Thirst No. 5: The Sacred Veil

by Christopher Pike

“I’m eighteen now, a man, and you’re supposed to obey me.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Kissing my brother on the cheek, I said, “Never.”

  We approached the Master cautiously. When we were a few feet away, he raised his head and smiled at me, and my heart pounded in my chest. The warmth in his gaze—it’s impossible to say how kind it was.

  “Hello,” he said. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Veronica, and this is my brother, Thomas. Are we disturbing your lunch?”

  “I have had plenty to eat.” The Master was sitting on the edge of the fountain. He put his plate aside and bid us take a seat at his feet. “Come, rest. You must have come a long way. Are you hungry?”

  “We ate on the road,” Thomas said.

  “It was a long walk,” I added, sitting beside my brother. “We’re sorry we got here late. We missed your talk.”

  The Master waved his hand. “The talk is not important. You are here now. What can I do for you?”

  I nudged Thomas to ask a question but he seemed content just to stare at the man. At least my brother was no longer nervous, I thought.

  “Why do people call you Master?” I asked.

  “I wish they wouldn’t. The moment a person is given a title he’s set apart from everyone else. As a child, growing up, I was called Emmanuel. If you like, you can call me by that name.”

  “All the rabbis in our synagogue insist on high-sounding titles,” I said. “It annoys me.”

  “Why does it annoy you, Veronica?”

  I liked the way he said my name.

  “I think it’s because women are not allowed to become rabbis. That doesn’t feel right to me.”

  “Veronica,” Thomas said. “Watch your tongue. That’s blasphemy.”

  The Master laughed. “No, Thomas, what your sister says is wise. All people, whether they are rich or poor, white or dark, male or female, Jewish or Roman, are all the same. No one should be seen as higher or lower.”

  “Are you saying that is what God thinks?” I asked.

  The Master considered. “I can’t say what God thinks. I doubt any man or woman can.”

  “But people say you are close to God,” I said, feeling disappointed. “They say he is inside you.”

  “Veronica, if God made all of us, then he must be inside all of us. I am no different from you.”

  “But you are. I feel different just sitting beside you.”

  “What do you feel?” he asked.

  I had to think before answering. “Happy. I feel happy.”

  “Happy is good. Where do you think that happiness comes from?”

  “You! It has to come from you. I didn’t feel it until I got here.”

  “That may seem to be true but it is not. Happiness is already inside you. It is just when you come here, and we sit together, it is easier for you to feel. But now that you have felt it, you will no longer need me to find it.”

  “How do you make it come?” I asked.

  The Master glanced up at the sun before answering. “You’ve been to candle shops. You’ve seen all the perfectly formed candles hanging on the walls. And you know that any one candle, once it’s lit, can be used to light all the other candles in the shop. In the same way, the happiness you feel right now is like the light of a freshly lit candle. It will stay with you, and grow brighter, until one day soon you can give that same happiness to others.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “There is no how. Happiness is alive—it jumps from one person to another.”

  “But how did you get . . . well, happy before the rest of us?” I asked.

  The Master put his hand in the fountain and splashed a few drops of water in my face. “Veronica! You ask so many questions. It doesn’t matter what I say. You will never be satisfied.”

  I could tell he was teasing me. I smiled as I wiped away the water. “I want to know. What was so special about you that God gave you this light or happiness before he gave it to anyone else?”

  The Master did not answer right away and I worried I had offended him. He put his hand back in the fountain and cupped the water in his palm, taking a sip.

  “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” I said.

  He spoke in a softer voice. “When I was young, I used to sit a long time by myself and wonder what God was really like. The question haunted me. Night and day, I used to dwell on it. When I asked the rabbis what he was like, they said the usual things: ‘he is all powerful; he is all wise; he is all merciful.’ But none of their answers satisfied me. I felt as if they were describing a glorious person they had read about in some old book. Not God.”

  “But the scriptures say these things about God,” Thomas interrupted.

  “Shh,” I snapped at my brother.

  The Master nodded. “I know the scriptures, I have read them. But the answers they give, they made me crave a deeper truth. I don’t know why I felt this way. But I became certain that the only way to find it was to sit quietly alone, to just be by myself. So every morning and every evening, before and after work, I hiked into the desert and sat and watched my mind.”

  I raised my hand. “May I ask a question?”

  “If you must, Veronica.”

  I laughed. He was teasing me again.

  “What do you mean when you say you watched your mind?”

  “That’s a good question. Since I was sitting alone, usually with my eyes closed, there was nothing to see or do but watch my mind. I watched how busy it was, all the thoughts I had, and believe me, my thoughts were no different from the ones you’re having right now. They were not wise, or profound, or powerful. They were nothing like the way God has been described to me. For a long time I often asked myself, ‘Why do I keep sitting like this? I’m not getting anywhere.’ ”

  “Why did you keep sitting like that?” I asked.

