Coattail Karma

by Verlin Darrow

  “Hey, old man! Have you seen a guy in the water?”

  “What kind of a guy?”

  “He’s Asian. Maybe mid-thirties,” Frank said.

  “No, I haven’t seen anybody like that. Did he have a red hat on?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? Did you see anyone or not?”

  “I don’t like your tone,” Marco said.

  Frank swore at him, and the speedboat roared away.

  “Wow,” I said.

  “So if I say or do something that doesn’t make sense to you,” Marco told me, “try not to pay attention to that.”

  “You got it.”

  I was completely baffled by what I’d witnessed. Once again, though, I wasn’t having any sort of emotional reaction to it.

  “Let’s be silent for the rest of the trip,” Marco suggested.

  “Okay. Is there some special reason?”

  “It’ll help me keep you invisible,” he said. “The same part of my brain that does words does that, too.”

  “Just tell me this,” I said. “How far is your island? I kind of need to pee.”

  Marco held up one finger.

  “One mile?”

  He shook his head.

  “One more minute?”

  He shook it again.

  This was absurd. I was in a rowboat in some obscure corner of New Zealand with a magician or a psychic or God knew who, and now we were playing charades.

  I gave it one last try. “One hour?”

  Marco nodded.

  “You row over an hour each way to go out for breakfast?”

  He nodded and smiled.

  I shut up and peed over the side. I was very wet, very cold, and very confused.

  ****

  It turned out I’d seen Marco’s island on the trip across the bay the day before. It was only a few acres across—maybe five or six—with a modest tin-roofed home perched on a hillock in the middle of it. Several small sheds were scattered around the property, and all the buildings were painted black.

  “Black?” I asked as we drew close to our destination.

  “It’s an easy color to make disappear,” Marco said, his first words in an hour.

  “But I can see them,” I said.

  “Some people can, some people can’t.”

  “Oh.”

  A beagle came racing down to the rock ledge we seemed to be heading toward. There wasn’t a dock or a beach.

  “That’s Lucy,” Marco told me. “She’ll like you.”

  “Dogs do tend to like me,” I said, shooting for modesty with my tone of voice.

  “She likes everybody.”

  “Oh.” I felt embarrassed—my first emotion in a while. “Hey, I’m feeling stuff again,” I said.

  He smiled. “Your emotions are no longer likely to endanger us,” he told me. “So feel away, my friend.”

  Lucy did like me, and I liked her. She ran in figure eights between our legs as we walked up an impeccably landscaped path to the house. Or the back patio of the house, actually, which was a simple array of irregular slices of limestone, topped by a wooden pergola. Two aluminum-framed beach chairs sat on the patio facing the water, and a blue plastic cooler served as a low table between them.

  Marco gestured to one of the chairs and ambled into the house, so I sat. In a moment, he returned with a brown comforter, which he draped around me. I kept wearing the magic hat. Then he sat as well. Lucy lay beside Marco, her front feet splayed forward and her head on the cool stone.

  “Would you like to ask me questions?” Marco said.

  “Yes, I certainly would.” That was a massive understatement. “Is English a second language for you?” I thought I’d start with something easy.

  “Fourth. I grew up speaking Italian in Argentina.”

  “Oh.”

  I examined him more closely. Argentina fit. I could see that he was as much Italian as Hispanic. Overall, there was nothing remarkable about Marco’s looks. He could’ve been a gardener in a movie, or maybe a bail bondsman. He definitely had charisma, though—something powerful behind his looks.

  “How did you recognize me as the clone person?” I asked. “Have you seen the others around?”

  “The cavern you were in holds a strong energetic charge, and it’s in you now,” Marco said.

  “How can a cave hold energy? What do you mean?”

  He leaned over to scratch behind Lucy’s ear just as she wriggled sideways to try to scratch it herself. She sank back down with a grunt. “The man-made part of the cavern predates modern migration to New Zealand,” Marco said. “It goes back thousands of years, so the energy in there has had more time to build up than elsewhere on these islands.”

  I considered this. Maybe places embodied energy, and maybe they didn’t. What did I know? “So that told you where I’d been,” I said. “But how did you know I was Buddha’s clone? Isn’t that a big secret?”

  “You’re not.”

  “What do you mean I’m not?”

  “You’re not a clone. You’re not Buddha. He’s done.”

  “Done? Wait a minute. Who were all those guys in the cave?”

  “They looked like you?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Your brothers.”

  “Dozens of them?”

  “You’re one of a set of identical triplets from Nepal who were separated soon after birth and adopted internationally.” Marco’s impassive face and relaxed posture revealed little about him. Clearly, none of this represented a big deal to him. That much I could tell. Does he have great boundaries—a strong awareness that my problems are mine, not his? Or maybe he’s just world weary and nothing matters anymore. He continued in his even tone. “Bhante found the other two and trained them in accents and quick costume changes—you can buy breakaway outfits to use onstage. The cavern is riddled with hidden passages, so they could keep appearing from room to room. I’m sure you never saw more than two at a time.”

  I was stunned by this information. Was it true? On balance, it certainly seemed more likely than the clone story. And it was true that I’d never seen more than two duplicates at any one time.

