I stand on my head. I stand on my shoulders. I bend forward. I bend backward. I sit up straight, turn to the right, turn to the left. I count my breaths. I lie down, becoming a corpse.
My eyes burned from waiting. Like the virgins in the Bible staying up all night, every night, their lamps burning as they wait for the groom.
Still, I cannot see the blue light.
The divorce application was filled out, in my hand. But I hesitate as before. Secretly filling out the form, furtively tearing it up. Where would I go, what would I do if I left your Kingdom? I don’t have a new refuge. At least it’s luxurious here with security and servants, and I have a job that earns respect.
The honeymoon is over. Our love is gone but my gratitude still exists. I don’t want to abandon you, my King, when the Kingdom is in trouble. You’re not in good shape, a divorce would further depress you (although I understand that my leaving would not cause any inconvenience as you’re still surrounded by so many other beautiful mistresses). Another betrayer, you would shrug it off, I know.
You never told me about the betrayers, those who left the Kingdom. I got the news from my loyal maid.
She told me about the old concubine planning to escape. You berated her: You’re arrogant. All your work here has just inflated your ego. No wonder your eyes cannot see the blue light. Dare leave this place, you will be reincarnated as a cockroach for sixteen lives.” So she stayed.
But I can’t stop thinking about the people who were really determined and left, willing to wait for the punishment reserved for betrayers. Not to be thrown in hell. Not to become a hungry ghost. But to be reborn as a cockroach consecutive sixteen times.
I found out that cockroaches appeared on earth three hundred millions years ago, in the Carboniferous period or even earlier. They were here even before dinosaurs. Dinosaurs were wiped out more than sixty millions years ago but cockroaches are still here. A few thousand kinds. Some have a long life. Some short. It’s bad luck to become an American cockroach, as it can take thirty years to finish the sixteen lives living in the body of a disgusting pest.
Thirty cockroach years, equals the time I spent with you.
After hearing the story of your old lover, I started paying attention to cockroaches. I no longer avoid them. The lucky ones would catch my eye. Is this someone who left the kingdom? I step on it. I’m not a cockroach murderer, I am a liberator. I shorten the insect life sentence for betrayers.
I’m not scared of becoming a roach. I am scared of what other people might say. How would I dare admit my pain, I am dying. Long ago I left my husband, my family, my friends, my homeland for you, I was laughed at. I didn’t think twice. I only worried that you would not open the Kingdom gate for me. I signed a pact to give you my soul. I didn’t hesitate.
Still no blue light. I am now exhausted.
Then divorce. I’ve said it over and over, under my breath. In recent years, your Kingdom has become famous and rich. It is not quiet like it was when I first arrived. People come here from all corners of the earth. Credit for this should be given to the advertising department staff and to their clever use of the Internet. Their spin is that your Kingdom is heaven on earth with five thousand years of history. This is the only known place in the world to clear your mind, to see the truth, and to find the meaning of life. The only place on earth where you find answers to all your material and spiritual questions. And see the blue light.
More and more people apply for admission to the Kingdom. Dejected, insomniac, tired of money, tired of fame, too thin, too fat, heart-cracked, brain festering. All applicants are wounded. Some only come because their friends do. Our finance staff goes blind counting the cash. Fees were increased a hundredfold to stop the wave of people coming. To no avail. People still line up at the gate for hours to get in.
The Kingdom has no more room. Every few days you expand your realm. Turning away people and losing money makes you depressed. But you’re gradually losing absolute power. The Kingdom is now divided into smaller states. Training for newcomers has also changed. Each state has its own rules and its own curriculum. Each announces itself as the one true place where it is certain you’ll see the blue light.
