The Cascading: Knights of the Fire Ring

by CW Ullman

  Meditation was still effective for Charlie; to sit and go into the internal space where nothing exists, was immensely comforting for him. It was the only relief from the constant conversation inside his head, which was often about the Enterprise tragedy.

  Charlie, like Darla, thought some of the premies and mahatmas were meditating like some people hit drugs. They were doing it too long and too often during the day. They were hiding out in meditation. When someone would tell Charlie they had to meditate to get centered and they had just finished meditating an hour ago, he felt they were toking on the meditation bong too frequently.

  Also, the internal politics of the mission and the intimidation or guilting of people into doing things discouraged Charlie. If someone had to be coerced through mind games to work harder or give more, Charlie felt there was something inherently wrong. He thought they almost needed a spiritual defense lawyer to represent their rights.

  The final stroke for Charlie happened one night in December when all the premies were summoned to the main room of the ashram. The president of the mission in America, Bob, a man of thirty from New York, spoke about the upcoming Christmas holiday and how everyone should be with their families. He then launched into a definition of what “family” was. He posed the question by asking it rhetorically. He said families are the people who love you the most, and aren’t the people who love you the most here in the ashram; therefore why would anyone want to leave the ashram during Christmas?

  Charlie asked Darla, “Where are you going for Christmas?”

  She said, “I’m probably going to stay here, because Mahatma Ji needs me and I cannot hang with my bat shit crazy family for longer than two days. Why?”

  “What was that all about not going home for Christmas?” Charlie asked. She looked around to make sure no one else was listening.

  “That, my friend, is the mission trying to avoid one of their biggest problems: people who go home, stay home,” she whispered. “It often happens around Thanksgiving or Christmas. There’s a spell that’s broken once people leave the ashram for longer than a few days. The American mission loses over half their people during the holidays.”

  She said the subtle mind control that resulted from drumming devotion into everybody’s head was weakened when premies arrive home and a relative they cared about asked why the premie could not stay and practice meditation in Cleveland, New York, Florida or wherever they were from.

  Darla added, “After three days of Mom’s home cooking and not having to do laundry for sixty people, you begin not to miss this place so much.”

  He knew he had to talk to Mahatma Ji who was on the back porch, wrapped in a blanket, rocking in a chair that Charlie had bought him for Christmas at a garage sale. Mahatma Ji, crouched in the chair, summoned an image of Mahatma Gandhi. Charlie stood looking at this small Hindu who gazed back at him.

  “Charlie, this weather reminds me of home; you have question,” he said.

  “How do you know, Mahatma Ji?” Charlie asked.

  He said, “Charlie, you’re breathing…”

  Charlie thought he said “your” breathing which made him aware of his shallow breathing and he immediately drew longer inhalations.

  He said, “Charlie, you need to go home to Manhattan Beach.”

  “Why do you say that, Mahatma Ji?” At first he was relieved, but that was before Charlie’s mind kicked into anxiety overdrive, suspecting his failure in spiritual growth had finally worn out Mahatma Ji. He had the sinking feeling that one more time in his life he was disappointing someone.

  “Because you know yourself better than you think you do. You are very earnest, very conscientious, very thoughtful,” Mahatma Ji said. “You don’t need ashram to practice Guru Ji’s meditation like I do. I would be beggar on the streets of New Delhi without Guru Ji. Go to Manhattan Beach and talk about your experiences here.”

  Then he paused, leaned back in the chair and took a long breath. Charlie was not sure, but he thought he saw him wince.

  “Charlie, you know what else you need to do? Hmm? You need to make peace with whatever you are angry with. You are feeding your anger, and anger cannot exist unless you feed it.”

  “Why do you think I am angry?” Charlie asked.

  “Because you are an American…,” Mahatma Ji said chuckling at his own joke. “You Americans have the best of everything and you are still angry. Remember when we were with Sri Raja Ji and he was giving instruction? You wanted to stop him. You wanted to scold him. The dog in you wanted to attack. Your breathing changed often from your belly to your shoulders. When you breathe in the upper part of your body, you are anxious, and that comes from either fear or anger. True meditation comes when your breathing stays in the middle chakra; it lays in there like a puppy. This will come to you with practice and mental diet.”

