Tantric Coconuts (9 page)

Ted got the point. “Get over yourself, Mr. Digit. You’re really part of my hand, which is part of my arm, which is part of my torso; the whole person is the real deal, Mr. Digit; you’re just a part.”

“That’s right, and Mr. Digit would have to disidentify from his inherent sense of being a glamorous little stump of a self and all the dramas that accompany that worldview of the noble, ring-bearing finger. I’m rather sure that he would also be certain that he was created in God’s image, which is pretty much saying that he should consider himself the center of the universe. I assure you that he would not comprehend anything you told him about his role as part of your hand; Mr. Digit would not get it for even one moment. It is the nature of all living organisms to be blind to the bigger picture, unable to see the levels or systems that exist beyond their small, little, however marvelous, unique, and separate selves.”

“You’re saying that a finger may know about fingernails and perhaps even other fingers but doesn’t see the whole hand. Hands know hands but don’t know arms, and so forth.”

“For now, you’ve got it. If you want to go deeper, I’ve got a book for you.”
^*3

Ted interrupted. “If Mr. Digit wasn’t a selfish little stump, he might just find himself on the wrong end of that hammer.
If the parts don’t take care of themselves, then there can be no whole, right?”

“The parts are important, but to evolve spiritually, we must also recognize that we are vibrant pieces of the whole and not just the champions of our own universe.”

“I’m still with you. This is better than law school.”

“Good. So here is what’s next: Our left-brained consciousness, our ego, is very much invested in believing we are the entire enchilada, the apex of creation, and not just a lump in the messy sauce of life. It can’t see or even conceive of anything upstream. The left side of the brain scoffs at nirvana. It’s simply unable to process the whole; it only sees parts. Your left brain might be threatened by the prospect of being dethroned as your central and dominating operating system. You might hit considerable resistance. If it helps you to get the point as we move forward, I could call you Ted Digit.”

Ted frowned and said, “I don’t think that’s necessary, but let me ask you something. Can this shift of perspective away from my Mr. Digit’s left-brained operating system happen? How can I help labeling myself in terms of my very personal, discrete Tedness?” He leaned back on the bench, with his hand still resting on Argo, and continued. “You said it’s the nature of all things to be somehow blinded to how they fit into the bigger picture. I think it was Albert Einstein who warned us that you cannot solve a problem with the same consciousness that created the problem in the first place.”

Angel leaned back on her hands and smiled to acknowledge
the point. “We have to learn to rewrite the software; otherwise, we’ll continually generate the same answers, and that is why most people are spiritually stuck.”

This concept seemed daunting to Ted. “It can’t be that easy rewiring our brain’s circuitry. Are we at risk of losing some good things if we try?”

“It’s a journey of becoming more aware of what is upstream, more global, and bigger than us and less identified with what is below us, downstream, or the drama beside us. You see, our brains have neuroplasticity:
^*4
the ability to generate new synapses. It is within the brain’s capacity to rewrite and improve its ‘software.’ As we get older, we tend to value certainty of the left brain over the curiosity of the right brain. In the face of this, we have to train ourselves to let go of knowing and take a more open stance to life. Some call it wonderment. Otherwise, it’s easy to educate ourselves away from being right-brained students of life to becoming left-brained experts or technocrats. We load up with facts and knowledge but don’t access much wisdom about life.”

Ted concurred only in part. “Clients pay me to be an expert and not a student.”

Angel nodded. “Perhaps we can allow ourselves to be experts in our trades, but students of life.”

“I don’t mind being a student, but I prefer to do it on a full stomach. I’m getting hungry.”

“So am I, but one more thing. Most of us intuitively grasp that there is more to the world than ‘me,’ but we struggle to put a word on all that rests above and beyond us. That’s why Father Chuck calls most religious teachings ‘signposts.’ At best, they only point us in the right direction.”

“That makes sense to me.”

“Good, then you’re ready for the third realization! Let’s grab a snack; the brain needs a lot of glucose to function. Would you like to take No Barks and Argo for a walk around the monastery’s lake?”

“A short break would suit both the left and the right sides of my brain.”

Much to Ted’s delight, Angel jumped up from the ground and reached for his hand. She held it softly for a moment and then gave it a yank. “Let’s go. There is no time for sitting around at Spirit Tech.”

“Is there a limit on just how enlightened I can get one day?”

Angel laughed. “Love your enthusiasm.”

Student, teacher, and canines wandered along the edge of the small monastery lake chatting and enjoying the sun on their faces. The wind rippled the surface of the water and stirred up the scents of juniper, cedar, and pine from the desert and nearby mountains. They walked shoulder to shoulder. Angel reached out from time to time and clutched Ted’s elbow, particularly when she wanted to make a convincing point. He had bruised this same elbow in his fateful accident, so the contact was both painful and exhilarating.

They stopped and Ted threw a small stone into the water. Facing the lake, Ted said, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the mountains. Grandpa Raines chided me for never getting out of Crossing Trails. All this beauty was just twelve hours away and I never bothered to see it.”

“So how did you end up in Kansas?”

“When I was a boy, I spent summers with my grandparents in Crossing Trails. They were the two constants in my life. When I got out of law school, the economy was tanking and jobs were limited. My grandfather asked me to come out and take over his law practice, so I did. Not long after that, Lisa
went back to Chicago to be with the handsomest man in our law school class. It worked out well for both of them. They’re already partners in big corporate firms making boatloads of money.”

“And how did it work out for you?” Angel asked.

“I’m fixing tickets and drawing up estate plans in Crossing Trails. Need I say more?”

