Gay Hendricks - The First Rule of Ten

Full of apologies, I begged off dinner with Martha and Bill when they got home. I’d decided to make an impromptu visit, to take care of some unfinished business. Once I told them where I was headed, Martha practically shoved me out the door.

Julie opened hers in her purple apron. I checked for clothes. Yup. A tight spandex top and loose drawstring pants. Did I mention how much I love her body? She’s strong, but with a lot of interesting curves. Now that I knew those curves somewhat, I felt an instant stirring down in my jeans at the mere sight of her.

I wanted her. But her unsmiling face told me what I already knew. I had some repair work to do. She stepped back silently, and I made my way into the lair.

I perched on a bar stool at the island as Julie returned to stirring and sampling a bubbling pot.

“Smells amazing,” I said.

“Butternut squash soup,” her back replied. “I’m testing out a recipe for work. And compliments will get you nowhere.”

“Julie, I …”

Julie spun around to face me, her eyes flashing.

“I recently broke off a four-year relationship, Ten. I’m sure Martha and Bill must have told you that. But did they tell you why? Because,” and Julie enunciated each word with crisp precision, “I. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. Games.” She glared at me. I knew enough to nod but stay silent. She was just getting started.

“I don’t want to expend one more ounce of the precious energy it takes to create real intimacy, with one more man who is terrified by it. My life is very full right now, and very challenging, and my free time very limited. If I am going to share that free time with someone, it will only be because that someone else wants to walk toward me. Freely and fully. A good relationship adds to the Fulfillment column, for both partners. If I feel it subtracting instead, honestly? I’ll take a pass. Sorry, but I just can’t go there again.” She turned away.

I moved to her side. “I’m a fool,” I said. “A fool who’s walking toward you as best I can.”

She looked at me. I waited.

She seemed to make a decision.

“Good. Consider yourself warned. Now, eat my soup and take me to bed.”

So I did, and I did.

But I drove home afterward. I told Julie I needed to feed Tank. It was half-true. The other half? Hungry pets provide one of the few remaining acceptable excuses for escaping to one’s own burrow after making love.

I lay awake in the dark for over an hour, trying to understand the small kink pinching my chest. Julie was perfect. Sexy, warm, smart, and honest. Generous without being cloying. Funny without being mean. Independent yet vulnerable. Perfect.

So why did my upper torso contract and my breath grow shallow every time I imagined fully committing my heart to this woman?

I sat at the kitchen table, pen in hand.

“Venerable Brothers,” I wrote, but I couldn’t concentrate. Instead I found myself doodling, filling the margin of my notepaper with a leafy, scrolling pattern, wrapped around a blocky sword.

I was mimicking the design inked onto Brother Eldon’s forearms. I stared at it. Got nothing back. I closed my eyes, groaning in frustration.

Venerable Brothers, I am two weeks into my new job, and my ideas are nothing but a load of crap.

Lobsang’s familiar voice was faint inside me, but unmistakable: Maybe that’s because you’re facing in the wrong direction. My bark of laughter startled Tank, who lifted a disapproving head from his windowsill perch. Leave it to Lobsang.

I set my letter aside and moved to my meditation room for a different kind of linking up with my two best friends.

Sometimes, when I’m too distracted to count breaths, I find that attending to the hum of distant traffic, punctuated by an occasional honking horn, works as a kind of urban channel into serenity. I closed my eyes and invited the outside sounds to guide me into a place of calm.

The far-off drone entered me, lulled me. Allow. I expanded my auditory awareness to include the subtle rustle of leaves outside and the almost imperceptible tick-ticking of the clock on my kitchen wall. Allow. Allow.

My breath became slow, even. My thoughts mere wisps, drifting across a spacious mental sky. Allow. I went even deeper, and wider, letting each sound merge into all sound, and all sound into no sound, until the channel was clear and my heart and mind fully opened, still, and ready to receive a clear connection with my two soul-brothers.

Venerable brothers, I began again. I send you greetings. Are you there?

This time, I was facing the right direction. Seconds later, like entering a clear body of water, I slipped into the current of subtle energy I’ve shared with Yeshe and Lobsang since we were children. For a moment, I just basked in the familiarity of the link between the three of us.

Yeshe has a simple, instinctive acceptance of others that is as strong as it is pure. Unlike blind naivete, which can be self-deluding and an excuse for inaction, his tolerance is grounded in a deep understanding of humanity, with all its flaws. He loves me absolutely, unconditionally, and with no strings attached.

Lobsang’s personality, while magnanimous, is more particular: his love for me tempered by a fierce expectation of excellence. Without imposing his own goals, he has nevertheless always pushed me to be my very best. Between the two of them, I feel both adored and motivated. They are like the good parents I never had.

I sat with my eyes closed, barely breathing, sensing my two friends bobbing side by side like buoys, far away but tethered in the same ocean.

I am happy to have you in my life. Is there anything I can do for you, my friends?

They let me know they were fine, each in his own way.

I need your help. I have many uncertainties. They cloud my judgment and prevent me from finding solutions.

The silent field became charged with curiosity and anticipation. They like it when I include them in my work, though Lobsang also enjoys needling me when I’m stuck. I let the disparate events of the past two weeks play across our shared screen like a movie, albeit with a very confusing plot. Then I posed my questions:

How can I discern what lies beneath the murky mysteries of the pig farm, the cult, and the dead insurance-policy owners, so that justice can prevail?

What are Barsotti, Florio, Brother Eldon, and the others really up to?

How can I use my skills and presence to ensure that the highest good is accomplished?

I ended with an all-purpose benediction I apply whenever I ask for assistance from unseen forces, even when they’re my best friends: May answers come to me by easeful attraction rather than stressful pursuit, and may all beings benefit from these inquiries.

I set the questions adrift on the ocean of resonance linking me with my friends, tucked away in their monastery 8,000 miles away.

I sat for a few more minutes, basking in tranquil clarity. Opportunities to go deep like this are rare for me, and therefore precious. I slowly resurfaced, rotating my neck and shoulders, coaxing my consciousness back into my little body in my little room in my little house in my little canyon.

I rubbed my hands together briskly and pressed the heated palm-skin to my eyes. What the-? A bitter metallic flavor spread across the back of my tongue, sudden and noxious.

I gagged, a tight convulsion of throat muscle, and swallowed sour saliva. The sharp toxicity immediately seeped back into my mouth. I tried to stay with it this time, probe its source. I sampled the bitterness, tried to explore with awareness. It was unfamiliar, a completely foreign taste. My heart constricted: it was the taste of death.