“What would you have me do, in truth? Some lack of comprehension dulls me still.”
“Light your own lamp. I cannot do it for you. The door has opened but an inch or two to show a chink of light. Dancing in dust and motes of idle thought, you do not see it yet it hangs as clear as day before your eyes.”
“If it is there and I cannot see it, what a nonsense it seems to me! Do you speak in parables, or what?”
“Once I kicked a pebble and it rolled downhill. When I reached the bottom it had gone,” my aunt replies.
“If it is gone, why do you kick it still?”
Father enters, neither grave nor gay, the question- fallen from his lips-is scooped up, washed and ironed and put away.
“Had you not heard what I said, the answer would have been wasted. What an idleness we talk!”
She laughs in saying so, embraces him as I in my turn do. We are come upon ourselves anew, made whole again.
“What happens, father, when we die?”
I loll upon my bed, regard them solemnly, am indolent and stretch my legs, my ankles neatly crossed.
“No birth, no death. So long as you continue with your opposites your mind will be ever moving back and forth as one who sits beside a swing or watches tennis players at their game. All words are but the shadows of the things. All things are but the products of our thoughts. Had we but chance to see this, would we not be happier?”
“I am happy as I am.”
My answer pleases him. He smiles", departs. The arrows will soar forth again, the long shafts sing, The Times be ruffled, folded in its everydayness. Dew on the roses. I shall lap it with my tongue, wear Turkish slippers curled up at the toes.
“Are my eyes Turkish? Do you think so?”
I spring up, stare within my mirror, move my lips and pout.
“Large to entice and deep their colouring. Would you have me flirt with you? Keep your wiles for another.”
“We shall paddle in the sea tomorrow. Cold at our feet the water and our toes will curl. Papa may take a likeness of us with his magic box. Mama will watch for pirates. Oh! What are you at?”
“Unbuttoning you. You have a certain fever of excitement that must needs be cooled. Strip to your stockings and wear beads between your breasts, dark to your skin. Put on the sari now and let it wind and wind and wind till you are sheathed in silk, your bottom moulded well, your belly flat. When lifted up, the drapes fold at your hips, cascading without movement, water in its flowing frozen. Now to your meditations sit-legs crossed-upon the centre of the bed.”
“You will draw the curtains, I know. It will be dark.”
“Nor dark nor light. Enough to see. See in your seeing see, and see beyond. You will not to Brighton else.”
“Boys run along the chain pier there. The sea…”
“Be quiet, my love, be quiet. Stare at the wall. Let your eyelids droop and yet be blinded not. All muddied thoughts will sink. Be calm, be calm.”
Is gone, is gone, and empty now the room save for myself.
It is quiet, it is quiet, it is quiet.
I will sink my I. I shall try.
The colours now are brighter on the wall. I must not think of colours. I shall wear my sari all the night, stockings neat and garters tight.
Omni mani padme hum…omni mani…
What shall we do today, Mama, what shall we do today?
Thoughts bubble on and burst…are gone…are gone.
Time lapses yet is infinite.
A flash of lightning and I am within! Within, without, there are no boundaries. The Old Man sitteth here in all his homeliness, and he and I are one and I am he.
The dewdrop slips into the shining sea.