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‛Don’t touch me!’<br />
‛Well, I think I know a bit about impermanence.’<br />
<strong>Buddhas</strong> <strong>and</strong> <strong>Bikinis</strong> 24<br />
‛Liar!’ she growled. ‛You’ve sat through weekend retreats with me <strong>and</strong> Rinpoche<br />
asking you fifty questions, do you get it? No! And you say yeah yeah piece of cake, but<br />
where’s the cake?’<br />
Warily, I sat down, ‛Okay, so explain impermanence to me like it’s the first time<br />
I’m hearing it.’<br />
Then she grabbed a sheet of paper from her thesis <strong>and</strong> stabbed it at me.<br />
‛What?’ I looked at the paper in her h<strong>and</strong>. ‛What!’<br />
‛What do you see?’ she asked, waving the paper in my face.<br />
‛Paper.’<br />
‛Is that all?’<br />
I looked again at the paper, ‛I see words, paper, black, white?’<br />
‛Exactly!’ she exploded. ‛Black <strong>and</strong> white, that’s you mister superman, I can<br />
conquer the world <strong>and</strong> nothing can hurt me, but I want to know where the hell is Clark<br />
Kent, where the hell is he, I need to know? Exactly, because you don’t know yourself.<br />
You’re a cardboard cut-out, you can’t even see me, all you see is in black <strong>and</strong> white, like<br />
those old movies you love, like Casablanca, black <strong>and</strong> white, friend or foe, whoa or woe,<br />
but its not Casablanca in the real world, because in the real world there is only happy<br />
endings when you pay for them!’<br />
‛Is that so?’<br />
‛Yes that is so. Your cup is so full it’s leaking out your ears.’<br />
Ten minutes passed <strong>and</strong> not a sound save the metronome clacking of the cheap wall<br />
clock, <strong>and</strong> the indifferent thub thub as I noisily thumped my fingers against the wall.<br />
‛Okay,’ I finally submitted, ‛What am I supposed to see on that paper?’<br />
‛What ever you want to see, I don’t give a shit.’<br />
Then she broke down <strong>and</strong> began sobbing <strong>and</strong> I had her cold limp body in my arms,<br />
holding her tighter than a child holds eggs at Easter. She calmed down, moving from anger<br />
to limpid calm in the ease of a dewdrop leaf.<br />
‛Tell me what you see,’ I asked gently.<br />
After wiping her tears away, she explained, ‛I see a piece of paper, but then I see<br />
sunlight from a distant star that kick-starts photosynthesis <strong>and</strong> the move of sap, the smell of<br />
Tasmanian pine, a German woodcutter’s sweat, his Polish wife cooking bacon-<strong>and</strong>-eggs,<br />
the mill worker late for work because his child’s sick with the flu, the factory worker in
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