  Marco spoke again. “You may be a Buddha. I’m just telling you that you’re not the Buddha—Siddhartha Gautama.”

  “But what’s the point? Why would they go to all that trouble?” I asked.

  “I’m sure Bhante explained it to you.” He smiled—just a little. He’s enjoying remaining an enigma despite all the opportunities in our conversation to show me something—anything—that revealed who the hell he was. “Except for the clone business,” he continued, “he tends to be fairly straightforward. They want you and everyone else to believe there’s a fabulous new teacher on the scene. Someone with impeccable credentials. Buddha.”

  “Why?”

  “His organization believes that unless more people wake up to the truth, the world will end. Through the centuries, apocalyptic thinking has justified all sorts of unprincipled means.”

  Does Marco actually understand the metaphysics behind Bhante’s belief? “Is there any truth to it? Does the world need me?”

  “Yes, but not in the way you think. We’ll discuss this after your enlightenment.” Now he straightened in his beach chair, reminding me of a professor at UCSC who’d shifted into schoolmarm mode right before sharing any information she was planning to use on a test.

  Enlightenment is something theoretical you read about in biographies of saints. Is he serious? Me?

  Marco smiled as he watched me wrestle with this.

  “Are you Bhante’s boss or something? Is that how you know about this?” I asked.

  “Oh, no. He only knows me as a rumor.” Marco held his hands unnaturally, perfectly still, as though he had an itch he was refusing to scratch.

  “What about RGP?”

  “Who?”

  “RGP. It’s some rival Buddhist group,” I told him, pulling the comforter tight around me. I wished I had the new clothes that were sitting on
the floor of the bay in the Silent Love. Well, the dry version of them.

  “I’ve never heard of RGP.” Everything Marco said still sounded neutral and descriptive—to the point that it was impossible to discern what he thought or felt about any of it.

  I paused again and tried to sort through all this, playing catch-up, as always. How many times would I have to endure a sudden wholesale reappraisal of who I was?

  “Would you like a beer?” Marco asked.

  “Sure. Thank you.”

  He arose and walked into the house again. I patted the red ski cap down onto my head and slouched farther down in my beach chair. I looked at Lucy, and her eyes swiveled to look back at me. I felt strangely content to just sit there. Perhaps I’d momentarily given up on trying to figure anything out. Obviously, Marco represented a realm far beyond anything I’d ever encountered before. Letting go of trying to make sense gave rise to relief—an unburdening. Fuck sense, Marco had said. As I sat on the patio with my new beagle friend, this sounded like excellent advice.

  Marco returned with a bottle in each hand. “Which one would you like?” he asked as he sat.

  It seemed like a test—something a Zen master would ask to assess his student’s progress. I cocked an eyebrow. He laughed.

  “Actually,” he said. “They’re both bad. It’s hard to get good beer here.” Now he waved the bottles in the air as if he were hawking them at a baseball game. I flinched momentarily, surprised that this sort of behavior was in his repertoire.

  “Here in New Zealand?” I asked. “They have bad beer?”

  “Here in my refrigerator. I inherited the beer in it. I’m not much of a drinker.” Marco handed me the bottle in his left hand and sat next to me again. He placed his on the top of the cooler that sat between us, unopened. His compact, efficient movements hinted at an athletic background. Even his bottle waving had been strikingly in control and graceful.

  I took a swig. “It’s fine.”

  “Great. So what else do you want to know?” He tossed that off as if he were prepared to tell me how to change a tire.

  “Who are you?”

  “Marco.” His face, as usual gave nothing away. I wasn’t accustomed to only knowing someone from his bare words.

  “I mean, how did you acquire all these special abilities? Are you enlightened? Are you a sorcerer? Are you from the future?” All of this fell out of me in rapid succession without forethought. I guess my subconscious had relapsed into trying to make sense.

  “If I have to pick from your list,” Marco said, tilting his head, “enlightened is the closest. But it’s a misleading term.”

  “How’s that?”

  “It isn’t what you imagine it to be. Being fully awake is a very matter-of-fact state. There are no fireworks.”

  “I’d say that reading minds was fairly fireworksy,” I said with energy. “And making people invisible certainly qualifies.”

  “There’s no one here doing it. Marco is just a construct. You are too, but you don’t realize it.”

  “So you’re saying you’re enlightened, but you’re not here to enjoy it? Should I feel sorry for you?”

  He laughed his liquid laugh. “I like that. Yes, let’s both have a good cry, Sid. Boo-hoo. I’m so sad. All I know is oneness and love. Poor me.” He laughed again. I wanted to say something else ridiculous just to hear him laugh.

  “So it’s not something to like or dislike?” I asked and sipped my beer. “It just is?”

  “Okay, that’s fine. Here’s the main thing, Sid.” He pointed at me, the first time he’d emphasized any of his words with a physical action. “Don’t think you know what’s going on because you can put a word to it. Enlightenment is just a word.”

  At that point, he held his hands up at eye level and bent his fingers into odd shapes. It was as though he were making animal shadow puppets. Then he closed his eyes, and a moment later, I felt a tingling surge through my chest. I was alarmed. “What’s going on?” I asked. It was similar to Sam’s energy but much stronger.

