Turn counter to the clock
tick, its annoying tic,
stir the pot
left to right, set
the table west to east,
steer the small boat
from the harbor
against the sun path.
Traveling the heavens
has not led to protection.
WHEN I FINALLY FELT the full impact of the death of Herr M and the awfulness that came after—that a member of my family was involved—I fled to Lao Tzu for advice. I knew there was nothing I could have done to stop it, but I needed specific instructions as to what to do now. “What should I do?” were my exact words as my mind went running off. It was an impulsive action—this mind-running—and even though I knew it was wrong-spirited at the time, I did not think to stop myself.
Here, far below the earth’s surface, I continue to discover mountains where the glory of all seasons converge and burst into full bloom—the English oaks, German silver firs, Burmese banyan figs, and African acacias, all in their quiet dignity, existing together—and the lakes where still waters throw a perfect reflection and where the limestone resembles majestic waterfalls. A world I had now—with this news—temporarily abandoned, my mind and sight not focused on all the beauty I had come to find on this path to visit Lao Tzu.
I ran past the jubilant summer gardens filled with flowers crowded together without outline—boneless—existing with riotous exuberance and ease, past the venerable plum trees, gnarled and lichen covered, and the lotus flowers floating in the rivers, past the peach trees in the full glory of their blush and fragrance, past the flowering almond ones, their rosy blossoms dusting the ground beneath my feet as I ran faster and faster to Lao Tzu for advice.
Clearly, my alarmed reaction was an above-the-ground one, my emotional, panicky leap up there—my “trip up”—a backward step. But I had my reasons. I always felt, because I was the eldest of my cousins, that as the years passed and I grew wiser I would be able to fix things for them, and for that matter for others in my family. I wanted to polish the egos of those left so tarnished and dim the lights on those so focused upon the gloss of themselves and their possessions, much of the damage having been done by my father and my mother. But my life was cut off, shut down midcourse and therefore all my hopes for this—whether they were altruistic or egocentric or some combination of both—were thwarted.
When the long journey of my illness concluded with my forced detour to beneath the ground, intruding on all my good intentions, it was inevitable that I carried with me this over-responsibility, this overburdening of concern and resolve and however much I try not to, I continue, even at this distance, to assume the quiet, watchful role of the Slaughter family’s night nurse.
Now, I excuse myself for many reasons, starting with the fact that my time spent in eternity has been short and therefore my behavior, especially when I am under extreme pressure, is still more blatantly alarmist-human than otherworldly calm. Also, there was the act itself—that Herr M had been murdered. And a murder was definitely on the far side of that which goes against the natural life flow. Yes, everything I did after the instant of my full knowledge of what had happened—of all that I had witnessed—seemed to be going in reverse.