  “Because I didn’t have a choice. I felt compelled to do it. One day, I hoped, an answer would come to me. I can’t say I knew for certain it would come, but in a strange way I had faith that it would. Then, one night, it was very late, an answer of sorts did appear. Or perhaps I should say I noticed something I had never noticed before, although it was obvious. I noticed that my thoughts kept coming and going. Kept changing shape and form and content. But who I was—the person who was watching the thoughts—he appeared to remain the same.”

  “I don’t understand,” Thomas and I said at the same moment. We both laughed, and the Master laughed with us. Even though he had asked us to call him Emmanuel, it was hard to think of him using that name.

  “I’m sorry, it’s my fault for explaining it so poorly,” the Master said. “Let’s try again. When I was sitting alone with my eyes closed, I noticed a part of me was unconnected to my thoughts. That part of me watched the thoughts. But it was not the same as my thoughts because even though they kept changing, it never changed. It was then I realized that that part was the real me, and that it was always there, deep inside, watching.”

  “What did you do next?” I asked.

  “I began to pay more attention to this watcher. I found if I watched the silent part of my mind, rather than the active part, I felt more at peace. It was an amazing discovery. What was even more exciting was that the deeper I went into this watcher, the happier I became. It seemed there was no end to my joy. It was like I had started on a road, by accident, that kept leading to more and more beautiful scenery. Until one day I reached the end of the road. That happened when all my thoughts dropped away and my mind became perfectly silent. At that moment the scenery transformed into a magnificent kingdom.”

  “A kingdom?” I asked. “What did you see in this kingdom?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? Then what made it so magnificent?”

  “It was unlike any outer kingdom. There were no great castles, no tall trees, no towering mountains. But there was joy, there was light, there was love. I no longer felt those things, I had become them. Truly, I was joy, I was light, I was lo
ve. And I knew that this was who God really was.”

  I sat in awe. “Was that when you knew you were one with God?”

  “That was when I realized we are all one with God.” He suddenly stopped and glanced at the people who were standing behind us, waiting to speak to him. “That’s enough for one day, Veronica, Thomas. Practice what I have taught you and come back soon. I’ll be here for the rest of the week.”

  “Practice what?” I gasped.

  The Master smiled. “Why, watching the watcher.”

  We stood and brushed off our clothes. We both bowed to the Master. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to us,” my brother said.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Thomas.”

  “I’m not sure if we’ll be able to see you again,” I said. “May I ask one more question?”

  “You know all you need to know right now.” The Master plucked a floating flower from the fountain and gave it to me. “Enjoy your walk home,” he said.

  I accepted the flower and bowed my head. I remember how painful it was to leave him, but Thomas said we had to hurry.

  TWO

  Three days later I went to see the Master again. I had to go in the evening, after helping my mother all day in the kitchen, and once more I missed the Master’s afternoon talk. He was still staying at the merchant’s house, though, and he was alone in the backyard when I entered, sitting in the corner with his eyes closed.

  I went to leave but he called out without opening his eyes.

  “Stay, Veronica,” he said.

  I sat on my knees in front of him. I had brought a loaf of bread as an offering but felt foolish holding it in my hands, although I had wrapped it in clean cloth. I kept thinking there was nothing I could give him that he needed.

  At last he opened his eyes. He reached for the bread. “May I?” he asked. “I’ve had nothing to eat this evening.”

  I quickly handed over the loaf. “Can I get you some wine? You must be thirsty.”

  “This is fine.” He picked off small pieces of bread and chewed them slowly. “Did you practice what I taught you the other day?”

  I frowned. “Yes. But I had so many thoughts. I tried watching them but I couldn’t.”

  “Don’t try. The watcher is already inside, already watching. There is nothing for you to do. Now close your eyes.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  I closed them. My legs were tired from walking. It was nice to sit so close to the Master, to rest in his serene company.

  “Open your eyes,” he said after maybe thirty seconds.

  I opened my eyes.

  “Look around. What do you see?” he asked.

  “I see the fountain, the water. The walls of the merchant’s house. The flowers and the bushes. And you, I see you.”

  “Who sees all these things?”

  “I don’t understand. I see them.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Veronica.”

  “You are not Veronica. Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Do as I say.”

  I closed my eyes.

  “Now, keeping your eyes closed, do you notice you have thoughts?”

  “Yes. I’m thinking about you.”

  “What you’re thinking about doesn’t matter. Do the thoughts come and go?”

  “Yes.”

  “You notice the thoughts coming and going?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now continue to sit easily and let the thoughts come and go. Do not go looking for the watcher. The watcher is already present, it is already there, you do not have to create it. Now keep your eyes closed.”

  I did as I was told. We sat together for two or three minutes.

  “Open your eyes,” he said.

  I opened my eyes.

  “What do you see?” he asked.

  “The same things I saw the last time you asked.”

  “Who sees them?”

