Enlightenment Fan Fiction

“Doubt is the HIV of the inner world.”—Rama

The tragedy of you not believing in my enlightenment
is it means
you don’t believe in yours.

You remember me
my ego, my pride, my mistakes.
“How could she do it? Her? No way.”

Yes, me.
Precisely because—
I let go of me. 
Let go of my ego, my pride, my mistakes.

You can
do this too!

Let go of your ego, your pride, your mistakes.
But before that—
let go of doubt.
It can happen to you. 
I know—because it happened to me!

“Why become enlightened?…Why join the military? Why get married? Why cross the ocean? Why stay at home? Why stay single? Why avoid the Army? It’s a personal choice. There’s something in a person that draws them to the light.” —Rama, Enlightenment talk, The Enlightenment Cycle series, 1992

I was sitting with my teacher and asked her, “What is maya? You talk about the world being maya, illusion, but how can the world be illusion when it feels real and solid? I’m confused!”

She said, “Ah yes, but first I have an assignment for you. I’d like you to learn how to weave. Find a good school, learn the craft, and create a tapestry for me. The tapestry can be of any design, but make sure the border is red—that is your border color alone. When you are done, come straight back and we’ll discuss maya further.”

So I embarked on my task immediately. I found a renowned school with first-rate facilities and well known teachers; it even offered a study program in Japan where you could learn traditional techniques from Japanese masters! 

In my first studio class, there was an older woman seated at the loom in front of me, and she did the darnedest thing—she farted throughout the entire class. I don’t mean those little pop, pop, pop, popcorn farts, but rather, loud trumpet farts. Bodily functions have never been that amusing to me, but this was different. It felt a bit surreal because she acted as if nothing was happening. She didn’t giggle. She didn’t apologize. She didn’t fan the area. She didn’t react in any way. She just continued weaving and tooting, weaving and tooting. I don’t know if she was hard of hearing and so wasn’t aware they were loud, or if she simply didn’t think they were a big deal, but either way she was unmoved. I could see the guy to my right shared my amusement. His shoulders were shaking as he quietly laughed, and when we looked at each other it became almost impossible to hold it in. After class, finally away from everyone, we died laughing because it had just been so bizarre. We continued our giggles through lunch, and I was charmed by his easy laugh and the mischievous sparkle in his eyes, not to mention his handsome shoulders and cute booty. 

We both went on the study program to Japan. There I was so moved by the Zen aesthetic. We did everything using the ancient techniques. We wore simple hand woven tops and pants, and had special slippers just for the studio. The studio itself was minimal, but every element in it was crafted to perfection—the timber beams, the tatami mats, the sliding panels that opened onto the tranquil garden. The garden was a silent oasis of beautiful maple trees, moss-covered rocks and a delightful stream. And our teachers, well most of them, were amazing. To have these wise men and women, who’d learned the ancient art form from their masters, pass it on to us was a true honor. John and I both really resonated with the entire experience.

After we returned home and finished our studies, I decided to open a studio. I was pregnant with our first child and thought it would be easier to take care of her if I had my own studio. John, to my relief, decided to return to real estate. He’d gotten his license a few years back when he’d worked with his mother at her agency. It was a lucrative living, and a good way to support the family and finance the studio. And I was relieved to still be able to do my art. (It frequently goes unsaid that many artists have a partner or spouse who financially supports their artist lifestyle!)

The studio we built was a work of art. We fashioned it in the traditional Sukiya style—timber beams, tatami mats and screen walls that opened to the garden. And the garden, wow, we worked very hard to make it a really beautiful and peaceful meditative space.  

After a while we expanded the studio to include a school, but interest was limited, so we pivoted and used the compound for artist retreats. These, in turn, did really well. I created an almost flawless format that consisted of a little bit of art class, a little bit of yoga and meditation, a lot of great organic food, and a lot of Chardonnay. 

When the kids left for college, that was both rough and okay. I was supportive and happy for them to become independent of me, but regardless, their energy bodies were made from mine and as they spun further away, the pulling and thinning of the lines between us hurt. At least it was great to have all the social media and video games out of the house. Even though they are great and sensitive beings, they were still young and into all that garbage.