  Charlie had not heard him use the term “mental diet” before, and the quizzical look on Charlie’s face prompted Mahatma Ji to continue.

  “Mental diet is the deepest discipline. It is the Brahma of all disciplines; we call it Samadhi. It is much easier not to react in anger when you have been practicing the disciplines of breathing and thought,” Mahatma Ji said, still having a problem pronouncing ‘th.’ “You eliminate certain foods from your meals when you want to lose weight, don’t you? Same thing with mental diet. Eliminate the mind chatter that makes you angry. That discussion in your mind is only with you. Hmm?”

  “When I was young like you, Charlie Ji, I was angry with my parents. I felt they did not devote enough of themselves to Guru Ji, so I stopped seeing them. One day Mahatma Guru Nan taught me the best lesson I ever learned: no one ever does anything in life that does not benefit him directly or indirectly, including suicide. You see, Charlie, whatever we are doing is for ourselves because we think it is the best thing for us. Whether it is sacrifice, enrichment, kindness, anger, or even suicide, we do it because we feel it is best for us, even if it is not. People are feeling, all day – every day, but no one is aware of feeling. If feeling is the most powerful thing in life, shouldn’t we want to control it? Mahatma Guru Nan thought the most important thing learned from meditation is we are not our feelings. We separate from feeling and we separate from mind chatter with meditation. This is how you control it.

  “That is why we devotees forgive. Forgiving draws life to us. The most powerful man is the one who understands this, and it cannot be make-believe forgiveness, you have to feel it. When I could see my parents as me, I saw their effort to do the best they could with their level of understanding. Then I felt forgiveness. The day we met, do you remember what I said? You cannot have peace if your heart is wrapped in barbed wire. You now have a greater understanding and because you understand more, you will have more knowledge.”

  Charlie wanted to ask Mahatma Ji a question, but Mahatma Ji held his hand up and answered it before Charlie could speak it.

  “Forgiveness it is not what you think. The forgiveness I speak of is to surrender. The reason we do not want to forgive is we don’t want to surrender our biggest emotion, fear. Fear is the parent of unforgiving. Awareness is the parent of forgiving.

  “People are so convinced that the world is not safe, they have created news channels reminding them all day long how dangerous it is to live here on earth. Where else but this world are they going to live? Is anyone moving to the moon? Hmm?” Mahatma Ji again chuckled at his own joke.

  “Forgiving is not being a fool to the world; forgiving is surrendering to full awareness. There is a place for anger, but only if you are in control of it, like a trained dog, it has to respond to your command. What you don’t control, Charlie, controls you.

  “Christmas holiday is coming, and when you are on holiday you want to have fun, you look for fun. Your mind is free from fear. Are you looking for danger? No, I don’t think so,” Mahatma Ji continued. “God is living his holiday through you. Let him have some fun.” Mahatma Ji stopped speaking, closed his eyes and took another long breath.

  “A long ti
me ago, when I was learning English with Guru Ji, we learned that the word “inspiration” comes from the root word “inspire”, which means to breathe, and the word “conspire” means to breathe together. Charlie, you and I will have a conspiracy. Hmm? What do you tink?”

  He told Charlie to draw a full breath five times and to focus on exhaling slowly. When Charlie was done, Mahatma Ji asked a question.

  “Are you ready to surrender the barbed wire, Charlie Ji?” Mahatma Ji asked.

  Charlie nodded and Mahatma Ji told him to close his eyes.

