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"Do you want to meet him?"
"Yes. If he will meet me."
"He stays afterward. Anyone who wants to speak to him can."
"You want to get in line immediately," Jimmy said softly. "Everyone wants to
talk to him."
I smiled at my brother. "You look stoned."
Jimmy shook his head. "This guy is better than drugs or alcohol."
Jimmy was right. The moment the yogi ended the session, the line to see him
formed quickly.
Fortunately, being near the front, I was able to get a good spot. I had to wait
only five minutes before I was allowed to speak to him. The people behind
waited at a respectful distance. The audience was essentially private. I didn't
know the proper protocol for meeting such a person. Folding my hands
together, I bowed as the Japanese do, figuring Japan was in the same part of
the world as India. The yogi chuckled, playing with a long-stemmed red rose.
"Ah," he said in his sweet voice. "The writer of scary stories. How are you?"
I smiled shyly. "Wonderful. I really enjoyed the chant. I want to thank you for
teaching it to me."
"You're welcome. What is your name?"
"Shari Cooper. I mean, it's really Jean
Rodrigues. Well, I go by Shari. That's the name I feel most comfortable with." I
paused. "Do you understand?"
His eyes sparkled, and for a moment I believed he really did understand that I
was a Wanderer. That I had returned from the dead to write scary stories and
help save the world. Yet my stories, I now saw, were nothing compared to what
this man had to offer people.
For the first time I sensed what I had been looking for, the Rishi's divine love.
The yogi's eyes seemed to shine as if they were windows into that pure
consciousness he spoke of. He was not a man like other men. Nothing in this
world could shake him, I saw. And I wanted that peace for myself. Yet it
frightened me that I might have to give up too much to get it. Briefly I wondered
if Roger had left the church without me.
"I understand," he said softly. "Will we see you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow? Oh, that's when you start your course. I don't know. I don't think
so. I'm making a movie of one of my books, and I have to be on the set early. I
know it's weird to shoot on Saturday, but that's movie biz." I paused to catch
my breath. "I'd like to come tomorrow. I feel I need to meditate and do your
kriya."
He frowned slightly and touched his head. "How is this?"
"How is what? My head? It's all right. I get headaches sometimes, but I suppose
everyone does." I paused again, thinking that it was remarkable he should
know my head often hurt. "Do you think it's all right?"
He studied me thoughtfully. Then he nodded to himself. "Kriya and meditation
will help this problem. Check your schedule, see if you can come."
"I'll try." I paused, feeling silly about the question I was about to put to him. "I
know this is an odd thing to ask, but are there such things as chakra centers
in the body? I mean, is chakra even a word?"
He nodded. "You experienced two of them when you sat in silence."
"In my forehead and heart?"
"Yes."
"Wow. I mean, that's interesting, that they're real." How did he know my
experience so intimately?
He must be enlightened, I decided. I leaned closer, unsure what I wanted from
him but knowing it was a lot. "I wanted to ask you something else. It's about
myself. Who I am."
He waved away the question. "Who you are cannot be explained with words. It
can only be experienced. You experienced that a few minutes ago, when you
were sitting quietly."
"I understand. I've had the experience before. That's what I wanted to talk to
you about. You see, I feel like I'm here on Earth for a purpose and I might be
missing it. I want to do so many things, but I get so busy that I feel like I'm
missing the boat, while trying so hard to catch it. Do you know what I mean?"
He nodded and tapped me lightly on the head with his rose. "You must get to
know the captain better. The boat will wait for you." He glanced past me.
"Where is the other?"
"Who? The guy who was sitting beside me?"
"Yes."
"He's waiting for me outside." The thought of Roger distracted me. He had left
in a huff. "I'd better go."
The yogi smiled and handed me the rose. "Listen to your heart, Shari. Not to
the world. The world is a place to visit, to enjoy. It is not your permanent
residence. When you don't know what to do, you return to your true home."
His words touched me deeply; the way he said my name. With so much love. I
felt tears well up in my eyes. "I know that. Thank you so much."
Peter and Jimmy wanted to speak to me as I returned to the pew, but I was too
overwhelmed. Collecting my purse, I kissed Peter quickly on the head and said
I would be home soon, I just had to drop Roger off. Outside, I found Roger
sitting on a bench and smoking a cigarette. His mood was upbeat he said he
hadn't minded the wait at all.
On the drive back to Henry's, where Roger had left his car, we listened to the
radio and chatted about the scene we were shooting the next day. The yogi
didn't come up. Roger gave me a kiss just before he climbed out of my car. A
brief kiss, it was true, but a hungry one. Enough to stimulate my appetite. Had
I not still been floating in the grace of the yogi, I might have fallen right then.
But that is the thing about temptation. It will always be there tomorrow, always
waiting. Temptation is like the waves of the ocean gently but persistently
wearing away the shoreline. Like temptation, it knows the day will eventually
come when everything softens, then crumbles.
Roger laughed softly as he stepped toward his black Corvette. He had me and
he knew it. I would not be taking the yogi's course tomorrow and I knew it.
CHAPTER X
Once more, in the middle of the night, after waking from a strange dream, I
went to sit at my computer. Off to my right, in the bedroom, Peter slept
peacefully. Thirty feet to my left, in the living room, Peter's blind baseball
prodigy, Jacob, slept on the sofa. Not only was Jacob missing his eyes his real
eyes, he had glass ones he had no home now either.
Peter said he would only be staying with us for a few days; I didn't mind. He
had been at the apartment when I returned from dropping Roger off. A tall,
gangly, black seventeen-year-old, Jacob had struck me as a polite young man.
But, boy, could he eat. Before going to bed he had cleaned out the leftover
turkey in our icebox and a large bag of potato chips, plus three cans of Coke.
Not to mention the chocolate cake he'd eaten.
Tomorrow I planned to send him to the supermarket with Peter and a hundred
dollar bill to let him buy what he wanted.
I couldn't sleep because I felt compelled to write. I didn't know what I'd say.
Only that it would come.
*****
THE STARLIGHT CRYSTAL
Sarteen sat in her quarters and stared at the column of jewels she had built to
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