recounting only made her feel worse.

“Well, I went to this school and then that school, sang, played my guitar, did artwork, helped my dad, taught yoga and meditation.” She hesitated, looked over at him, and then added, “Does that sound irresponsible?”

Ted thought long and hard and decided to be honest. “It depends. I mean, how do you pay your bills? Where do you get your car and health insurance? Do you think about your future?”

Ted’s questions felt oppressive to Angel and further out of bounds. “Ted, to be honest, I’m awful at that stuff. I never had a real job, can’t save money, forget to buy insurance, and I am so moored in the spiritual
now
that I seem to be rather indifferent about the tangible problems of
tomorrows
. Maybe I’m irresponsible. I just have to believe that if I do my best to make the world a better place today, all of those tomorrows will work out.”

Ted’s heart sank. Her attitude sounded reckless and, indeed, irresponsible. It was just as he had suspected: Angel was clueless about the real world. Ted placed his hand on her wrist. He remembered something he had read in one of her books that he thought might gently drive home the point. “Angel, in some of the Sufi materials you gave me I read something that I really liked.”

Angel’s temperature was rising, but she tried her best to tolerate what she perceived as an assault on her self-worth. “Yes.”

“Trust in Allah, but tie up your camel.”

Angel considered pulling her hand away. She didn’t want Ted’s affectionate understanding of her shortcomings. It seemed patronizing. He wasn’t Larsen. He wasn’t paying her bills. Intentionally or not, Ted had crossed into one of Angel’s verboten zones. The steam continued to accumulate, but Angel remained silent—and not the open and airy Lakota sort of silence. It was an oppressive, angry silence.

The heat in the cab flashed to red, and Ted removed his hand. “I guess that’s none of my business.” He looked around, wondering why Angel was slowing down.

Angel got in Ted’s face. “It’s a sensitive subject for me, and you’re right: it’s none of your business how I pay my bills.”

The quiet persisted a bit longer before Ted said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was trying to be helpful. You can be spiritual and also have a real job. Right?”

“You mean like Mashid, Father Chuck, and everyone else but me?” Angel pulled off to the side of the road. She considered booting Argo and Ted. They could walk back to New
Mexico. She’d been a fool. What sane person would even try spiritual consulting? When she’d finally gotten a client, she’d tutored the man for free and bared her soul, and now he was humiliating her. Mashid had said it well: “What were you thinking?”

When Bertha was fully stopped, Angel stomped on the emergency brake pedal. “Screw you, Ted Day,” she said. She put her head in her hands and started to sob. “Don’t you see?” There were more sobs before she spat it all out. “I’ve lived in the spiritual realm because the real world wants nothing to do with me. I can’t do anything right. This pilgrimage is a bust. Another avoidance.” Her tone turned apologetic as she wailed, “I’m so sorry I got you involved in my ridiculous ideas. I’m going to go back to South Dakota and help my dad fix trucks. At least I can weld.”

Ted took her hand again. “Wait a minute, Angel. You haven’t failed. You’re a wonderful spiritual consultant. I’m having the best vacation of my life with you and No Barks. Maybe you just need a little help getting your feet on the ground. That’s all.”

“Really?” she asked, her confidence desperate to be restored.

“You’re a unique and wonderful person. Don’t condemn yourself for being different. You’re just ahead of your time. That’s all. Maybe we ran into each other so I could help you with Aunt Lilly and your finances.”

“You don’t think I’m ridiculous for driving around in Bertha with signs painted on the sides?”

Ted laughed, leaned over, and hugged her. “It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen in my life and I love it.”

She held him tightly. “I can take you back to Pecos if you want. We don’t have to finish this.”

“You’ve spent entirely too much time hanging out in the teacher’s lounge doubting yourself. You’ve got work to do and you’re not getting rid of me.”

At a roadside stop on a lonely stretch of Nebraska highway, Angel and Ted shared the food that Mashid had packed. Angel was still teetering and Ted tried to reel her in. “Is it a good time to start on Buddhism and the fourth level?” He rested his hand on Argo’s furry head and stretched his legs comfortably out in front of him. “I am at my desk, pen in hand, ready to go back to work.”

