Rude Awakenings - Forest Sangha Publications

^0 T H I R D M O O N 06exclusive patterns and then denies that reality doesn’t fit them. Butwhen your head gets turned around, you have to accept consciousnessdancing like a stream, flowing on even as it appears to be occurring inthe same time and place; flowing in contradictory directions accordingto hidden forces, its surface prickling and wrinkling with every breeze,dimpled by creatures surfacing within it or descending upon it. Whenthe controlling patterns of the will loosen, consciousness is never thesame from one moment to the next. It is not even a “thing” at all, justsensitivity trembling according to habits and circumstances.Meanwhile the mapless, clockless day meandered in the sun, joyfulat heart, confused and edgy in the mind—where are we going? The hungrymind hooks onto people and events to assemble some order: A manon a bike stopped and listened to our list of names. “Atri? Atri...? Youmust go to Tapo, there is an ancient hotspring there where you can batheand spend the night. It is in that direction.” He was a professor at theUniversity of Gaya. “Here is my card. You must stay in my house whenyou reach Gaya.” Then off on his bike. Heading down the road to Tapo,we came to a village. Men intercepted us, blocked our path ... “Dacoits... they will kill you.” We tried to laugh it off, but what seemed to be theentire male population of the village gathered and formed a blockadeacross the road. There was no arguing with that. We turned back, backto the vagaries. Eventually the day decided to rest with the descendingsun and dropped us on a road with kilometre stones bearing the word“Atri,” one of our projected possible destinations where Nick could tieup some of the police business. How very convenient! Our flaggingfootsteps livened up.I was riding on a sense of hope and of wonder that the day had takencare of itself—all we had to do was trust its flow. But the day wasn’tthrough yet. Nearing Atri in the dusk, a little old man squatting besidea tree asked us the familiar “Kaha ja ra hai?” I looked at him; it wasstrange that someone should be sitting alone in the dusk. Somethingfishy here. “Nick, that little old guy—something odd....” and in a2 5 8