Coattail Karma

by Verlin Darrow

  His hands were apart on his lap—he held them still—and a ball of golden energy gathered between them. A moment later, he released the bright orb into the tomb. The new force reminded me of Bhante’s energy field, but it was much stronger.

  The two men’s energies didn’t meld at all; the phenomenon was intense and chaotic in the enclosed space. One rebounded off the other, whirling and dancing and splitting into weird energy shards. It was difficult to bear.

  I gathered myself and held firm against this onslaught. Perhaps if it had been aimed directly at me, I couldn’t have managed.

  “Let’s talk,” Marco called.

  Both men looked up, and the energy instantly stopped. It was an amazing contrast. One second all hell was breaking loose, and the next, the tomb was exquisitely peaceful.

  “Marco,” the Tibetan man said in a thick accent. His voice was low and raspy.

  “Marco,” the older man acknowledged. He spoke with an upper-class English accent. His voice was soft and tired-sounding.

  “Hello, Rinpoche,” Marco said to the Tibetan. “Hello, Ram,” he said to the Indian man.

  I looked closer. It was Ram. Billionaire Ram. Without the purple haze in the air, bare of whatever makeup and disguise he’d employed when we first met on his boat, it was clearly Ram.

  “Hello, Sid,” he said. “I’m sorry for my deception in New Zealand. It was necessary.”

  “That’s what people keep saying,” I replied.

  “Who are you?” Rinpoche asked me.

  “That’s a good question,” I said. “I wish I knew.”

  He laughed uproariously—a deep, throaty belly laugh. “Very good. Good answer,” he said. “Sit. Please, sit. Both of you.”

  “Sid is Bhante’s find, and I’ve been working with him,” Marco told the man as we hunkered down, our backs against Baba’s crypt.

  “You’ve finally taken a student? Good for you. It’s about time,” Rinpoche said.

  “Is it appropriate that Sid be here?” Ram asked. “How much does he know?”

  “Most of it,” Marco said. “And you might want to take a moment and sense his energy.”

  There was a pause while they both checked me out. I felt it as tendrils snaking through my torso. Then both of them nodded. I guess they weren’t doling out compliments or handing out grades, but I still felt disappointed neither one said something along the lines of “Holy shit!” or “That’s some terrific energy you’ve got, stud!” Especially since I was still unable to feel it myself.

  “To answer your question more directly, Ram,” Marco said, “it is important that he sit in at our meeting. I think you’ll see why, presently.” Again, both of the other men nodded.

  “I’ll just bring Sid up to speed on a few things, and then we can proceed,” Marco said.

  “Very well,” Ram said.

  Marco spoke to me next. “Ram really is Burt’s great-uncle. He’s also Bhante’s boss, even though he’s not a Buddhist. He was a psychiatrist, then Meher Baba’s confidant, and now he’s a billionaire.”

  Ram nodded as I glanced at him.

  “Bhante left traditional Buddhism behind to work with Ram, who is Baba’s successor in the spiritual hierarchy,” Marco continued.

  “But Bhante presented himself as such a staunch Buddhist traditionalist,” I protested. “He even said that non-Theravadan Buddhism was crap—well, he used a nicer word, of course.”

  “Overcompensation,” Ram said. “Guilt. All that psychological mumbo-jumbo I used to peddle.”

  Marco spoke to me again. “When Baba passed the baton on to Ram, he kept it a secret so Ram could carry out his duties without interference or distraction.”

  “Baba regretted becoming a public figure,” Ram said. “He told me to drop out of sight—to use my abilities to build a life that afforded me anonymous freedom. I settled on the lifestyle of a reclusive rich man.”

  “Why are we wasting time?” Rinpoche said. “Hand him your résumé, Ram. Let’s be done with this.”

  Marco held up his hand. “Bear with me,” he said.

  Rinpoche nodded again.

  “May I ask a question?” I asked.

  “Certainly,” Ram answered.

  “What did Baba say to you when he finally broke his silence?”

  “Ah, Burt told you about that. Well, there’s no harm in revealing it now. He said, ‘All craving is a devaluation of the present moment. If you can be in love with each moment—with exactly how things are—then you shall not know suffering.’ ”

  Rinpoche spoke up. “Amen, as they say in your country, Sid.”