As John and I became older, we were like pieces of furniture in each other’s lives—always there, barely noticed, the stimulating conversations of fresh love used up decades ago. When he died, I grieved but continued on with my daily routine. Coffee and toast in the garden. Weaving in the studio. A walk with the dogs. Dinner and a movie. What was different was the space his thoughts had occupied in my mind was now free. I forgot that had even happened. When we were first together, it was an affront. His thoughts occupied space in my mind, and it really bugged me. Things I didn’t have any concern or affinity for lived inside my mind—things like hunger for junk food, competitiveness, web sites, certain humiliating sexual positions. I got used to the foreign presence after a while, and later, I forgot it was even there, taking all those thoughts on as my own. And now, with his death, all that space returned to me. It was then I remembered my teacher’s assignment.

I was mortified that I had forgotten—how could I have forgotten? It was truly shocking to me. I immediately set to work on the tapestry and finished quickly. When I returned, my teacher said, “Ah, there you are. I see you were delayed. This experience is, of course, the answer to your question about maya. You dipped your toe into maya, and got sucked all the way into illusion for sixty years, entirely forgetting your true mission. This is the nature of maya!”

“Now come with me. I will show you where this tapestry will be stored.” She took me down the hall to a heavy wooden door carved with a large dharma wheel. As she opened the door, I saw thousands and thousands of tapestries with my red border. “You see, you’ve been asking me this question for thousands of lifetimes. Just look at how many tapestries you’ve woven! Asking me about the nature of maya, is not the right question. The right question is ‘What does my soul want?’ It’s a personal choice to become enlightened. It’s not required, and if a soul wants more physical experiences, then it’s fine to go explore maya some more. But when a soul craves light, like yours does, you will always feel “off” and unsatisfied when you are not on the path to enlightenment. You can fool yourself into thinking you are on the path by doing “spiritual” things, like a little bit of meditation, having a Zen garden and doing yoga. But your soul knows and you know, that’s not enough. To wake up you have to fully intend it. It’s a choice without a backup plan. There can be no secondary intent. You can’t meditate a little bit harder and hopefully wake up. No! You make the choice to wake up, and once you quit fighting what your soul wants, everything falls into place!”

“Enough with this fascination with maya! Come now, let’s go meditate.”

In light of the current environment, reposting a poem from a few years back. To wake up you have to stop telling all the stories. Not only do you have to stop telling the false stories about how you’re not good enough and how you’re not worthy, you also have to stop telling the true stories—stories about sexism, racism and all of the injustices within maya. You have to stop telling all the stories.

When everything is set to right,
When sexual harassment ends,
When Black lives matter,
When wars no longer begin,
Will you be happy, will you finally be alright?

No, of course not.

Instead seek enlightenment,
and discover
the futility of suffering—
carrying as you do,
this mine of bliss
inside you.

Regular old Bram Stoker’s Dracula (2020 edition)

Oct 8 4:39 p.m.

Jonathan
nailed it!
I am the🤴🥇

Mina
??

boss picked me
to go white glove some rich Count in Romania
if I seal the deal i’ll make partner

🍾

awesome 👏🏻👏🏻

guy’s buying a ton of property
in London
and turning an old ⛪️
into a nightclub

🕺🏼

get this…he lives in Transylvania
for reals
I thought it was made up

whoa
🧛‍♂️
let’s celebrate!
Thai food?

Yes!

Oct 18 8:13 a.m.

Thru security. Text ya on the other side✈️

💓
Good luck!

3:52 p.m.

OMG u won’t believe this place
gothic AF
uber driver wouldn’t take me up to castle and some old
dude picked me up in a horse drawn carriage!!!
wtf!

oh shit
hahaha

wish me luck

💓
good luck

Oct 19 8:32 a.m.

This place is so creepy
not kidding
last night I had a dream
we were having sex
you were on top
it was so hot
but then it wasn’t your face
it was the Count’s
and I’m not sure it was even a dream
I know crazy

what? 

I need to get out of here asap
getting the paper work signed tonight
then I’m outta here

maybe just leave now?

I should finish first

ok
but if it gets weirder
just cut your losses and leave

11:14 p.m.

docs are signed
out tomorrow morn
you wouldn’t believe this guy
yesterday he looked like he was 90
today he looks 40
and super handsome
I’m not kidding
its like in that dream he fucked my youth out of me

today my hair and nails are falling out
I look feel dried up, drained
I have wrinkles that I didn’t have yesterday

Jonathan get out of there now!

i think there are prisoners here too
someone wrote ‘help us’ on my window

I’m going to find them tomorrow
to save them
and we can all get out together

No! Get out now!
r u crazy
leave now!

almost done
just very quick look for them
then out

No
please leave now!
I’m calling for help

Jon
r u there?

