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My linga does not reach the sky.
It's trying.
In aropa, flowers are offered to the nayika.Sbe is begi
You're so sweetly prim here. Like a little cactus. Without thorns. With a little bitter dewdrop.
Your breasts are fruit with tips the color of eggplant. Your shoulders are a silver yoke. Your jaw is a wing, beating slowly up and down.
Those are nice attributes. I like this aropa part.
When the nayika is not there, the yogi remembers her beauty. That is the fourth stage, manana.
Will you remember me?
Ah, your voice is dark and sad. That is the question women ask. They always ask, "Will you remember me?"
They want to know.
Their asking so earnestly plunges the lovers back into time, the sad time that does not exist in Vrindavan.
I think you have many nayikas to remember.
The visbesha rati is not jealous. She is Shakti and is all women.
How very convenient for Shiva.
You ridicule your Master. You are being wicked Kali.'
I'm getting sexually frustrated. How many more stages are there?
No need exists to rush. That is very Occidental, your need to rush.
Couldn't you at least kiss me? Somewhere. Anywhere.
The next stage is dbyana, mystic meditation, in which the nayika sits upon the lover's left and is embraced, not for the sake of bodily pleasure but for the enhancing of the spirit.
That may be too subtle a distinction for this old girl.
No. Not subtle. Love is for bodies only when the spirits are in harmony. Love is more than fucking only when the god in the other is saluted. That is why we say, "Namaste."
I love the way you say "luff." I always have.
That is why we say, "So 'bam." I am He.
I'm supposed to say something back but I forget what.
You say, "Sa 'bam." You are She.
Sa 'ham. I am Stye.
Great Kundalini, stand so I may meditate upon your body, each glistening particle, each cell of skin, each hair and gland. Think with me of your body cell by cell, as something greater than galaxies, greater than all the jewel trees. You are like a Bodbisattva standing in the Land of Bliss, in Sukbavati. You are infinitely tall, infinitely splendid. You are immeasurably radiant, amitabha. You are amitayus, forever enduring.
Mm. That feels nice. Tickly, but nice.
I am bathing you with my tongue. I drink your perspiration, your rasas. This is fuja, the sixth stage. The nayika is bathed as if she is a statue of the goddess. As I do so I repeat formulas in my head.
Must you go through this every time?
To make it holy, yes. To exalt us, yes. You may sit now. On my left. On the bed. The worship continues. Open your thighs.
That's nice too. Nicer, even.
Can you feel my i
So that's what I feel.
I adore your yoni. I drink your rajas.
Don't stop. Must you stop?
Now the seventh stage. The adept lays the nayika on the bed and repeats aloud the sacred formula.
There is one?
Hling kling kandarpa svaha.
What does it mean?
Hling kling kandarpa svaba.
O.K. Pardon my asking.
Now sit on me.
It's too big. It has reached the sky.
This is stage eight, maitbuna.
Oh. It's not too big. Not quite. Not quite quite.
Kundalini was impatient for this stage.
Keep talking to me, please.
Concentrate. Think of ida. Think ofpingala. Energy is rising.
Mm.
Think of Muladhara to Svadbisthana. Now she leaves the belly and files to the solar plexus, to Manipura.
Mmm.
From Manipura to Anabata, the heart. Up, up, to beyond the heart.
Nn.
Beyond the heart to Visbuddba, the throat. There are many throats.
To Midge
Dombi dances in the sambbogakaya. The washerwoman dances in the throat. From Visbuddba-
[Unintelligible.] Oh. My God. Goodness me. Now you.
No. I do not do. You do again, Kundalini. And again.
Really? Isn't that unfair?
Unfair to you. It puts you into time. It puts you into the clutches of Kali, while I am in samarasa. I have the bliss of vajrolimudra. The energy of the suspended semen enters my spirit and makes me immortal. You die again and again. You are cruelly used.
If you say so. I keep going?
Keep going.
Mm. Nn. Oh. Oh yes, yes. God. How do you do it?
Advanced technique. It is called "ujjana sadbana," "against the current."// brings, through samarasa, sabaja. It brings the non-conditioned. It brings advaya. Sbakti and Shiva, vajra and padma, jiva and ajiva are one. You and I are one. What I will, you become.
Yes, Master.
If I scratch your fat rump, it is pleasure.
Pleasure.
If I slap you thus, that too.
That too.
Come once more.
Darling, I'm exhausted.
Come. Come, you sopping cunt.
[Click: end of tape, side one.]
Midge, that was the most magical thing of all, the way that side of the tape got used up just as I did. I think my moan drowned out the click in the drawer, but / heard it. I really probably should erase that side, but I have this feeling about it that it's bigger than I am somehow, that my personal modesty is totally unimportant and it wasn't me in any case but a kind of goddess actually and that what really is important is the Arhat's voice on tape, his fantastic capacity for love. I don't know how he held it but it stayed just as hard as a rock, only of course smooth-a jewel just like they say. He was the jewel and I was the lotus. It felt just like that, on and on into eternity. And it wasn't just that once, I've been with him a few times since. I'm not sure, though, you should play the tape for Irving and the other girls-only if you think they can take it in the yogic spirit and not as just titillation and gossip. It m«jf n't get back to Charles. I'll leave it up to you, I've been away so long now I can't be the judge of anybody's spiritual progress and maturity. Please keep it safe for me, 'though, so some day when I'm old and gray and sitting in some nursing home or Florida condo like my grotesque mother I can play it and remember the times when I was Shakti and Radha with the best of them. I wonder whose Radha she ever was, by the way. It's awfully hard to picture Daddy being Krishna.
What other news? I don't know what sort of stuff gets onto television back East-I suppose it depends pretty much on what the Russians and Iranians did that afternoon-but Durga and Agni and the rest of her hard core, mostly the guys from security and some of the younger women in PR, stayed up in the canyon a few more days, until their pills and water ran out, but when nobody came after them they began to dribble back to the Chakra and the cafeteria, looking dusty and underweight and sheepish. Durga had expected some kind of shootout, like they have I guess in Belfast with the British soldiers, but the IRS and Immigration don't work like that, it's more a matter of form letters with that dotty kind of printer that only the government still seems to use, these utterly machine-made-looking letters you can keep ignoring because it looks like junk mail until some morning months later the sheriff shows up with handcuffs. These shots I kept hearing were I guess Durga and Satya and the guys having fun, practicing with their infrared gunsights and these other fancy armaments that have been costing the Treasury of Enlightenment an arm and a leg. To avoid an ambush in the pass she came down the Sachchidananda on a rubber raft they had up there, and though there was her old kind of dash in that, she looks basically discouraged. She talks about deporting herself back to Ireland rather than fight the INS. We've had a couple of long talks, she and I, now that I use her old office in the Uma Room, and the odd thing is I'm begi