by Mark Tiro
So ridiculous, who could have possibly come up with this?
“You did, of course!” thundered the voice, exactly on cue the instant the thought entered my mind.
I jumped, kicking up grass in all directions. The fork went flying out of my hand.
Serves it right, I thought. Stupid fork.
“Be nice to the fork,” the voice said, in a more sensible tone now. “What’d it ever do to you?”
I looked around, trying to see who I was talking to, trying to find where the voice was coming from. I couldn’t make out anyone at all.
“It took you long enough,” the voice said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I started to look around again. This time, I didn’t have to look far.
“David!”
He was right there next to me.
“Hello there! Nice to see you again. But I have to ask you one question.”
“Sure,” I said. “Anything.” I could hardly control my excitement at seeing him.
“Why on earth are you standing there holding a fork? Are you waiting for someone to come along and drop off dinner?”
“Well if I’d known you’d be here, I’d have picked up takeout.”
Then I threw my arms around him.
“I’m so happy to see you! Have you been here next to me the whole time?”
“Of course I have! You never could see a thing without your glasses.”
“I’ll have you know, David, that I’ve moved on to contacts now.”
He laughed. It was a big, comfortable laugh, the kind that comes when you’re catching up with an old friend you haven’t seen in a long time.
And David was an old friend, across lives and lifetimes.
“Well good then, and now that you can finally see—are you ready to go?”
“Go where David? I’m not ready to go anywhere. I just got here.”
“Really? Is that so?”
“Sure is. Anyway, there’s nowhere to go.”
“What do you mean there’s nowhere to go? Aren’t you the one who just came across a fork in the road?”
“Very funny.”
“You liked that? It was helpful, no? A fork in the road?”
“No. It was not helpful. Since when is a fork in the road ever helpful?”
“Sure it is, champ. It’s like a signpost that tells you it’s time to make a choice.” He was grinning, and I wasn’t sure he was entirely serious. “Go this way,” he said, “and your life—your entire destiny—will branch off and become x. Go the other way, and the whole thing will branch off into y. That’s a whole lotta pressure. Even though you couldn’t possibly know what will happen if you choose left or right—you still better get it right anyway! Don’t screw this one up!”
He couldn’t hold a straight face anymore, and he burst out laughing.
“I knew it! It’s a trick!” I said. “It doesn’t matter which way I go, does it? It doesn’t matter.”
“In reality—no, it doesn’t matter which way you go. Not one bit.”
“There never was a fork either!”
“Well actually, the one from the dollar store? Sure, that one’s real enough I suppose.”
“Not that fork! I meant the place in life where you have to choose between different paths and all. That’s not a real choice, is it? It’s just an illusion. I can see it now.”
“Well, as long as you believe that there’s a real choice for you to make—that there are real differences in anything in the world for you to choose between—then sure, the choice you come to at the fork in the road is real enough. At least for you.”
“So you’re not saying that my choices in life don’t matter, if I don’t believe they don’t matter?”
“Questions just make things so much more complicated,” he sighed. Then, like he was talking to a little child, he started again… slowly. “As long as you believe your choices in life matter, then to you—they do. In reality however, there is nothing to choose between. The only choice you ever have—in whatever form it presents itself—is between reality itself, and nothing at all; between truth and illusions.”
“So you’re telling me I shouldn’t make any choices in the world?”
“Make whatever choices you want. Whatever seems best—maybe even what you think is most appropriate. Just don’t make the mistake of believing that any of it’s real. Or that any of it changes reality even one iota.”
“Uh, okay. I guess that should be easy enough.”
“Listen, as long as you believe you’re living in a world where there are choices to make—for godsakes make them. Just act normal.”
“Just act normal? How hard can that be David?”
“You’d be surprised how hard it is for quite a lot of people to just act normal. Especially when it comes to practicing religion, or being spiritual, or becoming enlightened or whatever.”
“Good point.”
At that, David smiled. I looked around the grassy knoll and saw now that it had somehow been transformed into a dog park. There were no dogs, but I could see luminous green grass now, stretching off as far as I could see.
“Just know that whatever you choose, there is no difference at all. In reality, you only choose between truth on the one hand, and a thousand million different little illusions to better deceive yourself with, on the other hand. There is only one real choice—between truth or illusion, between love or fear—not between a million different illusions, ad infinitum, until you’ve tried them all and decided which one you prefer best. None of them is best—because none of them is real.”
I stopped to consider that. “So if I go left, or if I go right—whatever way I choose—it just doesn’t matter?”
“It matters if you believe it matters.”
“Well if I make one choice in the world and not another, won’t that change things? Won’t that send me off on a whole ‘nother path?”
“Sure it will—you’ll have different experiences in the world because of the choices you make. But remember—all experiences in the world are the same. Different forms of illusions. I’m not talking about choosing between different illusions. I’m talking about choosing truth instead of illusions. That’s the only real choice. Didn’t you want to be done with illusions, and with fear? To return to truth?”