“But you do some criminal work?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Aunt Lilly.”

Ted felt a little guilty for monopolizing Angel’s spiritual talents and wanted to show her that he had a few of his own. “Tell me more about Aunt Lilly.”

“Poor Aunt Lilly is a bit nuts.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sure Legal Aid has the resources to get her out of this mess. She could use a good, caring lawyer like Ted Day.”

“Truthfully, Angel, I don’t know about that. I’d like to help her, but like I said this morning, South Dakota is a whole different jurisdiction. This dream defense of hers bothers me too.”

“Didn’t you tell me that you experienced a vivid dream while sleeping in Bertha?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t that dream tell you something important?”

“I suppose so, Angel, but this is different. You can’t go shooting people, regardless of a powerful dream.”

“So, like that, you’ve already decided that she’s guilty?”

“The process—not the lawyers—decides who is innocent or guilty. The lawyers just make sure the process is fairly applied.”

“I see. Would you be comfortable making sure the process is fairly applied to my aunt Lilly?”

Ted doubted there was much he could do to help her aunt, but Angel was insistent, so he said, “I’ll make some calls and see if there is anything I can do.”

Angel again grabbed Ted’s sore elbow. “Our family would appreciate it.”

Angel found a nice grassy place not far from the shoreline. “We can sit here and get back to work, if you’re ready?”

“Bring it on! I’m ready for more, but first I’m stuck on something.”

“What?” Angel asked.

Without wanting to whine, Ted thought it important that he be honest. “Spirit Tech is a bit depressing!”

Angel should have anticipated Ted’s remark, but given that he was her first real student, she was caught off guard. “Really?” she asked.

“First you tell me I’m asleep. Second you tell me I don’t even know who I am. These aren’t self-esteem-building exercises.”

“I’m glad you mentioned this, and I want you to know I’ve taken your observation very seriously. It’s not my intention to depress you, but you’re right.”

“That’s good news?”

“Did I tell you what Father Chuck and the rest of my spiritual compatriots call ourselves, our little group?”

Ted thought a moment. “No, I don’t recall you telling me.”

“It wouldn’t have made sense to you then, but now it will. For two different reasons, we call ourselves
coconuts
. One, we’re poking fun. Most of the world probably thinks we’re nuts. But second, on a deeper level, getting to the milky essence of life isn’t that easy, but it’s the whole point. You have to crack the hairy, hard outer shell of the self. A coconut is a metaphor for the spiritual journey.”

Ted couldn’t help himself. “That’s it—in a nutshell?”

Angel playfully slapped at Ted’s arm. “For our group, cracking the shell, or transformation, is the most important human task. And you’re absolutely right; it’s not necessarily easy or fun. At times it is downright difficult, but the good news is that you can learn good techniques for shell cracking.”

“Is that where traveling spiritual consultants come in?” Ted cowered, covering his head, as if expecting a blow.

“Not just me. Father Chuck argues that transformation—shell cracking—is the true essence of Jesus’s teaching. My Sufi friends, and Mashid Marabi in particular, describe the paths that transform consciousness as ‘the Work.’
^*1
The eldest of our group, Steve Singleton, would point out that Buddhism is a
path of transformation that starts with the First Noble Truth. All of life is suffering. We all have shells to crack.”

“No pain, no gain?” Ted asked.

Angel rolled her eyes at Ted and continued. “I suppose so. ‘The Work’ is a general term for the pain we take on, the spiritual lessons we must learn, in order to gain, or wake up, and enjoy the good stuff that rests beneath the shell.”

“Thank you. That makes me feel a little better about spirit school, but it begs yet another question. Do you have enough energy for one more?” Angel did not answer, so Ted checked his watch and prodded, “What—are you in the teachers’ union?”

“One more, then let’s break.”

“How do we do this
Work
—crack open the shell?”

“When you look closely, the best workbooks are very similar.”

Surprised by her answer, Ted asked, “So a Christian workbook might not look different from a Muslim or a Buddhist workbook?”

“Yes, and there are other workbooks that aren’t religious. At least not in the traditional sense.”

“Like?”

“I’ll describe a common spiritual approach to cracking the shell of ego. What Mr. Digit needs to thrive, to really sink his roots into deep, fertile soil, is another convenient left-brain construct. We call it
time
.”

Having to keep daily time sheets and charging by the hour for his work, Ted had an unusual slant on time. He saw it as having considerable intrinsic value. “Time is how we order
our lives. Without time, life wouldn’t be precious. Knowing that I only have fourteen days at Spirit Tech provides us with a structure to do this work.”

“Yet when we dig deeper into time, we find something very interesting.” Angel leaned back and the wind swept a thick strand of her long black hair off her shoulder and onto her face. Ted reached over and returned the unruly strand to its proper place, where it would not distract his professor. Angel smiled and continued, “To get here, Eckhart Tolle and other spiritual teachers make an important distinction between psychological time and clock time.”
^*2

Ted was not going to give up easily. He took the errant strand of hair and tossed it back in her face. “Surely thinking about the past and the future are worthwhile endeavors—glancing back at where we’ve been and thinking ahead about where we want to go? We all have to do that.”

“Yes, that would be a very good endeavor in theory, but it’s just not what we do. Your mind processes time more like a daytime TV game show.”

“Are you going to ask me if I’m smarter than some third grader?”

“Trust me, you’re not.” Angel picked a bit of grass off No Barks’s back and flicked it onto Ted before continuing. “The game show called
Ted’s Deal
is just like the real show; you get to choose between three doors.”