Oct 20 6:30 a.m.

Jon?

r u there?

JON!

Enlightenment Fan Version!!!

Oct 8 4:39 p.m.

Jonathan
I feel weird

Mina
what’s  wrong?

My boss just asked me to go to Romania
to help a client
it’s a BFD
if I pull it off I’d make partner

That’s great!
why do you feel weird??

I said no
everything about it felt wrong
I literally felt afraid when she was discussing the client
I can’t really tell what’s going on there
except to not go
I know to trust that

whew, yes
totally trust that!

I do
but there’s a small part of me that also feels weird
my boss now sees me as
unwilling to go the extra mile
unambitious

if it felt wrong, it was
there will be other opportunities

Yeah
thanks
💓

let’s celebrate following your gut
Thai food? 

Yes!

I pray for your blessing my guru, great and completely worthy spiritual friend. I pray that you will cause love, compassion and bodhicitta to arise in my mind. —Prayer from The Great Path of Awakening, said multiple times a day for years, walking down the hall at work, in the john, waiting in line, really everywhere. Then one day I realized it had come true.

Mila
I grew up privileged, but like most children of privilege, I had no awareness of our wealth and status—that is until it was all taken away. When my father died, instead of inheriting our house and farm, my mother and I were pushed out as my Auntie and Uncle took over what was rightfully ours. My mother seethed with resentment, and well, you know the story, she sent me to learn the Dark Arts so I could cast revenge upon our usurpers.

I had the power and discipline to quickly master sorcery, and in short order, conjured a spell that decimated our old house and crushed to death dozens of our relatives and neighbors. My revenge, of course, solved nothing. Instead, it only fueled the villagers to retaliate upon me. So then fearing for my life, my mother sent me to learn yet another dark spell. I dutifully complied, and soon let loose a hailstorm that destroyed the village’s harvest. This time, however, I saw how the cycle of revenge and retaliation is endless, and that there would never be a time when all the parties involved felt avenged and satisfied. I realized the futility of my spells, and more chillingly, saw that I would incarnate in the darkest of hell worlds, worlds that matched the vibration of my dark and vengeful deeds. Fear oozed through my being, and I knew the only way out of my current and future hells was to find a teacher, a spiritual friend who could purify my karma.

So I struck out in search of a teacher, my teacher, the one who could save me from my dark past. And while it was sweet to meet him, it was very difficult to endure what he put me through. He could see the hell I was destined for and understood that the pain I’d experience dissolving my bad karma would be nothing compared to the pain of those hell worlds. So he proceeded to put me through many trials to purify my karma. At times I was desperate and even considered suicide, but I’m grateful he pushed me through it all. On the other side of his tasks (rebuilding yet another tower), there was freedom from my past. And from there it was only up. I went on to lose all identity, and help countless others do the same. It’s hard to be a spiritual friend, to do for a student what is best for them rather than what seems outwardly nice (we have regular friends for that!), so I’m truly grateful to my guru for being my spiritual friend. Praise to my guru. Gratitude to my guru. Thank you, my spiritual friend.

Nikita
Bob: “I work, let’s say, for the government. We’ve decided to give you another chance.”
Nikita: “What do I do?”
Bob: “Learn. Learn to read, walk, talk, smile and even fight. Learn to do everything.”
Nikita: “What for?”
Bob: “To serve your country.”
…
Nikita: “What if I don’t make it?”
Bob: “You’ll make it.”

Idiot. I’m such an idiot. We’d just ordered room service and were rolling around on the bed, completely giddy with being in Venice on a romantic getaway, when the call came. It was a mission—my instruction to locate the rifle in the bathroom and wait for the signal. I should have known. How did I not know? Why did I once again think that Bob would treat me like a friend. That is not the nature of our relationship, nor will it ever be. So yeah, just an idiot that I thought he simply gave us a romantic trip to Venice because he was fond of me.