  I nodded my agreement. There it was in a nutshell—a recipe for happiness.

  “Now, this other gentleman,” Marco said, gesturing at the Tibetan, “is a bit of an enigma.”

  Rinpoche smiled. “I prefer to think of myself as a riddle,” he said.

  “So I can’t tell you much about him. He started out as a monk, and he’s still pretending to be one. He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t like Ram. I don’t know what he likes. But Baba is definitely the soul inside him. See if you can sense that, Sid. He is the reincarnated avatar.”

  I closed my eyes and gave it a try. I could not. I opened my eyes and shook my head.

  “In the interest of fairness,” Rinpoche said in his thick accent, “I wish to tell you more about your teacher.”

  “Sure. Go ahead,” I said.

  “He has acquired his power in illicit ways.”

  I looked at the others. Ram nodded his agreement. Marco watched the Tibetan impassively.

  Rinpoche continued. “He is exploiting you as he has exploited others. His ambition always steers him away from proper behavior. He has no place in the spiritual hierarchy because of this, yet his energy and power keep him knocking on our door, threatening to knock it down someday—which he may. One of us needs to direct universal energy on this plane, but we should all pray it isn’t Bruno.”

  I looked at Marco, who still looked serene and untroubled.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Bruno. You’re calling him Bruno now?”

  Rinpoche smiled.

  “He’s screwing with you,” Marco said.

  Rinpoche continued to smile and then spoke again. I enjoyed hearing his beautiful, low-pitched voice and his odd accent. I’d never met a Tibetan before. It was a shame he was saying such disturbing things.

  “I can sense now you will be an important teacher, Sid,” he said. “So you need to be properly trained. No one will follow you, and you can share no wisdom with the world unless you are charismatic and command respect. You are not these things now, are you?”

  “No, and I’m not saying I am. But why don’t you do all of this yourself? Why me? And who would be the best trainer if it’s not Marco? You?”

  Rinpoche smiled and wouldn’t answer. Mr. Enigma—aka Mr. Annoying.

  Marco turned to Ram. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”

  “I have had a different experience of you,” he said. “I have seen a mixture of problematic and salutary qualities. I would tell Sid to keep his mind open about all of this. Answers emerge when we’re ready.”

  Ram looked at me and smiled. I glanced at Rinpoche and Marco. They were both smiling, too. I was sick of smiling. It was as if I had to pick which smile I liked the best, but I didn’t like any of them. They were all scary smiles, fraught with hidden meaning and vast power.

  I just sat. I was in way over my head with this crowd, and I had no idea what to do. So I just sat. Maybe answers would emerge. Maybe they’d tear me limb from limb. Maybe I’d wake up and all this would be a dream.

  “Let’s get started,” Marco said to the others. “Thank you both for agreeing to this meeting.”

  The two men nodded again. I was sick of that, too. It was all nods and smiles with these guys.

  “So what can we do to settle this?” Marco asked. “We can’t go on this way.”

  “Agreed,” Ram said.

  “I’m listening,” Rinp
oche said.

  “I have several ideas,” Marco said. “And I’m open to hearing yours. We could share power, with clearly defined boundaries and no overlap. Or we could hold some sort of contest to see who’s the most capable, although I can’t imagine what that would look like.”

  “Neither can I,” Rinpoche said.

  “We could also flip a coin,” Marco continued. “Or whatever else we could devise that would mimic chance.”

  “There is no such thing as chance,” Ram said.

  “Of course not,” Marco agreed. “Another option, we could fight an all-out war and see who’s left standing.”

  “That is not an option,” Rinpoche said. “We would destroy that which we seek to preserve.”

  “Agreed,” Ram said.

  These people had no idea how brainstorming worked. Let the man finish. Then I understood what Marco was doing. He was presenting all the unpalatable possibilities first so when he presented them with the one he wanted, they’d appreciate it more.

  That’s exactly what he offered next. “Or we could agree to a neutral third party who could do the job for us,” he said. “Someone we could all agree to work with. Someone with the requisite energy configuration. Someone free from the constraints of a religious tradition or the bias of any spiritual background.”