  A feeling of warmth came over Charlie and then a memory from his youth appeared. He was a six-year-old child with his parents in the backyard in Tulsa. After much begging from Charlie, his parents let him help fold the sheets. They pulled a sheet off the clothesline, put an edge of the sheet into his hands, and then the three of them backed up slowly to tighten it. His parents relaxed the sheet a bit letting the breeze ruffle it slightly. He was looking at his parents smiling at one another and then they smiled at him. This was a moment the six-year-old Charlie never wanted to end. His parents again stretched the sheet tight, and just before they were about to fold it, Charlie popped it out of their hands and ran around the backyard, trailing the sheet behind him in the breeze, trying to avoid getting caught. Both of his parents gave chase while they laughed so hard, tears rolled down their cheeks. When they caught him, they wrapped him in the sheet so only his head was exposed. There he was in his parents’ embrace, wrapped in the fresh-smelling sheet, happy and warm and content.

  He realized his anger toward his parents was misplaced. They did what they thought was best for him and also what was best for them. At his first opportunity, he would call his parents and apologize. For the first time in over a year, he was missing his them and his friends.

  Then another feeling came over him and he saw her. It was the old woman onboard the Enterprise, hugging the child, staring at Charlie and shaking her head in disapproval. The girl she was hugging was the eleven-year-old girl wearing the life vest that Rusty had put on her. Except in this version of the event, the vest had the name Charles Palmer. For the first time Charlie was fully immersed in her fear. In this vision, he did not turn away from her. She stood and reached out towards him. She had a light about her and she smiled at him. He was so sorry and wanted to say something, but in this dream he could only cry. She held his gaze and then put her index finger to her lips to quiet his tears. She then took her finger from her lips and pointed to her eye, then to her heart, and then to Charlie. She nodded at him and said, ‘I know.’

  Charlie opened his eyes and Mahatma Ji was looking up at him.

  “I love the phrase in your Bible, “Be fruitful and multiply.” You need to be fruitful, Mr. Charlie. You need to start a business, get married to a good American girl and make babies. You need to create your life. Yes, I think that’s what you need to do. Now, you see why we must forgive. You go to bed Charlie, I haven’t meditated the whole day and I want to do so now.”

  Charlie did not want to leave him. This was the first time Mahatma Ji had given him direct advice and explained things in detail. Charlie’s mind was like a blender at the top speed. He was processing what Mahatma Ji just said, but he also had more questions about everything. He had specific, pointed questions about Guru Ji, but felt this was not the time to ask.

  When Charlie stood to leave, the mahatma wiped tears from his eyes. Then, he did something he had never done before: he held his arms out to give a hug to Charlie. They had never hugged in all the time Charlie had known Mahatma Ji. He hugged him and thought Mahatma Ji felt small and frail. It felt like he was saying goodbye. Charlie walked into the house, found Darla, and walked upstairs to the office with her where she sat in a chair.

  “What did Mahatma Ji say to you?” Darla asked as she sat down.

  “Where do I start? Bottom line: he told me I should go back home and start a family. I know what you’re going to do.”

  “Why don’t you tell me, Mr. Smarty Pants,” she said.

  “You are going to stay here until Mahatma Ji leaves. Wherever he goes that’s where you’ll go,” Charlie said.

  Darla hung her head down, with her elbows resting on her knees and hands clasped together. She said, “I’m going to tell you something and you cannot tell anyone else. Mahatma Ji has cancer. I’m the only one who knows, Charlie. It’s pancreatic and he’s got maybe six months.” She was choking back tears.

  “Shit, Darla. I didn’t know.”

  “He doesn’t want anyone to know. His biggest worry is that he won’t see Guru Ji before he dies,” she says crying harder. “Charlie, he’s the most loving, gentle, sweetest person I’ve ever met. I’m here just to be near him. That’s why I put up with all this bullshit. I have never met anyone sogiving, selfless. I know he’s got his quirks, but, God, I love him so dearly.

  “He can’t do things he used to do, but even so when someone needs help cleaning the floor, he’s the first one with a mop in his hands. Is that crazy or what? I’ve known him a year and a half and I’ve never heard him complain…not once. You remember when Raja and Sharma were fucking with him? It didn’t anger him; I don’t know where he gets the patience. I only know I cannot leave this man…ever.” Charlie crossed the room to embrace her.

