December 1997. At 02:00 Noah’s lusty demand for room service wakes Lola and she gives him the breast. As always she smiles in pleased astonishment at this complete small person who has come out of her. Feeding him is her delight. His satisfaction makes her proud. Still wakeful when he’s replete, she makes herself a cup of rosehip tea and picks up Buddhist Wisdom Books. The much-used copy falls open at The Heart Sutra, page 81. Drawn to the lines in bold type, she reads:
Here, O Sariputra. Form is emptiness and the very emptiness is form; emptiness does not differ from form, form does not differ from emptiness; whatever is form, that is emptiness, whatever is emptiness, that is form, the same is true of feelings, perceptions, impulses and consciousness.
Lola feels that she has been entered by these words that she cannot take in. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘maybe understanding is non-understanding and the very non-understanding is understanding, right?’ She feels the unknown meaning of the words opening in her like a lotus blossom. She’s never seen a lotus blossom but her mind gives her a convincing image.
The unknown meaning feels pretty good but Lola would actually like to know it if possible so she makes an effort. Noah is beautifully formed. Is that emptiness? ‘Do me a favour!’ she says. Max’s love for her had form that turned out to be empty. The emptiness had the form of an affair with Lula Mae who was very well formed. The girl from Texas might have been empty to begin with but Max put a bun in her oven and her form got bulgy. Lola’s form also got bulgy from Max’s emptiness. At this point Lola finds her eyes closing but she flips the pages back towards the beginning where her eye lights on a single line of bold type:
Mindfully fixing his attention in front of him.
She likes the sound of that. Conze’s explanation follows in ordinary type, beginning with:
Preparatory to entering into a trance, the Buddha fixes his attention on the breath which is in front of him.
‘Interesting!’ says Lola. ‘Of course that’s nothing for non-Buddhas to try at home.’ Nevertheless, she mindfully fixes her attention on the breath in front of her and breathes it in. Now the scene before her eyes, the interior of her dome, begins to curl at the edges. Like a photograph held over a flame. What’s happening?
This: a dwarf black as ebony with a long body, very short arms and legs, large head, big ugly baby-face. Looks like something that goes on all fours. Apasmara Purusha, demon of Forgetfulness. Lola gasps, slaps herself in the face. Apasmara’s gone. Did she imagine him? Or did she only imagine that she imagined him? She puts on her headphones and listens to the raga Adana, depicted in a ragamala from Mewar (Plate 1 in The Raga Guide) as an ascetic seated on a tiger skin, sometimes identified as Kama, the god of love. Appropriate for late night (00:00 to 03:00).