Page 95 of And Still Her Voice
“Yes, apparently, he came to India to do missionary work and ended up in Madras where he was eventually killed back in 72 AD.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“Well, you can doubt it if you like, Anna,” he said with a laugh.
I looked forward to our meet-ups. We met a few more times and as I listened to his stories, I watched his face light up in the telling. I imagined kissing his full lips. I imagined being his wife and listening to his peaceful, yet alluring voice, morning, noon and night.
But then on what would turn out to be my final evening, we walked to the shore. The thought that this part of my journey was coming to an end made my stomach flutter as if I’d swallowed all the butterflies in the garden. We ended up at a gate that was slightly ajar. I pushed through and found myself standing on the shore.
“You know, Vihaan, I grew up believing so many things that have proven to be false, like about life and love.” I dug my feet into the sand. “My grandmother seemed certain of so much, telling me stories about how the world existed and how I was to exist in this realm. I believed in things within my own family, about my ancestors, the ghosts, my religion, my country, whether or not miracles really happen like in the Bible? Is there a heaven and hell? Was Mary really a virgin? Things my Grandma tells me. Seems to me stories are just a form of instruction. Call me Doubting Anna, but I really have a hard time trusting so many of the stories I’ve been told.”
“There are gifts and blessings in all these things, but they can all be made absolute and used to defend the ego. Have you heard the parable of the raft?”
“Another story?”
He smiled. “One of the principles behind Buddha’s sense is that spirituality ought to be practical. In other words, don’t speculate on theological debates. None of these things can be known, and we waste our time and energies pursuing them, often fighting over them. Spirituality ought to be practical. Use the truths that are given to you as a raft, to carry you across the raging waters, through troubled times, to help you find your way to safety and blessings. The time will come when you will cross the river and gently set your raft down on the banks and move on.”
I looked out across the ocean, sparkling and shoreless. On the other side was home. “I’m going to miss you so much, Vihaan.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Anna.”
Suddenly, I wanted to return home to apply all that my personal lama had taught me.
“I understand, Anna, but I like it here,” Grandma whispered.
“Believe me, Grandma, if I could, I’d find a way to leave you here.” And as soon as the words left my mouth, I felt something akin to remorse.
So that’s all it took. Simple. While it takes nine months before a baby is ready to come into this world, it had taken me almost twenty years to reach this stage of enlightenment. They say it takes what it takes. I felt the lotus flower in my heart blooming. I’d come to comprehend how going forward there would be no benefit in denying the existence of my wise old Grandma, no use trying to figure her out.
At last, it seemed that while I hadn’t found the answers to my quest, I’d finally lost the questions. I’d been through the process of a transformation, a human revolution. On this journey, I’d been looking for ways to ditch Grandma—finding love would have been the bonus or the reward for having put up with her my whole life. By accepting the gift of Grandma Phoebe, I’d found a way to treasure my gift. I’d started to breathe again during this expedition. But still on a quest to find love, I also had a new question to ask of the universe. What is my purpose?
CHAPTER 33
Layover in Paradise
With the freshly minted optimism I’d gained during my stay at the Society, and especially from Vihaan, and, of course before that, my travels with Swami Satchidinanda, I was ready to go home and practice co-existing with my dual consciousness. Grandma wanted to stay, but understood the pull for me to finally return to my family. But during my layover in Tokyo, the trajectory of my life would change forever.
As I waited to board my plane, I picked up a newspaper to catch up on what was going on at home, but Grandma wanted to talk, so I held the paper up close to my face.
“Thank you for the lovely trip, Anna.”
“Yes, it’s been quite a journey. I should be thanking you, Grandma. I definitely feel a transformation, like I’ve changed for the better. It’s like I have some new tools to live in harmony with you. I might have learned how to handle you.”
“I’m delighted.”
“I saidmighthave learned,” I chuckled. “Time will tell if we can exist out in the real world.”
“Darling, we’ve survived thus far.”
“But I want to thrive.”
I flipped through the paper. Back home, the National Women’s Political Caucus, a grassroots organization established by womensuch as Betty Friedan, Shirley Chisholm, and Gloria Steinem, would focus on supporting women who sought offices at all levels of the government. Yes! We need more women in government. The voting age had been lowered from twenty-one to eighteen, which made sense—if you could get drafted at eighteen, then you should be able to vote. “Joy to the World”was the number one single. I read that Nixon had declared a war on drugs. I laughed at the irony when I read that Mick Jagger and Keith Richards were sentenced for two drug offenses. But then, my heart took a dive when I came across the caption: “Leader of Lazarus Rising Dead of an Overdose.”
“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world,” I heard a man say.
By now my heart was in my throat. Rest in Peace, Dear John. I wiped my eyes before setting the paper down and looked up. His face looked familiar, but his uniform was the dead giveaway. United States Coast Guard. “Well, here’s lookin’ at you kid,” I said. “Tommy, right? What are you doing here?”
“Just finished a tour of duty in Nam. Headed for some R & R and then I’ll start my next tour in Hawaii.”
