“You know what a master is like,” she cautioned me.
“Oh yeah.”
“He’s as likely to whack you as to talk to you.”
I climbed the last steps to the master’s hermitage resolved not to submit to any slap-in-the-face treatment.
I found him with his feet in a tub of hot water. Steam rose and the air was pleasantly scented with mountain herbs as one of his handmaidens palpated his feet. I was curious to see whether she would dry them with her lustrous black hair, that fell to the floor.
“Move the chest,” he directed me.
I contemplated the great iron-banded box without enthusiasm.
“Where?”
He indicated the far corner.
I half-lifted, half-carried the heavy trunk to the place he indicated, wondering what he kept in it.
“Now bring it back. And don’t drag it. Pick it up.”
I felt the veins bulge on my forehead as I struggled to carry out these instructions. I nearly made it back. Then the trunk slid from my grip, landing painfully on my left foot.
The master waited until I had stopped howling before he spoke again. “Why do you come to me?”
“Master, I come to you because I wish to see."
“Then why are your eyes open?”
“Master?”
I realized, at that moment, that the master’s eyes were closed. I understood that I was to close my own.
“Closer,” he commanded.
I felt the stir of movement. I heard the swish of the loose silk of his garment, and pictured his arm swinging back, fist clenched. Here it comes.
I intended to duck the blow, but something kept me in place, on my knees in front of him. What was that buzzing sound? It made me think of a bee, trapped behind glass. It came closer.
I felt burning pain as something pierced me at the third eye, like a drill bit. Immediately the girl was at my side, soothing my forehead with an ointment that smelled like yogurt.
When she left off, there was absolute stillness in the cabin. Then I heard the soft slap of water from the footbath.
I opened my eyes. There was no change in the scene. The black-haired girl squatted at the master’s feet, as before. I felt no surge of enlightenment. I did notice that one of the master’s eyes was now open. Above and between his closed eyelids, it fixed me with its blue light, cold and unwinking.
Interesting threads about eyes and sight weaving through your posts - first with Odin then another master. As Odin is identified with Mercury, the Messenger of the Gods, I wonder what message may be on its way?
ReplyDeleteBarbara - I suppose there is an echo between the posts. Both involve the price of vision. The content comes from different times in my life. While the original "Mercury/Odin Squirt" sequence is harvested from my journals for early 2005, my little jeu d'esprit on "A Master of the Third Eye" was composed during a 10-minute timed writing exercise in one of my recent creative writing playshops.
ReplyDeleteWhat a compelling piece, Robert. I wonder if enlightenment is like that, steady and unwinking (honestly, I wouldn't know :-). Not really joking... I might have expected the rush of bliss, but maybe that's not at all the nature of clear vision. At any rate, I enjoyed reading this!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Savannah. While I'm much in favor of the "rush of bliss", I'm not sure that this consorts very well with clarity of vision!
ReplyDeleteI dream occasionally (in spontaneous night dreams) of characters who have a third eye, or open a third eye, rather in the manner that Hindu deities are depicted. None of them, in this mode, are "rush of bliss" types.
I had conversations with two people today regarding two different choices that will involve immense change, even wrenching letting go in the process of moving forward. One choice felt particularly right to me. It was with the person who said:
ReplyDelete"I would expect that your presence would help us move into the future more awake."
She mentioned that "First it will feel as if the rug is being pulled out from under you."
I thought, "Here is someone who understands."
Carol - I've noticed that it's easier to cope with that sensation of having the rug pulled out from under us in a way that hurls us forward if we are already moving in the right direction, rather than standing still or trying to back up.
ReplyDeleteA "creative writing playshop". WOW. I know what I'm going to do this afternoon (and am finding it difficult to not start the exercise right now).
ReplyDeleteWriting letters to various parts of myself (and writing down the answers that follow) has often helped me. I also like to write letters to myself from various "other" parts of myself and then as my postman to stick a given letter in the mail box "whenever it feels right... tomorrow, next year... whenever." And the letter's content is always remarkably appropiate upon reception.
Yet I never had the idea to write to myself in story form. What a fabulous idea!
Irene - I love your practice of writing letters to and from different parts of yourself. We do need to hear and harmonize the voices of our many aspects, and hopefully bring all together under the skylight of the Higher Self.
ReplyDeleteAstounding story Robert. The insight and the experience are incredible. It is a courageous battle, indeed, to stay awake – eyes open and eyes closed. Kindness has many faces indeed.
ReplyDelete