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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
Bodhicita’s turn to cry
>> Kaneohe
There's nothing new about men going off to risk their lives for a higher good. Nothing new about women being left behind to worry, cry and pray. Even the modern American military sending women off to stand in harm's way while their men stay behind with the kids is just a variation on a theme. No, there's nothing new at all until it's your turn to feel the fear, loneliness and heartache, as every generation of soldiers' families learns.
Now it was Bodhicita Guzman's turn to cry.
"Can we have a few moments together, alone?" Bodhicita whispered to the second Lama Jey Tsong Khapa as he prepared to leave with the Ah Suns.
She was his eternal consort, true, but in this life they'd barely met and now he was about to come out of the safety and the hiding provided by Kamasami Khan and the Free Tibet Warrior Society. In just a few hours he would be addressing Hawaii's religious leaders at the East-West Center. Te-Wu, the Chinese secret police who had already made two attempts on the life of the lama's stand-in, would be there. Bodhicita's former lover, Fon Du, the head of Te-Wu, had told her so the last time they were together.
The lama understood. Although he was a few days shy of his 19th birthday and the only women he had known from the age of 2 were nuns, the compassionate essence of a Buddha is to see the world from others' eyes.
"Of course." Turning to Lily Ah Sun, with whom he would ride, and her husband Quinn, who would follow on the motorcycle the lama had earlier gotten to ride, "If you would give me a minute or two... "
One look and Lily understood. It wasn't just soldiers' families who lived with the daily fear that the one they loved could die just doing his job. The families of cops, she learned when she married Quinn, awoke each day with the same fear, the same prayer.
"Take your time," Lily said and squeezed Quinn's big hand.
The cop glanced at his watch. He understood too, but also that duty came first. "But not too much time, your holiness. You need to be at the hotel in an hour."
Fingers brushing, the lama led Bodhicita to the downstairs room where he slept last night, closed the door. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he bade to do the same, facing him.
"My understanding of practice is limited," he began. "My teachers thought it best to wait until I mastered other paths. But ... "
He held his hands up, palms toward Bodhicita, thumbs pressed together. She did the same, lightly pressed her thumbs and palms to his. "Breathe with me," he said, inhaling.
"Oh my god," she said, tingling in places she didn't know she could tingle.
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Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek. His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin. He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com