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A Valley Sutra

by Jane E. King

I have named this piece 'a valley sutra' because it appeared to me

whole, when I was in the vale, perhaps that which Keats called "the

vale of soul-making," or perhaps that of the "shadow of death," in

which I was not alone, because the beloved was by my side. I might

just as well have called it, "A Shamanic Journey to the Center," or

even "A Tantric Tale of Twins United." I thought of calling it "The

Secret Diary of Christ Magdalene," and another has suggested it be

"Inanna Petulant and Self-Absorbed." You yourself may call it

whatever you like, and send it back and forth in your name, or

another's. I had a joke with myself that most would call it "A

twisted mind finally 'round the bend," but that's OK too. It is

really OUR tale, not mine, and as such, I must caution you that the

ending is not what you will think it will be. Instead, for some of

you, it will be like something you've always known, but, because of

various blocks thrown in your path, eluded you in some way. It will

reveal the deepest and most essential of the mysteries, and I say

this without any pomposity, or desire that my truth be yours, but

simply because it is what we are.

The tale:

I had been in what I thought was sacred union with the beloved, but

although I yearned for the separateness to cease, it remained. There

is no time in this tale, so all I can tell you is , not "suddenly,"

not "eventually," not "after long hours," but sometime, I found

myself in a desert, somehow blinded, parched, and desperately

yearning for any form of kindness. I was ragged, and blistered. I was

sad, utterly alone. The beloved, it seemed, could not hear me or see

me. I crawled through burning sand, and all the while, a voice, which

seemed to me that of the Beloved, spoke to me, I knew not from where.

He said, "I am in the garden of eternal love. With my sister and

spouse. We are lovingly tending each other in sweet, refreshing pools

of love. The waterfall of emotion pours over us equally, and we are

creating a new Eden. We pour ourselves into each other....I have

never felt this much lubricious bliss, I am naked under the moon,

with the winds, in the pool. Everything I ever imagined is right here

now."

And I recalled when the Beloved had been with me, and said similar

things, and in utter despair I dug a hole in the sand, and cried all

my remaining tears into the hole, and then I drank them, because

though they were salty and bitter, and I gained no refreshment from

them, they kept me alive.

And the voice continued: "My heart is full with liquid love; I declare

my liquid love to all the world; my love stands naked before me, my

love lies in rapture beneath me. It is the renewal of all the earth.

The water pours over me and all my loves. I kiss and kiss and kiss

again my most one and only special, perfect love." And then the voice

said to me, "What is it that you want that is not here? It is YOU who

separate, you who set terms, you who live in deserts of the heart.

Look, my loves and I have found a hundred keys, each one unlocks a

door of precious flowing....."

and I remembered that I had been seeking a key, looking for that way

back into love and life and out of this hateful desert, and as I

crawled, I groped always for an object that might be such, and at

some moment, again, I can't say when, I touched something solid and

long. Something hard and not like the sand. As I felt around me, I

realized I had crawled into a charnel pit of some poor dead man, some

weak person like me, perhaps; and I thought, "these are bones." And I

felt around for the grinning skull, and found it, and then I felt

around for the remaining bones, and found them, and I laid them out

like a man, with arms outstretched, and the legs together, like a

tree. And then I stretched myself out on that figure in the sand, and

I laughed and laughed at my crucifixion. Mind you, my skin was

bleeding, oozing bit of puss, my face sunken, my once wild reckless

hair a rag, and I laughed and sobbed, and laughed some more. And I

began to throw my arms around like trees in the wind.

And the voice of the Beloved spoke, and said, " My one true love has

unlocked the key of the mystery for another; we are all here

together, we are all eating sweet fruits and letting the juices flow

down us, and we are licking them from each other, then plunging into

the love I hold for them." And I thought to myself¸ he cannot see me.

Surely if he could, he would hold out his hand and seize me too, and

bring me, key or not, out of the desert to be in the pools. And I

shouted to the sky, "what have I ever done to be abandoned in this

desert?" Why am I the tortured, abandoned one? And for once, there

was no voice, only silence.

In thrashing my arms about, I had felt, and unwittingly grabbed, a

strange object. I felt all its pieces, and realized it was a little

flail, a handle with six cords, and on the end of each a razor. I

thought, "this was the implement of death for this man upon whose

bones I lie." I was without any hope, and I realized my time was

near, and my skin was so sore and oozing, I decided immediately, that

since all I had found in this desert was the means to an end, I would

remove my skin. I flailed and flailed, and my flesh flew off in

pieces, and was so parched, a lot of it flew off on the wind, I knew

not to where.