The first time I made this mistake was when he took me to dinner on my twenty-third birthday. I was so excited, my first foray into the normal world since I began training. He gave me a birthday present and I hugged it with glee. I thought he was recognizing how hard I’d been working, and silently showing me that he loved me. But instead of a present, it was a gun. It was a mission. He told me to assassinate the man sitting behind us and escape through the window in the men’s restroom. I remember crumpling for a moment at the sight of the gun—my illusion of a glamorous dinner date with this handsome man crushed, and my feelings hurt that we weren’t out together because he simply wanted to be with me. But I quickly rallied and did the job—that was the quality Bob had always seen in me, more than I ever saw in myself. That’s not to say I didn’t feel tricked (“Bob, the window was walled up!” “Of course it was.”), but I understand now I was being tested. I did the job then, just like I did in Venice.

I don’t know why I keep wanting to think of Bob as my friend. It’s a mistake to do this and has caused me to have an unnecessarily emotional response to the tasks he’s given me. It would be easier if I would simply recognize he’s my spiritual friend, because from that place, it’s easy to do what I’m assigned. Bob saved me, literally, and I am forever grateful. 

When I met him, I was fucked up bad. Completely zoned out. Addicted. No awareness except wanting it, needing it, looking for the next fix. I killed a police officer the night we broke into the pharmacy, and only Bob saw a seed of potential in my cold-blooded ruthlessness. The rest of the agency didn’t think I deserved another look, to them I was just a cop killer. But he saw me, the real me, and knew my strength could be redirected to the light. And, whew, I’m grateful he saw what he did and was patient with me, because I was so unaware and so ungrateful in those days. He was providing me a way out of hell, and I couldn’t even see it. It didn’t take me long to fall in love with him, but it took me years to really understand what he did for me.

So, yeah, I’ve been a slow learner. I remember telling my boyfriend Marco that he was the only one who ever helped me. Isn’t that funny? Bob was bailing me out of my shit karma! He helped me in a way Marco could never even dream of. (Not to bust on Marco—he was beautiful and helped buffer me while I was going through some tough trials, but he was clueless about the true story going on between Bob and me.) And, of course, Bob loved me, much more than Marco or any other person. It just wasn’t a human kind of love, it was bigger. It was the love of a spiritual friend.

And the missions finally paid off. After my last one, I was free to go. Even though the mission was a disaster (they had to send in a cleaner), the karmic debt was paid. It was never about the success of the mission, just like it was never about Milarepa building the tower correctly. But I suppose you can’t know that at the time. If you didn’t try to build the tower correctly, you’d never be purified of the debt. And now, because of my spiritual friend, I’m free of my old identities—slacker, rebel, junkie, assassin, agent—and can go higher into the light. The prayer worked.

Apollo:
Houston, we have a problem!
It’s that:
we believe others are allowed
to have an opinion about our path.
And so,
with opinions weighing us down,
we never gain the strength
to break free of
the gravitational pull of maya.

Houston:
People will have opinions—
that’s fine, it’s their nature.
Your work is to ignore
thoughts and opinions
about your path.
Be silent,
and thus,
float high
and break free!

“Realization of the Self is the greatest help that can be rendered to humanity. Therefore, the saints are said to be helpful though they remain in the forests only. But it should not be forgotten that solitude is not in forests only. It can be had even in towns, in the thick of worldly occupations.”—Ramana Maharshi

Are you coming home with me?
I’ve packed my bags and I’m ready to go.

Are you coming home with me?
I’ve booked you a ticket.

Are you coming home with me?
It’d be sweet to have you by my side.

Are you coming home with me?
It’s time to go.

Be like the Buddha,
and abandon your wife and newborn son,
to seek enlightenment.

Be like Ramana,
and run away from home,
to be with your guru, Arunachala.

Be like Swami Brahmananda,
and tell your father
to “pray to God that you may forget me
and that I may forget you too.”

Or be like Ramakrishna,
and keep mother close,
so worry for her won’t interfere
with your devotion to God.

Do what you need to do
to wake up.

Then—

Be like the Buddha,
who has liberated countless beings,
including his son.

Be like Ramana,
who has liberated countless beings,
including his mother.

Be like Ramakrishna, Swami Brahmananda,
and all the Enlightened ones,
who break with the social conventions of Illusion,
to bring the Dharma
to this place,
to liberate beings from Illusion and Suffering.