  “Me.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Veronica . . . I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “Don’t worry. This time when you close your eyes, don’t try to watch your thoughts. They will come and go as they always do. Just be aware that there is something that watches them. But don’t try to find this watcher. Do not think about finding it. Thinking about the watcher is another thought, it is not the watcher. The watcher is already inside you, already separate from your thoughts.” He paused. “Now close your eyes.”

  This time we sat together for many minutes, and I must admit I started to get restless, maybe even a little annoyed. I didn’t understand how I was supposed to watch for the watcher without actually watching for it.

  Then I decided to listen to his advice about not trying at all and I felt a little better. The peace of his company returned, and yet, it was somehow different. I no longer felt the peace as coming from him. It was coming from inside me. I didn’t know if the peace was the watcher or not and I didn’t care. Like he said, my thoughts kept coming and going and I let them. They didn’t matter. I felt myself sinking deeper into the peace.

  Finally, as if from miles away, he told me to open my eyes. It was hard to do as he asked. I felt so deep. But finally I managed to open them.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Good,” I whispered.

  “Look around you, what do you see?”

  “I see the same things I saw before. Only . . .” I could not find the words to say what I meant.

  “Only there is a change,” the Master said.

  “Yes.”

  “What has changed?”

  “Me. No, I mean, I am the same but . . .” Again, I didn’t know what to say.

  “You are the same but you are also different,” the Master said.

  “Yes.”

  “So who are you?”

  “The person who has the thoughts.”

  “Who is that?”

  “The watcher.”

  “Very good.” The Master returned to picking at my bread. He seemed hungry.

  “Thank you,” I said, realizing how peaceful I felt. It was stronger than the other day, and I had a feeling I would be able to find it whenever I needed it.

  The Master simply nodded. “How is Thomas?”

  “He’s fine. He told me to say hello for him.”

  “Say hello for me. Now it’s getting late, you should go. Come again in two days.”

  I stood. “I don’t think I can get away again.”

  “Come late if you have to,” he said.

  I bowed and left.

  THREE

  Two days later I suspected the Master had seen my future. I was not able to slip away from my family until they were asleep. As a result, I didn’t get to the merchant’s house until late. I feared the place would be dark but found the home well lit. It seemed lots of people knew the Master would not be returning to the area for a long time and were anxious to spend a final evening with him.

  I don’t know why the Master agreed to meet with me alone. I didn’t feel like I was special and deserved his attention. We spoke in a bedroom on the top floor. I had never been in such a lovely room. The Master sat on the floor on a rug and motioned for me to sit beside him. He offered me a glass of water, which I finished in one gulp. The night was warm and I was thirsty.

  “How is your meditation?” he asked.

  “Meditation? Is that what you call it?”

  “Yes.”

  “It works better when I don’t try.” I added with a smile, “It works better with you around.”

  “In time it will go by itself. You will just have to start and let go. It will be like diving off a tree branch into a cool lake. You just take the right angle and let go. Gravity does the rest.”

  “What is that word, ‘gravity’?”

  “It’s a word from another time. It’s the force that keeps you from floating off the ground.”

  I laughed. “You’re teasing me. There is no
such thing.”

  He spoke in a serious voice. “This world is not the only world. Each star you see in the sky is like the sun, only so far away you see it as a tiny point of light. Around many of these stars circle worlds like this one.”

  I shook my head at such a wild idea. “It’s hard to imagine.”

  “One day deep inside your heart you’ll see millions of stars and know that what I tell you is true.”

  “Maybe you can see stars inside. I don’t know about me.”

  My doubts caused him to smile. “What I am, you will become. It is only a question of time.”

  “The rabbis tell us to pray each day. But this . . . meditation. How is it different from prayer?”

  “I’ll answer your question with a question. Let’s say that one day you are walking down the road and you happen to meet God. He’s in a human body and you can talk to him. But he’s busy and can’t stay with you long. What would you do? Would you let him speak? Or would you do most of the talking?”

  “I would let him speak,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “God is wise. He knows so much more than me. It would be a waste of time to try and tell him something.”

  The Master nodded. “Life is like that short visit on the road. Prayer is for those who wish to talk to God. Meditation is for those who only want to listen to him.”

  “That’s a beautiful story.”

  “It’s called a parable. A story that teaches an important lesson.”

  “Can I tell it to Thomas?”

  “You will repeat it to many people in this life. When you teach them to meditate.”

  I was surprised. “I have your permission to teach other people?”

  “Meditate a few years. When you feel the time is right, then you may begin to teach.”

  “What if I say the wrong thing?”

  “As your meditation deepens, the right words will come to you.” He stopped. “Why the sudden long face?”

  I hesitated. “It’s nothing you can help me with.”

  “Tell me and we’ll see.”

  “When you talk about the wonderful things I might see and do in the future, I have trouble believing it will happen. I’m not even sure I’ll get to meditate. My father has already chosen the man I am to marry. His name is James. He’s a good man, he works hard. My father says I have no choice in the matter, that I must obey him and marry James. He says James will take care of me and the children I’ll probably have.”