When I was done, I had become a pool of blood, and it was as if the

flailing had not happened. The pain of that had been nothing compared

to the pain of separation. As a pool of blood, I began to feel myself

sucked into the sand, absorbed by it. I thought I would end up as a

thin band of red; ferrous oxide, rust, on the desert scape, and some

poor fool would see it and think its glinting meant she had spied the

key, and I felt remorse for her pain. But it didn't turn out that way.

A group of condors arrived on my bloody shore, and began to drink me.

I was grateful, and asked how they had spotted me, and they responded

that they always knew their own kind. Anything that lived, they

devoured, incorporated. And they always knew the difference between

what lived and what didn't. They said that when they flew, they

always sought that which gave them the feeling, 'we are that.' And

when they sensed a "we are that," they alighted to consume.

And I heard the voice again, though it was fainter now, and it said,

"Why do you seek the personal, when we are here to make universal

love? Why are you asking me to eat, drink, love you, when you know I

already have done so? Why is it not enough that I am in the pools of

love, and they are sweet and lubricious enough for us all?" Yet the

voice faded, because, drunk up by the condors, I became one with

condor mind. As Condor, we flew and flew, and suddenly a thought

would rise amongst us, "We are That!" and down we would swoop to

joyously consume The Prey, and incorporate it to be one with us. It

was only the living that aroused this strong love in us, and we would

swoop, and eat, and rise again, saying in one mind, along with our new

one, "We are That!"

But one day, flying low and searching, I saw something metallic

gleaming in the sands, and I cried out, "We are That!", but the

Condor mind replied, "No, That is not US, it is not Condor," and they

dropped me out of them, just like that. I was ejected back onto the

sands, but because of my time with Condor, I was as before; I could

see, and I could stand, and I once again had skin. I raced to the

place where I thought I had seen the key, but all I found was a lid

from an old tin can, discarded perhaps by some long-dead miner,

perhaps the very one who's bones upon which I had flailed off my

skin. But when I turned the tin over, I found the other side was

polished, like a mirror. I didn't want to look, but the old

compulsion was so strong, and there in the polished tin I saw the

Beloved, amidst the trees and birds, the flowers, the waterfalls and

pools. And I heard the Voice again, and it said, "I don't know why,

but I had forgotten you, but here I still am, my love, and in the

pools, and all our secret places of lubricious love." And I threw

myself on the sand, and cried out in agony, because I still did not

know the way there. I went into a fit; I tore out all my hair, I

raged and raged, the Bear in me, all my secret places, so long

ignored and not sought, and I spit on the tin mirror, and wondered if

i could use its sharp edges to again blind myself. And once again my

tears formed a pool.

And then I had a thought. I thought of the pool of blood I had been,

and I thought of the pool of water the Beloved had spoken of, and I

thought, "I am That"

I felt again the deep longing of me for him, and him for me, and him

for the others, and I thought, "I am that longing."

I thought of the love that flowed between, and I realized, "I am that love."

And I saw in the tin mirror the beautiful birds, and I remembered the

Condor, and I said, "I am that."

And I saw the waterfall spewing liquid all around and remembered my

flailing flesh, and said, "I am that."

And I saw the trees swaying in the breeze, and I remembered my cross

of bones, and I said, "I am that."

And I remembered the voice, ever calling, just as I had been trying to

call, and I said, "I am that."

And then I knew that there had never been a separation. I looked in

the tin lid again, and I saw a horrible desert, and my love upon a

cross, and a dark pool of blood." And I looked to my feet and saw

they were submerged in a beautiful pool, and a waterfall was flowing

over me, and the trees and flowers springing, and I said, "I am

that."

And I knew then that the Beloved was myself, and I saw that there was

no key to seek, no voice to listen for, no love in the night to send

kisses. Because the Beloved and I are one.

 

 

 

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[Guest guest]

, Bertha Mason/Jane Err

<berthamason2nd> wrote:

>

> Hi Haraha Satsangh, I'm quite new to this list, though I posted a

bit here and there recently. I want to thank you all, for the

sutras, for the amazing poems and photographs (Al Larus, wow!), and

just for being there. You've spoke during many a questioning night.

Anyway, I wrote the attached story before I had ever heard a thing or

read a word re Rahmana or advaita or any such. I was

seeking......................ya know. But my stories and poems

always seem to come from somewhere I hadn't anticipated (don't know

how else to say th is), and this one no exception. I love, honor,

and thank you all. Jane

 

Dear Jane,

 

You honor us with the terrific power of "A Valley Sutra."

 

Thank you for sharing it here.

 

Namaste

 

diana

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