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| Prince Kamawannanacka Rock |
[Our story thus far, or as far as anyone can see: Six of the Fish Hawk Country drop
outs accepted Mel's invitation to convene on Prince
Kamawannanacka Rock in the middle of the Fish Hawk River for group meditation.
It was Garson's idea. He was hoping the "girls" (sorry, this was the
60s) would take off their clothes while meditating in the sun. Garson wasn't
much into meditation. Eventually, succumbing to the subtle poetic powers of the
Fish Hawk River, our drop outs removed their clothes, to wit (and by witness), …]
Was
it the sun's bright stillness that calmed our dropouts so?
Was
it the languid in and out and in and out of breathing?
Were
they Garson's playful suggestions heeding?
Was
it the River-inspired Rock's desire to go
back
before the Big Flood's violent flow
to
a time when gentle areas were white on white
(or,
more akin to his and her's-story, black on black)
and
nudity was right both day and night
Was
it the spaciousness surrounding their internal atoms
that
motivated them to be like Eve and Adam
?
And
so it was that our dropped out outlings
shed
their garments and to the air them did fling
In
solemn quietude not a word was said
It
was all beyond mind and out of head.
The breeze was too soft to feel like a breeze. It was air
hoping to breeze. It graced Mel's skin with a hint of air, like the air soft on
your skin when a dog next to you wags his tail.
After many moments of thinking thoughts and letting them go
with the out breath, letting them go to wherever thoughts go - Mel, eyes shut,
imagined them floating, somersault-tumbling into the spaced blackness, he
began to see the large purple dot of a glob pulsating in time to his heart
beat. It rolled into his interior vision from right to left expanding,
contracting, slowly morphing purple to blue to white to purple again.
Vato had laughed when Mel told him about his purple glob
that appeared when he entered deep meditation. [Editor's Notary: Hi, I'm the Editor's Notary, noting that "Vato" is Mel's long-distance guru who transmits daily mantras telepathically and transpersonally to Mel from 2,000 miles away in Central Tejas. When it comes to meditation, Vato doesn't fool around.]
Oh! Your third eye is playing games with you! (Vato
exclaimed, grinning broadly - this conversation having occurred when Mel lived with Vato for a spell during the previous summer.) Don't pay
it any attention. Don't let it take you from your breath. Don't let it mess
with the practice of letting go your thoughts. That's your real job. Your
purple light show is just your ego seeking entertainment.
But Mel gave the purple some credit. He couldn't make it
appear. It happened when it wanted to.
He had no control over it. It shaped and unshaped itself at its own will. And
it vanished when he withdrew his attention, like if he opened his eyes or let
himself think of Big Back Mary.
So he relaxed and let it come and do its thing. But after
many moments, as so often happens, cohabitating with the purple didn't cut it.
It wasn't his thing, as Symcopatin' Snaz would say. [Editor's Notary here again. Sorry to keep busting up the flow of the narrative, but you might want to know that Symcopatin' Snaz is Mel's altered ego, a would-be comic character who lives in Mel's mind. ... Now, back to our story!]
So he opened his eyes and of course, after a few breaths,
upon closing them again, the purple was gone, replaced by blackness or a
representation of the predominate light color in the outer world.
So now … breathing in … holding the breath for a moment …
breathing out …
On his out-breath, his breath fully expelled, he was in a
space where he neither breathed in or out. In that space before the next
in-breath, that soft safe empty space …
Although the purple had disappeared, he sensed something
different this time with its vanishing.
He didn't know why. Was it the atmospherics shifting ever so
slightly in the late summer air, sensing the coming infusion of the fall? Did
the Great Mathematician accidentally erase a digit on the celestial chalkboard
causing a temporary imbalance in the eternal equation? Did the light above the River
drift to a different prism where the "normal" rays of sun and water
reflection changed?
Whatever the glitch in the cosmos (if it was indeed a
"glitch"), Mel saw it as he opened his eyes. And he saw it in the
soft space between in and out breath. Thinking about it later, he was glad
he hadn't blinked or breathed and thereby lost sight of it or missed it
altogether.
It was like a purple vapor shadow. As it drifted closer, it
looked like a misty strip of film, so feather-fragile that he marveled at its
innate strength to lift from the River's surface and float casually but
irrevocably toward them.
Mel squinted and almost lost sight of it in the sunlight. It
seemed amused at his concern about that. It floated and curved, as though it
were smiling at him. It was about a foot long, a few inches wide. Onion skin
paper thin. And purple.
It brushed Sheila's forehead and lightly touched her
nipples. It buckled, humped slightly, and flickered against Sally's cheek.
Gradually one by one, methodically but playfully, it touched the skin of each
of the dropouts - all with their eyes shut, save Mel (and he saved it all with
interest).
When it got to Mel, it hovered in front of his opened eyes.
It curled knowingly at either end. He breathed in. The River shimmered through
the translucent layer of the purple film. Through it Mel saw the colors of the
forest across the River and up on the hills. Greens, yellows, blues - they
sparkled more vividly than ever.
Breathing out, Mel watched as the strip of vapor glided off,
away.
Again, Mel was in the soft space between breaths. His mind
was truly empty of all thoughts. His ego was asleep. He saw the River through
the purple ribbon.
The ribbon slid toward the River and back again to circle
once more before it let the current's air take it downstream. And so it
vanished.
Sheila opened her eyes and they glistened with tears. Sally
breathed a deep sigh and broadened her smile, choosing to remain shut-eyed. A
sweet peace adorned her face.
Harris looked at Sheila with wonder. He had never before seen
such beauty.
Garson, grinning broadly, sat crossed-legged, face turned
sunward, his arms raised, palms open.
Big Back Mary stared at Mel.
Gawd, what he'd be like in the sack! she thought.
Vick grinned broadly at the sight of everyone's nakedness.
He alone had words:
This was the way it was meant to be, he said softly like he
had just enough breath for those words and no more.
Garson sensed a realization, as if from an calm inner voice that
was not his. A voice not familiar to any
thought pattern, but a calm, matter of fact voice. A voice that had him sense
that the Fish Hawk had protected him that night* and that whoever had blabbed
to the cops had done him a great favor. He would never have realized how
protected he was had they not flapped their jaws. He could not know how long he
would have this realization, but he was glad he had in that moment.
Mel, experiencing serenity outside and beyond any form or
structure, treated himself to a deep cleansing breath. He looked up across to
the River, felt the power of its rushing waters - impermanence in motion. But
the memory of the purple ribbon lingered, it's elegant silence touching the
moments beyond thought.
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| A rare glimpse of the Fish Hawk River flowing between Prince Kamawannanacka Rock (left) and its ancient consort, Princess Kalaililikikana Rock. |
* This refers to a scene in the first
chapter when Garson is hauling contraband up the mountain at night in his '56
Chevy pick up when he sees and hears that the cops are tailing him. Rounding
the first turn of a sharp switchback in the road, he tosses the
"goods" into the River and turning into the top of the switchback discovers
the cops have vanished. For the rest of that chapter and throughout the the Fish Hawk Saga he
wonders 1) who tipped the cops off to the fact he was had "the goods" and 2) how was it that they vanished so mysteriously?! ... More will be revealed, Dear Reader.