“To love?”
“To return to love, yes. Are you ready to choose now? Are you ready to choose once again?”
“What if I make the wrong choice?”
“There are no wrong choices.”
“‘No wrong choices’? You should be a teacher. That’d be awesome.”
“I was a teacher. I was your teacher. I still am, apparently. You know, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Seems like the students these days—they just don’t listen.”
“I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“Ha ha, very funny,” he retorted with just the faintest hint of a smile. “If you remember nothing else I’ve taught you—and God knows, you could never remember math—please try to remember this one thing: Be kind. Just be kind.”
“I thought I was good at math? I also thought you said, ‘just act normal’? Which one is it?”
“Just act normal. Act normal, and be kind. Oh, one more thing,” he added with a smile, “Do your math homework every now and then.”
“Okay, but I still have to choose to go left or right at the fork, no?”
“Most of the time, sure—yeah. But—”
“But if what I’m choosing between is just different forms of illusions, then I shouldn’t worry about whether I screw it up, right? Whichever path I choose at the fork has already been built out anyway, no? I mean if I go left—maybe I find a tree down the road there. And if I go right—maybe it’s a building instead. But either way—the building I’m going to run across if I go right has already been built before I ever made that choice. And if I go left, the tree I’m going to find down that path has already been planted. It’s like the script’s already been written.”
“Yes! Exactly! Except that it’s all just an illusion in your mind. But all in all—I think you’re getting the hang of it now!”
“So maybe I’ll just refuse to pick at all.”
“Level confusion,” he said, casually. “Typical.”
“What!” I snapped, jumping to my feet now, throwing daggers with my eyes. “What! I Am Not—Typical!”
“You still care,” David said, a big, mischievous grin flashing across his face.
“Stop it,” I said. But I un-narrowed my eyes now and relented. Just a little. But I determined to keep an eye out for his shenanigans now.
“Okay. Then pay attention: Once you’ve come this far, level confusion is your biggest danger.”
“I’ll bite. What’s that?”
“It’s the problem of confusing symbol with source, form with content.”
“Like confusing cause and effect?”
“Yes—that. And don’t. Keep in mind that the form doesn’t matter, but the content does. And when you refuse to make a choice at a crossroads you believe you’ve come to, left or right, then what you’re really saying is that the form does matter. And I’m telling you that form doesn’t matter. So don’t get hung up on choices you have to make in the world—either yours or someone else’s. Just do the best you can, and then get on with it.”
“I can’t do another lifetime,” I told him, serious now. “I won’t. I want to be done with it. I’m tired.” I considered sitting down and curling up in a ball. But in the end, I just sat down and started rocking back and forth. “I want to be done with the whole bloody thing. No more lifetimes.”
“Then forgive. Forgive, and do as you will.”
“I can’t. I don’t want to go back again for another lifetime.”
“Who said anything about another lifetime? Forgiveness—the kind that undoes the cause of all illusions at the source—happens only in the mind. There is no other lifetime. And there’s nowhere to go back to. Time is not linear. It doesn’t run in a straight line. These things you think of as lifetimes are just images, and they only play out in the mind. In your mind. That’s all any lifetime—or space-time, or the entire universe—is. Images in your mind. The only thing that happens ‘here’, in the world, is that we replay these images in fevered dreams. We relive them now, as if they were actually happening. They’re not. They’re not happening now. Nothing is happening now. Only Love is. Choose truth once and for all, instead of just more illusions to deceive yourself by, and you’ll see for yourself. Better—you’ll know for yourself. Truth has always been—and still is—true.”
“And truth is what?” I asked, sitting up straight now. “That Love is?”
“Love is. Period, full stop. Nothing else at all.”
“Nothing else? No ‘live as God on high has come down and commanded unto you by his holy word, to do exactly what He tells you to do—or else you’re a sinner damned to eternal hell?’ Is that all just part of the illusion too?”
“Love is. And then we cease to talk. Because really, in the presence of Love—what else is there to say? In the presence of Love, it’s just an obvious, simple truth. Love Is. Nothing else.”
David fell silent now too, and I felt like I could almost experience what he was telling me. I could sense that it was there, but it was still just out of my awareness.
“You were a lawyer, right?” David asked, standing up now. “You like trials, don’t you?”
“Hate ‘em,” I said, getting up now too. “I don’t want to go through another trial, ever again. You can’t make me.” I was pouting now, just like a four year-old.
“Ah—trials. You know, you’re really good at them.”
“Nope. Don’t want to. Not for me.”
“You know the thing about trials?”
“Okay David, I give. What is it?”
“See, trials—they’re really just lessons you didn’t learn your first go around. Now you’ve got another chance to make a different choice. A better choice.”
“That kind of trial? To go left instead of right? To go back and do something different?”
“To change your mind. To choose differently.”