  He didn’t respond. I began to heat up, the warmth spreading concentrically from the middle of my chest—from my heart. The tingling increased too—becoming a strong buzzing. It was almost overwhelming. And then it was overwhelming.

  I began to sob as waves of bliss shuddered through me. It was so much more than an orgasm—so much deeper, so much more expansive, so unlimited. All of me was alive with love and joy and boundless energy. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t see. Every cell of me was flooded with love. And the love kept building. I was bursting with it. I kept sobbing. It was so intense, I thought I couldn’t bear it. It seared me. And yet it kept building.

  I don’t know how long I was lost in the experience, but when I eventually became aware of my surroundings again, I found myself on my feet. Marco was hugging me, and it was clear now that he was nothing more than that same energy. It emanated from him, merging with the energy that I had become. It was all the same—all there was. Marco was just a purer, stronger—more concentrated—version of this universal energy.

  Eventually, he spoke to me soothingly in soft Italian. Even if he’d spoken English, I probably wouldn’t have understood. And if he weren’t holding me up, I would’ve toppled to the ground.

  Lovingly, Marco cradled me and guided me down into my beach chair. He returned to his seat, and we sat together again. I cried quietly; the tears leaked out of their own accord. An aliveness settled in me—no longer scouring me. The surge of energy had modified me to be able to hold it—not as intense waves now, but as part of me. I sat in my chair and welcomed the energy home. I felt whole. It was sublime.

  After quite some time, Marco spoke. “Things will be different now,” he said. He gave me a moment to make sense of the words. It was an effort. “Your heart is open. It won’t stay open, but remember this moment. Remember this glimpse of what can be—of what is.”

  I sat with that. I couldn’t really think about it, but I could hang out with it for a while.

  I was completely in my heart, experiencing the world without all my usual mind filters. Colors were brighter, and objects were somehow more three-dimensional. I was more conscious of the space between things, too. Air wasn’t the absence of something; it was an invisible bridge between everything. Where I left off and the world began seemed less defined. Sounds, smells, and even the sensation of my body’s weight against the fabric seat of the chair were all greatly enhanced as well.

  Things were simultaneously more and less real. At the perceptual level, I was so much more in contact with the world, it was ten times more “there” to experience. So it was realer—to me. But I could also sense—in the moment—that it was all just energy. Nothing was solid, really. Nothing was as it seemed to be. I was seeing more clearly, but all there was to see was the massive illusion that energy had conjured.

  In that moment, I wasn’t interested in why this was so or where the game of life would take me. I was content to be with it as it was—real, unreal, or anything else. I’d never felt so calm, peaceful, and accepting.

  As much as I would have liked to remain in that state forever, my mind began to intrude, and my ego gradually slithered its way back into the mix as well. I could hang on to all of what had happened as a vivid memory, but my ongoing experience was devolving into a very dilute version of what Marco had given me.

  “Was that what it’s like for you all the time?” I asked after a while. I couldn’t imagine someone functioning in the world with all that bliss. How could you even pretend to care about ordinary crap?

  “Not exactly. I’m always aligned with the energy—doing its bidding—embodying it. But it’s integrated in me—or I’m integrated in it, I suppose. So I don’t experience it as a feeling or a sensation or something separate. Are you following me?”

  I nodded. “My brain is mostly back. Unfortunately.”

  He smiled. “So as Marco the construct person, I’m in love with everyone and everything. But there’s reall
y no ‘I’ that’s experiencing this. It’s love experiencing love. There’s only love. You understand this now, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I was love—love energy—and now I’m me again. Sort of. But the love is still there.” I paused a moment. “I guess you found love and never went back to being you, right?”

  “Yes. If you arrive there on your own, when you’re ready, it’s abiding,” he said, shifting in his seat.

  “Abiding?”

  “Permanent. Continuous.”

  I paused again to consider this. “So what was it that you did to me, anyway?” I asked. “How did that work?”

  “All I did was send you chi—the energy that animates everything. The love. I didn’t decide to do it. The energy arranged my hands and sent itself out.” He smiled. “I’m chock full of chi,” he said. “Chubby with chi.” He laughed his laugh.

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes. A sudden influx of a limited amount of chi can work wonders. It activates all sorts of things. The Hindus call it Shaktipat.”

  “Did you say ‘limited’? That wasn’t the full-bore version?” I was astonished.

  “No. So-called individual people are very limited energy containers,” Marco said. “Your current internal configuration can only hold a certain amount of life force gracefully. Beyond that, the integrity of the container becomes compromised, and there’s permanent damage.”

  “You can calibrate that?”

  Marco nodded.

  “This is the Chinese medicine chi?”

  “Yes. The concept doesn’t exist in English.”

  I was becoming cold again, so I gathered the damp comforter at my feet and pulled it up over me. Our conversation was another thing that was different now. I heard and understood Marco more effortlessly than before, and I had much less of an urge to pick at what he told me. One thing was simply leading to another—more questions from me, mostly—but it wasn’t an overly willful chain of events. It just felt like what needed to happen next.