  There was a pause. Then they all looked at me. I felt my guts tighten. My head hurt, too.

  “I’ve already got a job,” I said. “And I’m not neutral. At the moment, I’m terrified of all of you, especially Rinpoche because of his creepy smile.”

  He laughed again. “Very good. ‘Creepy smile.’ Excellent.”

  “And I’m mad at Ram for lying to me. And Marco has been both very annoying and very helpful ever since I met him, so I don’t know what to think. Let’s say I’m ambivalent about him. You need someone who’s never met any of you—somebody new.”

  “It’s an interesting idea,” Ram said, completely ignoring me. “Instead of using Sid as a proxy as my organization had planned, we could actually show him how to do the work and leave him to it. And clearly, Marco, you’ve been moving him along splendidly. Rinpoche, what do you think?”

  “I gather, until quite recently, this man was rather ordinary, wasn’t he? We’re not on Broadway here. This is not My Fair Lady. It could take years to develop him properly.”

  “So?” Marco said. “Suppose we declared a truce in the meantime. Suppose we joined forces to train him for a few years.”

  “It could work,” Ram said. “I won’t be around much longer, anyway. I don’t wish to waste my remaining years squabbling. Nor do I want to hand things over to either of you.” He glared at the two other men.

  “I can’t work with Marco,” Rinpoche said. “But otherwise, the concept is sound. Unprecedented, but sound. The way around any impasse is sideways, after all.”

  The others nodded. I cleared my throat. “Once again,” I said. “I’m not interested in the job. This won’t work if I’m a draftee instead of a volunteer, will it?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but my pitch rose and I spoke hurriedly. I could feel panic welling up. There was only so much I could take.

  They all ignored me.

  “Look at the Vietnam war,” I added. “Our draftee army was a bunch of dope-smoking slackers.”

  Rinpoche laughed. “That war was Ram’s mess,” he said.

  “Baba’s,” Ram insisted.

  God, they were a cold, ruthless trio. This was all about power, not love or compassion.

  “Sid has a point,” Marco said.

  “Yes, I do,” I said, “And furthermore—”

  Rinpoche waved a hand at me, and my vocal cords tightened. I couldn’t speak at all. Now I felt full-blown panic, but I couldn’t do anything about it.

  “If we agree to this idea in principle,” Ram said, continuing to speak as if Rinpoche’s striking someone mute was nothing special, “then we can look at how to take care of that aspect later. We are all creative. I have no doubt that if we need to, we can surmount these sorts of obstacles.”

  “True,” Marco said.

  “Here is my objection,” Rinpoche said. “I don’t know this man.” He surveyed me for a moment, and his gaze was intense. “Yes, I can see that Sid’s energy is remarkable. But you two have already formed relationships with him. Marco has been infusing him with his own energy. Others have as well—I can feel this. And Ram has been using him in various ways. I cannot agree to anything without the opportunity to familiarize myself with this man—to form my own relationship.”

  “Fair enough,” Marco said.

  “Agreed,” Ram said.

  “I am not fond of any of the other ideas on Marco’s list of solutions,” Rinpoche added. “Nor do I have new ideas.”

  “I feel the same,” Ram said. “Sharing won’t work. And we cannot divide the indivisible.”

  “Does anyone know of a better candidate than Sid?” Marco asked.

  How the hell had Rinpoche paralyzed me?

  “More advanced? Certainly,” Rinpoche said. “Wiser and more grounded? Of course,” he added. “But these elements emerge from an association with institutions that preclude true neutrality. A Buddhist would favor one of us. A Hindu another. And so forth. Sid does seem to be a nothing—a blank slate. This sets him apart.”

  “Yes,” Marco said. “Ram, why don’t we give Rinpoche and Sid a chance to meet properly?”

  “Certainly.”

  As the two men got to their feet, I tried to leave, too. Nothing happened. It was as if the signals from my brain had been blocked and couldn’t get to my legs. A maelstrom of emotions and adrenal responses swirled within me. Marco and Ram left the tomb. Rinpoche waved his hand and released me from his control. I massaged my neck and coughed. It seemed as if he’d reduced my panic, too.