“So, to go left instead of right?”
“It’s not about what you do. Go left or right or whatever you think is best. Just get on with it already. Don’t forget though, whatever you do—do it with kindness; do it with gentleness. Do it without judgment.”
He paused for a moment, as if to emphasize the point. “And do it with forgiveness. In the world, the only thing that matters—is that whatever you do, you do it with forgiveness. That’s what undoes the pain. That’s what undoes the illusions. Left or right doesn’t matter. Changing your mind about left or right—that’s what makes all the difference. Do you want to keep building better mousetraps, or do you want to get out of the mousetrap-building business altogether?”
“The mice should be free!” I said cheerily.
“Then stop making choices between one illusion and the next, and make the one choice between illusions and truth that will lay aside all illusions forever.”
“That’s it then!” I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ve decided! I shall go left then! Definitely left. Well, left or right, maybe. Either way, I’ve decided!”
“That’s the spirit, champ. I think you’ve got it!”
“One more thing?”
“Sure champ, anything.”
“Why do you keep calling me ‘champ’?”
“Oh that little thing? I read it in a book once. I thought it was funny.”
“Uh, okay.”
“You should maybe pick it up sometime. You know, as long as you’ve decided to go another round.”
“A book? About what? Is it about life with wisdom and hidden secrets of the universe and all?”
“It’s very practical, where you’re going. It’s a book about poop.”
I laughed. “Sure thing champ,” I told him.
Then I threw my arms around him and gave him a big hug. When I pulled back to look at him, he was gone.
He was gone, and then, so was I.
VII
SOUL INVICTUS
1
One
I’d just sat down at the little table. My coffee was still too hot to drink, and so I sat there, cupping it to warm my hands while I waited for it to cool down. I took the lid off and closed my eyes, pushing it up to my nose to take in its aroma. Coffee and Christmas—the perfect combination.
This always helps me relax and clear my mind.
I like coffee.
‘Flash meditation’ my friend Larry had called it. I’d taught him the technique, and then he’d come up with the name. Catchy, I thought. Better than ’coffee mediation’, which is how I’d thought of it.
“Just sit down a minute, close your eyes,” I’d told him. “Let go of everything. Just drop the burdens of your life for like ten seconds or something. Wake up and smell the coffee.”
“Let go and drop my burdens?” Larry had shot back. “But wait a minute—if I’m holding my coffee and I just let go, won’t I spill my coffee then?”
“Fucking lawyers,” I said and we both laughed.
I’d talked about coffee meditation—er, I mean, flash—meditation with Larry, and other stuff too, back when he’d been going through his dark period. It was touch and go there with him for a while. Of course, everyone knows that dark times call for… improvisation. For pulling things out of your ass. And I was good at that—it’s sort of a talent of mine. It must be. I mean, Larry hasn’t killed himself, right?
Maybe I should be a therapist, I thought. I’d probably be a genius at that too.
We’d finally gotten Larry into rehab, but I won’t take the entire credit for that. We’d been working together as public defenders at the time, and there were a few of us there who’d made it happen. But I will take credit for coming up with the sign on the door that led out to the office’s tenth floor balcony: ‘Attn staff: All lawyers who ha
ve suffered recent trial loses will no longer be permitted out on the balcony. Thank you for your cooperation in putting safety first in the workplace.’
See, I told you I’m a fucking genius.
And so I sat there, holding my coffee with my eyes closed, thinking about all this—and about the rest of my life too. A minute or a few minutes later, I wasn’t really keeping track, I pulled out the green thing in the lid of my coffee. There is nothing more perfect in the world than being right where I am right now—sitting here, in a warm coffeehouse, on a Saturday night before Christmas.
I held it up to my lips again and sipped delicately.
Perfect temperature.
Then I took a long, slow drink.
This is the best coffee I’ve ever had, I thought. And I meant it too—though I don’t know if it actually was. But it tasted good, and tonight—it felt good to be here.
I opened my laptop, and plugged it into the wall next to me. Then I pulled up the draft of the book I’d been working on—off and on—for the past five or ten years. Maybe more.
Now I had time to finish it.
Now I had all the time in the world to finish it.
I opened up to where I had last left off. Then I started typing the next section.
Chapter 8:
Driving Haiku
Stay in your lane
Don’t hit the thing in front of you
Everything else is detail
My phone buzzed. I pushed my laptop aside. I’d finished writing the section and in any event, this seemed like a good place to knock off for the day. Twenty words, counting the chapter heading, was a good day’s writing work for me.
I looked down at my phone. It was a text from Larry, saying ‘hi’. Of course it was. I’d been thinking about him, so it probably wasn’t even a coincidence. That’s how these things go.
“Working on my book at SBUX,” I texted back. “Come by for a drink?”
“Grading exams? It’s Sat nite—yes to the drink,” he replied, straightaway.
“No more exams—done teaching law. Quit. Working on book.”