One day, you ordered your entourage to take you to observe what is done. You told me you were shocked. They reduce to a sliver the lectures on philosophy and on the history of the Kingdom. Spiritual practice is only a pause, a momentary ritual. All that remains is a series of exercises, no different from army training or a gym workout. You shake your head, you say you don’t want the Kingdom transformed into a gymnasium and a fashion show. To entertain people, the senior teachers invent all kinds of new things. In one class,baby goats are brought in to jump and play on the backs and stomachs of the students. In another, they do routines with a bottle of beer in their hands. Some take a natural approach, practicing without clothes. Others raise the room temperature to 40 degrees Celcious to cleanse the body and soul. This also causes breathing and heart problems. One student had to go to emergency. You told me you can’t believe that everyone would obey their masters without question. It’s accepted doctrine that the master can insult or abuse the disciples for their own good. Everyone struggles and moans while they do movements that are weird and painful. After class, everyone looks self-satisfied and feel like they have become purified through suffering. “Harder!” the master shouts. "Very soon your crooked mind will be straightened out! The fog will lift! And you will see the blue light! It is closer to you than your own breath!”
One day the people who had left the Kingdom came back. They dropped propaganda leaflets. Awake! Do something with your mind. Challenge your blind faith in the Kingdom. They also attacked the Kingdom on the web and in Facebook. Five thousand years of tradition and history? Just a myth, they say. Archaeologists found a piece of broken clay and decided that it was at least five thousand years old. There was a sitting human figure, with horns, feet together, hands outstretched over its knees. Around it were animals - a tiger, an elephant and maybe even turtles. And a few engraved letters that nobody can read. Immediately the sages in your Kingdom shouted to the sky “Five thousand years!” Their trembling voices were sincere. From that one piece of broken clay, the story of your Kingdom was built. Five thousand years. A mysterious number, worth feeling proud about, easy to believe in, easy to digest and repeat. Convincing! The stuff of truth.
The homecomers assured us that the history of a five thousand year-old Kingdom is just a story. Their research shows that the postures practiced in the Kingdom were actually invented just decades ago, not passed down from long ago ancestors. The betrayers also published news about the injuries caused by practices used in the Kingdom. More troubling are the sexual abuse scandals that no one in the Kingdom wants to talk about.
You suffered a stroke. The walls of the Kingdom bled. Everyone cried. I collapsed into my maid’s arms. Nobody wanted to listen to the betrayers or believe their lies. You summoned a staff meeting and vowed to fight back and protect the Kingdom’s reputation.
What a miracle! The Kingdom’s ancestors must have given their blessings. All the repeated preachings for centuries have been copied and stored in the memory of people. Your staff didn’t need to explain or justify anything. The good name of the Kingdom continues to spread. Crowds of people keep coming.
And it’s not just a reckless claim. Everyone knows that your Kingdom is solving all the true problems in the world. Your betrayers, disgusting cockroaches, can’t do anything about it. Thousands of web sites attest to your power. Nowadays, to join your Kingdom is to waken to spiritual truth. Become a citizen of the Kingdom and you too will enter into a world of spiritual beauty. You can leave the mediocre class that worships material things.
More demand. We have to open a new and a faster training program for masters. Who doesn’t want to teach others and fix them up and earn fame and fortune? Be a spiritual leader. A new luxurious career blossoms in our Kingdom.
You look at me, powerless. The Kingdom is nothing like when I first came.
Every day your citizens walk proudly head up, chest out, in the streets of the Kingdom. With pride, they sling a folded mat, tights and an iphone on their shoulders. They post on Facebook selfies as they conquer poses that mortals should never dream of performing. Their customized, Lululemon clothes are only sold in the Kingdom, their gestures and behaviours are unvaried. They all eat the same food and use code words that outsiders don’t understand. They like and dislike the same things, and never tell each other about the late nights, and about solitary struggles with their demons.
And I too carry a mat on my shoulder as I look for that five thousand year old, ancient truth. I obey all the rules and regulations, as your most loyal servant. Just like the other sheep in your flock. You give me blessings, anoint me with aromatic oil. I don’t want to become a betrayer, a cockroach. The quiet and peaceful candle light. The sound of chanting. The shivering, musical notes drop on my aching soul. Along with others, I walk barefoot in a room full of spread-out mats, searching. I still follow you on your winding path, waiting for the blue light that is hiding somewhere.
I stand on my head. I stand on my shoulders. I bend forward. I bend backward. I sit straight up, turn to the right, turn to the left. I count my breaths. I lie down, becoming a corpse.
