Desire

Now Darjeeling really didn’t know what to do. He reached for the latch, the same kind of leather latch as was on the other cabin by the lake shore. It was tied fast from within. He knocked on the door, a sheepish, feeble knock that even he barely heard. He knocked again, louder this time. No answer. He walked over to the window to look in, but the rice paper being opaque allowed no insight into the cabin. He tried to push on the rice paper, but for some reason it did not give. He was not able to physically come into contact with the rice paper. It seemed like there was a barrier between his finger and the window. He walked to the other window knowing he would find the same situation. He walked around the house, now resigned to the fact that he would not be able to get in. So, returning to the front of the house, he sat down cross-legged in front of the cabin door, resolving to stay because he had no where else to go. He watched the honeybees fly from flower to flower, drinking themselves full of nectar and gathering pollen for their long flight home. He became conscious of their humming and tried to match his voice to the note of their singing. He picked one of the flowers near him and stuck his tongue into the petals, tasting the sweet nectar. Now he heard a sweeter singing coming from inside the cabin so he dropped the flower and stood up, straining to hear the song the old woman sang. It wasn’t a song at all, it was a mantra that she chanted over and over: Om a hum, vajra Guru padme siddhi hum. The black tee shirt he had on was chafing his skin so he took it off and stepped toward the cabin. He could hear more clearly now and so, like he had done with the honeybees, he matched his voice to hers and chanted from outside. She stopped. He continued chanting the mantra three more times and then followed with another: Om gate gate, paragate, parasamgate, boddhi svaha.
The leather latch on the door loosened and the door cracked open an inch or so. A glowing light from inside spread around the door frame and the windows, too, became brighter. Darjeeling could smell wonderful incense and hear all manner of bells and chimes and soft flute playing. The taste of the nectar on his tongue intensified a hundredfold. He could hear soft chanting from inside as he tried the door. He could not touch it but as he moved his hand forward, the door moved toward the inside of the cabin. When it was opened about a foot, he peered around the door jamb, looking inside. There were flowers, huge Georgia O’Keefe type flowers filling the cabin. A rich oriental rug was on the floor. Censors burned incense with a heady aroma of hashish. The small starlike lights danced inside the cabin. He looked as the door opened wider, wide enough for him to enter. He looked around but could not see the old lady. As he stepped into the cabin, one of the starlights attached itself to him and he could not move. He felt himself rising and looked down to see the sandals come off of his feet. The sandals were placed next to hers. On top of the two pair of sandals, folded black tee shirts appeared. He gently returned to the floor on the luxurious carpet on which was woven five imperial dragons, head to tail in a circle. Inside the circle of dragons, a golden eight pointed star glowed in the diffuse light given off by the constantly moving starpoints of light. Then he saw her.
The beautiful Chinese lady sat Buddha-like, floating effortlessly above the golden star. Her countenance was so beautiful he nearly fainted. She stepped onto the carpet and came toward him, sweetly singing and smiling, beckoning him with her swirling hands. Her skin was golden like the light and the woven star. Her arm and hand moved toward him and she pointed out the cabin door, her long finger nail etching a brighter golden light in the air. Outside the cabin door the honeybees danced in the burning sunlight, gathering nectar for their long flight home. In the peacefulness of the cabin she became the consort of his desire, lifting a bowl of sweet red nectar to his lips and wrapping her arm around his neck. On top of the sandals and tee shirts appeared the folded white painter pants. The cabin door closed and the leather latch fell in place. He joined with her in tantric embrace as the light flickered and the drone of the honeybees filled the air. The two of them rose in the air above the golden star, locked in their cosmic dance, like the dance of honeybees, drinking the sweet red nectar, the nectar of flowers.
The light became brighter now, the humming louder. The golden star glowed fiercely and the dragon’s breath became fire. Fire was everywhere in the cabin now and Darjeeling could hear voices of the dead crying out. Their two bodies became larger, hers a brilliant golden yellow and his, a dark blue. He noticed now that he had six blue arms and a necklace of skulls. She held the skull cup of blood to his lips and pulled him tightly to her, her third eye gazing into his as she danced on the dead. The roar of the flames was deafening now and he cried out as the walls of the cabin collapsed around them.
When he awoke, he was lying on the deck in the middle of the octagon. His dogs were looking at him with that funny sideways dog look, whining and licking his hands and face. He stood up and looked at himself. He stumbled slightly as he headed for the house, oblivious to the stinging of the honeybee he stepped on. His clothes smelled smoky and he felt nauseous. A cold Mickey’s would be in order now he thought as he sorted out the meaning of this strange occurrence. He went to the refrigerator and pulled out two of the green bottles, unscrewing the first and chugging down the cold beer, spilling some out of the corners of his mouth. It cut through the smoky taste in his mouth and he sat down at his artist table, knocking off some books and a Buddhist meditation card. He picked the card up off of the floor. It was the yoga deity Kalachakra locked in embrace with his cosmic partner Vishvamata. He finished the first beer and unscrewed the second, his mind numb and his hands shaking. “Got to get hold of yourself, boy,” he said it out loud and the words echoed in his ears. As the sun set, he punched the power button on the CD player. He laughed a little as he thought to himself that a little Grateful Dead might be in order. The familiar first notes of China Cat Sunflower filled the room and he lit a stick of incense. At some point in the song he drifted off to sleep.