  “What am I going to do, Charlie, when he dies? I don’t think I want to live after he’s gone. I don’t think I can.” She was sobbing with her belly bumping Charlie’s middle. “I understand his love for Guru Ji, because that’s how I feel about him. I’m fucked, Charlie. I found the love of my life and he’s seventy-seven and dying.”

  “Do you want me to stay with you until he passes? I can do that,” Charlie said.

  “No, you gotta go, but I want to tell you something. You are his favorite. When he and I would walk in Cheesman Park, he would talk about you. He wanted me to fall in love with you, but I told Mahatma Ji that he had already stolen my heart.” She stopped speaking because she was crying so hard. “He has. We’ve never done anything, but I have never been happier in the presence of another human being. He doesn’t want you to see him get any weaker. You know I would love for you to stay, because you are the only one around here I can relate to. But if he wants you to leave, we have to honor the wishes of the only living saint either one of us is ever going to know.”

  He teared up because of his love and profound respect for Mahatma Ji who was the only link to what was hallowed in the organization. Charlie was worried about Darla and was not sure he should leave for Manhattan Beach.

  <>

  The next morning when the adherents were downstairs readying themselves to chant and meditate, Darla came to the entry way of the room and stopped in the opening. She appeared very tired and drawn. Her face was so expressionless, Charlie thought she might be sick. Her full lips were blanched and her clothes disheveled. She was looking around the room at each face and lastly at Charlie’s. Charlie and Darla looked at each other and then her eyes drew down. Her lower lip puffed out and then she took a deep breath, slowly shaking her head. He knew by looking at her deflated countenance what was wrong.

  “Mahatma Ji has died,” she announced to the room.

  There were gasps from some and shrieks and cries from others. Charlie wondered if Mahatma Ji knew last night he was going to die and that was why he spoke to Charlie for so long and ended their time together with a hug. He watched Darla slump. He rushed to Darla to hold her as she sobbed. She kept repeating the same words. “What am I going to do?”

  He knew Darla was not asking for an answer so much as acknowledging her life now without Mahatma Ji. At her initial meeting a year and half ago with Mahatma Ji, she had the instantaneous feeling she could never leave him. When people say they recognize upon a first encounter a future spouse, that was Darla’s reaction when she first saw Mahatma Ji. He had an elegant, simple grace when he walked but showed a child’s awkwardness while trying to do the simplest of task such as dialing a telephone. Darla felt Mahatma Ji needed someon
e to guide and care for him through everyday life. Mahatma Ji was amused that it had not dawned on Darla that he had capably managed and cared for himself through the first seventy-five years of his life. He let her fawn over him because he recognized she needed a person for which she could care. She was very protective of him, so much so that one did not want to go out with her when Mahatma Ji was in tow. If anyone showed disdain or disrespect towards him, Darla mounted a merciless defense.

  Darla had been a drug addict and part-time prostitute when they met. By just looking at her, Mahatma Ji was able to penetrate all the barriers she had erected for survival.

  Prior to meeting Mahatma Ji, Darla always felt uncomfortable in her skin. Reflexively ready to fight over real or imagined insults, after meeting Mahatma Ji, she became impervious to other’s opinions of her. Her attention was no longer focused on herself, rather she was completely engaged by this seventy-five year old man from Punjab, India.

  “What am I going to do?” she said again.

  It was the tone in her voice that he had heard only once before, and that voice was also lost and desperate. Her resignation was palpable and Charlie sensed her energy for life was dissolving. A dread of the emotion now cloaked Charlie in a familiar pall. He thought he would be able to distance himself from the depression and pain of another person since he had learned how to meditate, but he could not. His empathy for another’s mournful feelings had just been dormant during his time in the ashram.

  “What am I going to do?” she repeated.

  A faint memory of another time was upon Charlie. Darla’s discouraged and hopeless tone was a dreaded echo first whispered by Rusty after he put the Vietnamese girl overboard ten years ago. Having lived through this once before, he again felt an overwhelming inadequacy to the task.