When will I see the blue light? Please tell me. I beg you. I swear I won’t tell anyone what you whisper to me. Is there a blue light? Or is it something that will forever be just over the next hill, like the legendary unicorn.
Calgary, January 2018
Still, I cannot see the blue light.
The divorce application was filled out, in my hand. But I hesitate as before. Secretly filling out the form, furtively tearing it up. Where would I go, what would I do if I left your Kingdom? I don’t have a new refuge. At least it’s luxurious here with security and servants, and I have a job that earns respect.
The honeymoon is over. Our love is gone but my gratitude still exists. I don’t want to abandon you, my King, when the Kingdom is in trouble. You’re not in good shape, a divorce would further depress you (although I understand that my leaving would not cause any inconvenience as you’re still surrounded by so many other beautiful mistresses). Another betrayer, you would shrug it off, I know.
You never told me about the betrayers, those who left the Kingdom. I got the news from my loyal maid.
She told me about the old concubine planning to escape. You berated her: You’re arrogant. All your work here has just inflated your ego. No wonder your eyes cannot see the blue light. Dare leave this place, you will be reincarnated as a cockroach for sixteen lives.” So she stayed.
But I can’t stop thinking about the people who were really determined and left, willing to wait for the punishment reserved for betrayers. Not to be thrown in hell. Not to become a hungry ghost. But to be reborn as a cockroach consecutive sixteen times.
I found out that cockroaches appeared on earth three hundred millions years ago, in the Carboniferous period or even earlier. They were here even before dinosaurs. Dinosaurs were wiped out more than sixty millions years ago but cockroaches are still here. A few thousand kinds. Some have a long life. Some short. It’s bad luck to become an American cockroach, as it can take thirty years to finish the sixteen lives living in the body of a disgusting pest.
Thirty cockroach years, equals the time I spent with you.
After hearing the story of your old lover, I started paying attention to cockroaches. I no longer avoid them. The lucky ones would catch my eye. Is this someone who left the kingdom? I step on it. I’m not a cockroach murderer, I am a liberator. I shorten the insect life sentence for betrayers.
I’m not scared of becoming a roach. I am scared of what other people might say. How would I dare admit my pain, I am dying. Long ago I left my husband, my family, my friends, my homeland for you, I was laughed at. I didn’t think twice. I only worried that you would not open the Kingdom gate for me. I signed a pact to give you my soul. I didn’t hesitate.
Still no blue light. I am now exhausted.
Then divorce. I’ve said it over and over, under my breath. In recent years, your Kingdom has become famous and rich. It is not quiet like it was when I first arrived. People come here from all corners of the earth. Credit for this should be given to the advertising department staff and to their clever use of the Internet. Their spin is that your Kingdom is heaven on earth with five thousand years of history. This is the only known place in the world to clear your mind, to see the truth, and to find the meaning of life. The only place on earth where you find answers to all your material and spiritual questions. And see the blue light.
More and more people apply for admission to the Kingdom. Dejected, insomniac, tired of money, tired of fame, too thin, too fat, heart-cracked, brain festering. All applicants are wounded. Some only come because their friends do. Our finance staff goes blind counting the cash. Fees were increased a hundredfold to stop the wave of people coming. To no avail. People still line up at the gate for hours to get in.
The Kingdom has no more room. Every few days you expand your realm. Turning away people and losing money makes you depressed. But you’re gradually losing absolute power. The Kingdom is now divided into smaller states. Training for newcomers has also changed. Each state has its own rules and its own curriculum. Each announces itself as the one true place where it is certain you’ll see the blue light.
One day, you ordered your entourage to take you to observe what is done. You told me you were shocked. They reduce to a sliver the lectures on philosophy and on the history of the Kingdom. Spiritual practice is only a pause, a momentary ritual. All that remains is a series of exercises, no different from army training or a gym workout. You shake your head, you say you don’t want the Kingdom transformed into a gymnasium and a fashion show. To entertain people, the senior teachers invent all kinds of new things. In one class,baby goats are brought in to jump and play on the backs and stomachs of the students. In another, they do routines with a bottle of beer in their hands. Some take a natural approach, practicing without clothes. Others raise the room temperature to 40 degrees Celcious to cleanse the body and soul. This also causes breathing and heart problems. One student had to go to emergency. You told me you can’t believe that everyone would obey their masters without question. It’s accepted doctrine that the master can insult or abuse the disciples for their own good. Everyone struggles and moans while they do movements that are weird and painful. After class, everyone looks self-satisfied and feel like they have become purified through suffering. “Harder!” the master shouts. "Very soon your crooked mind will be straightened out! The fog will lift! And you will see the blue light! It is closer to you than your own breath!”