  “Sid,” he said, “tell me about yourself.”

  He sounded as though he worked in HR for a big Tibetan corporation—although there probably weren’t any. This was an interview I needed to screw up royally—an anti-interview, if you will. My goal was to convince him I was wholly unsuited to the job. On the other hand, he’d probably know if I lied or otherwise tried to fool him.

  “I’m a psychotherapist. I’m single. I was adopted by rich, white parents. They’re dead. My best friend is named Chris. Perhaps you’ve met him. He’s at the pilgrim center. He’s the African American who wears those horrible Hawaiian shirts.”

  I wasn’t finding a way to act like a jerk yet, but maybe having a wise-ass friend would help tarnish me.

  “Oh yes,” Rinpoche said. “A delightful fellow. Very fun.”

  “Where are you from?” I tried. Maybe he’d allow me to engage him in a dialogue. Then I could mess with whatever he said.

  “I am Tibetan by birth, but I was raised in Ladakh, India, in a refugee community. Shall we take turns asking questions?”

  “Sure.”

  “How do you tolerate Marco—Bruno? He is controlling and arrogant and outrageous. He is what you call a ‘loose cannon’—yes?”

  “Certainly, but who can I compare him to? My only other experience of people like him includes a guy who paralyzes people when he doesn’t like what they’re saying. And he laughs about a war that killed hundreds of thousands of people, too. Then there’s this other guy who lies and gives money to a secret organization that kidnaps people. So what do I know?”

  He laughed again. He was far too entertained by me.

  “You’re just as arrogant as the others,” I told him.

  “I suppose so,” he said. “Your turn to ask a question.”

  “Why don’t you just let Ram run things until he dies and then take over and do it yourself?” I asked.

  “Good question,” he said.

  Damn. I hadn’t meant to ask anything that reflected well on me.

  “If Ram were to be the sole administrator at his age, it would only be a matter of time before Marco could oust him and seize power. This would be a disaster. Like you, Marco arrived at h
is status in an unorthodox fashion—he had no teacher, he used drugs, and he has absorbed others’ energies. Unlike you, he has always wished to wield absolute power. The fact that you don’t want to is in your favor. Second, Ram could choose to continue his role even after he no longer has a body. He would be even less competent in that case. Neither of these situations would allow us—myself and the residual Baba within me—to help the world get through this difficult era. I know that we are the right men for the job.”

  This was eminently diagnosable stuff, or it would be back in California, at least. He thought he was Baba and Rinpoche, all in the one body.

  “Then why would you ever agree to have me do it?” I asked. “How could I possibly perform as well as you and Baba, or you as Baba, I suppose?”

  “It’s not your turn,” he said. “You already asked your question.”

  “So what?” I said. “I don’t give a shit whose turn it is, you fat prick.”

  He laughed. “Nice try. Here’s my question. What is love?”

  “What?”

  “What is love?”

  “Uh…it’s all there is, isn’t it? It’s another name for life-force energy—for the consciousness that brings forth the physical world. It’s the same as beauty or truth or a million other things. It’s all love. I love you,” I said.

  He’d done something to rob me of my ability to answer dishonestly. “Hey!” I said. “Stop that.”

  He smiled.

  “My turn,” I said. “Are you seriously saying that Marco is Bruno Bompiani? That he was a rogue Stanford researcher?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he answered. “But I’ll tell you this. There is more than one spelling of that name.”

  “It matters to me. Are you saying I googled the wrong guy back in Mumbai?”

  “When behavior is dangerous or abusive, what matters is the net effect of the behavior, not its origins.” Rinpoche shifted his position, winced, and rolled his neck for a moment. “A car accident,” he said. He paused and then spoke again when he saw I wasn’t satisfied with his explanation. “Suppose I got up and kicked you in the shin,” he said. “Maybe I’m schizophrenic and a voice in my head told me to do it. Maybe it’s a new type of therapy I’m testing on you. Maybe I’m mean and vengeful. What does it matter? You were kicked in any case, and it hurts exactly the same, no matter the reason. Would you come back for more kicking if my reason was good enough?”