Pushing down doubts about her value as a spiritual consultant, Angel dived back into the curriculum as if she had been carefully outlining it in her mind. If nothing else, she was resilient. Angel took a big bite of an apple, chewed it, and said, “I think it’s good that we continue. It’ll do us both some good. You’ve done so much hard work that it would be a shame not to finish up. Don’t you think?”

“Agreed.”

They finished their lunch and had traveled east a few miles before Angel resumed the lesson. “Buddhism is a good place for us to return to the Work. Like me”—her humor revived,
Angel poked fun at herself—“it has a radically different view. But unlike me, it is grounded and practical. Good beliefs and good practices are measured by one test alone: do my actions, beliefs, and behaviors result in less suffering or more happiness in this lifetime? Like an ancient self-help system, Buddhism promises us a happier life. To believe in something or practice something that does not reduce suffering in this life would not make sense to a Buddhist.” She glanced down at the gas gauge before continuing. “Buddhism moves more like a science than a religion: experiment and be open to many possibilities. Frankly, Ted, this could be right up your alley.”

“Doesn’t even sound much like a religion to me.”

“Generally speaking, you’re right; the core of the Buddha’s teachings have little to do with what we traditionally describe as religion. Buddhism takes on this whole issue of how to wake us up.”

“I thought Buddhists believed in reincarnation,” Ted said.

“Well, Buddhism has institutionalized and adopted the beliefs of the indigenous peoples where its practice spread. But this has nothing to do with what the Buddha taught. In fact, Buddha was stalwart in his refusal to address metaphysical questions, including the biggest question of all: Is there a creator god?”

“Heaven and hell?”

“He wouldn’t touch it.”

“Life after death?”

“Ask anyone, but not me.”

“I always thought that religion was all about metaphysical questions.”

“You can ask Singleton when we arrive, but I suspect a Buddhist would say that trying to answer these questions will not move you down the path to happiness, nor eliminate suffering. Pursuit of these questions is therefore a distraction or diversion from the real business of life.”

“Still, they are important questions.”

“Are they, though? The Buddha offered the parable of the poisoned arrow to explain. Imagine that a man has been shot with a lethal poisoned arrow and his only chance of survival is to remove the arrow quickly, but instead he instructs his rescuers to not remove the arrow until they first tell him the name and clan of the person who shot it, whether it was shot from a longbow or a crossbow, and the nature of the arrowhead. What would you think of such a man?”

“He would be a fool.”

“Yes, the Buddha taught that religion can be a foolish pastime when we preoccupy ourselves with questions that cannot be answered. By doing so, we waste our precious lives avoiding the hard work but significant gains that await us on the spiritual path the Buddha suggests we begin navigating. He called that spiritual path the dharma.”

“I’ll try to remember the parable the next time I discover an arrow in my backside.” Ted looked down at the map he was using to help Angel navigate. “Turn at the next intersection. We’re almost there. Only twenty more miles.” Ostensibly to make sure he had her attention, he again touched her wrist.
“Nice, slow turn this time. There might be someone coming in the opposite direction, minding his own business and not interested in being broadsided.”

Angel grinned. “Yes, Ted, I heard you.” She slowed Bertha and made the turn. The road narrowed and was not well scaled to Bertha’s wide girth, so Angel reduced her speed even further. “How about that? No one pulled out in front of me, failing to yield.”

Ted removed his hand from her wrist and asked, “The Buddha’s famous Four Noble Truths—are they about happiness and this dharma path?”

“Yes, the First Noble Truth is that suffering and unhappiness are part of the human condition. They are inevitable. It does not end well for us, and there is plenty to suffer through along the way: we get sick, we get old, we wither, and we die.”

“Doesn’t seem too cheery, this Buddha.”

“Journeying down the hall to the upper-grade classrooms is not easy. By helping us to deny our true human condition, our Western culture is an impediment to our spiritual progress and psychological health. From the cradle to the grave, we are conditioned to avoid thinking about our inevitable illness, aging, and death. We want to live in a Peter Pan world, forever young and healthy. Or if we do die, it doesn’t really matter—we’ll just somehow continue our existing lives in heaven, except on better terms.”