One day the people who had left the Kingdom came back. They dropped propaganda leaflets. Awake! Do something with your mind. Challenge your blind faith in the Kingdom. They also attacked the Kingdom on the web and in Facebook. Five thousand years of tradition and history? Just a myth, they say. Archaeologists found a piece of broken clay and decided that it was at least five thousand years old. There was a sitting human figure, with horns, feet together, hands outstretched over its knees. Around it were animals - a tiger, an elephant and maybe even turtles. And a few engraved letters that nobody can read. Immediately the sages in your Kingdom shouted to the sky “Five thousand years!” Their trembling voices were sincere. From that one piece of broken clay, the story of your Kingdom was built. Five thousand years. A mysterious number, worth feeling proud about, easy to believe in, easy to digest and repeat. Convincing! The stuff of truth.
The homecomers assured us that the history of a five thousand year-old Kingdom is just a story. Their research shows that the postures practiced in the Kingdom were actually invented just decades ago, not passed down from long ago ancestors. The betrayers also published news about the injuries caused by practices used in the Kingdom. More troubling are the sexual abuse scandals that no one in the Kingdom wants to talk about.
You suffered a stroke. The walls of the Kingdom bled. Everyone cried. I collapsed into my maid’s arms. Nobody wanted to listen to the betrayers or believe their lies. You summoned a staff meeting and vowed to fight back and protect the Kingdom’s reputation.
What a miracle! The Kingdom’s ancestors must have given their blessings. All the repeated preachings for centuries have been copied and stored in the memory of people. Your staff didn’t need to explain or justify anything. The good name of the Kingdom continues to spread. Crowds of people keep coming.
And it’s not just a reckless claim. Everyone knows that your Kingdom is solving all the true problems in the world. Your betrayers, disgusting cockroaches, can’t do anything about it. Thousands of web sites attest to your power. Nowadays, to join your Kingdom is to waken to spiritual truth. Become a citizen of the Kingdom and you too will enter into a world of spiritual beauty. You can leave the mediocre class that worships material things.
More demand. We have to open a new and a faster training program for masters. Who doesn’t want to teach others and fix them up and earn fame and fortune? Be a spiritual leader. A new luxurious career blossoms in our Kingdom.
You look at me, powerless. The Kingdom is nothing like when I first came.
Every day your citizens walk proudly head up, chest out, in the streets of the Kingdom. With pride, they sling a folded mat, tights and an iphone on their shoulders. They post on Facebook selfies as they conquer poses that mortals should never dream of performing. Their customized, Lululemon clothes are only sold in the Kingdom, their gestures and behaviours are unvaried. They all eat the same food and use code words that outsiders don’t understand. They like and dislike the same things, and never tell each other about the late nights, and about solitary struggles with their demons.
And I too carry a mat on my shoulder as I look for that five thousand year old, ancient truth. I obey all the rules and regulations, as your most loyal servant. Just like the other sheep in your flock. You give me blessings, anoint me with aromatic oil. I don’t want to become a betrayer, a cockroach. The quiet and peaceful candle light. The sound of chanting. The shivering, musical notes drop on my aching soul. Along with others, I walk barefoot in a room full of spread-out mats, searching. I still follow you on your winding path, waiting for the blue light that is hiding somewhere.
I stand on my head. I stand on my shoulders. I bend forward. I bend backward. I sit straight up, turn to the right, turn to the left. I count my breaths. I lie down, becoming a corpse.
When will I see the blue light? Please tell me. I beg you. I swear I won’t tell anyone what you whisper to me. Is there a blue light? Or is it something that will forever be just over the next hill, like the legendary unicorn.
Calgary, January 2018
