osho goldfarb

10.22.12

Two Chinese tourists checked into room five and I can hear them moving the beds together.  If the linoleum rips, dude, we’re gonna have a conversation.  I wish I didn’t start the post this way, but the bargaining for a lower price made me want to come out of the room where I am comfortably reading and writing and listening to Nawang Kechog, incense burning, a candle lit, sitting in its new brass candle holder.  The brass bell sounds good, a five minute practice session outside the room five door.  Well,  Gary the Goat got it and I wasn’t there to see the slaughter/sacrifice/killing.  I took a long walk to the view point and then across to the roundhouses and had a cup of chai and chatted with the dude who manages them on the top with the umbrella frame and chairs before coming back and they had all eaten and Maya wasn’t so pleased but I didn’t know what time I had left and I didn’t know they’d be finished by the time I got back and look at that, it was almost one, so she heated up the dal bhat along with a cup of what was granular blood and pieces of the chest bone and I have to say goat meat, while there isn’t much on a goat, is really delicious but it’s work, it’s sucking and pulling and munching, and grinding and when you get to the marrow of the bone, when you’ve sucked out the life, what else is there to do or say?

The Chinese have an annoying guide, an older fella with the traditional tea-cosy hat, and now he’s knocking on the door, that’s right wake em up, to tell them Annapurna II is visible.  Go the top lady, get out of the room if you think you paid too much when you didn’t.  Exercising the tension that has left the right thumb in tatters is something I wish I knew what to do about.  Going to India, reading up on places and logistics but but but….

The sun disappears within the next thirty minutes behind clouds but leaves panoramic skies alight.  Suman arrives.  Time for lunch.  Come.  A plate of pan-fried goat parts, some I know as liver like mother served on occasion, and the rest I don’t want to think about parts.  When I left the kitchen, there was Amir in the dining room, solo and checked in room eight, so we took a walk to deliver meat to the grandparents, the children followed because they slept overnight, and what the man says, in part is true, in part is simply not because my experience with a 2700 year old Shaman cannot be only for me.  It can’t be.  And if nothing happens in two months to me or the world? What in the blazing fuck am I supposed to think?  I will forever be stranded on this planet with nothing but whys and no answers.  Amir may be right, but it offers no consolation.  Faith is based on personal experience and how does one live when that personal experience is supposed to be only for me and no one else?

The world is going to end but it’s no ones business because the info that came to me was not intended to be made public.  If it is made public, like I have been doing, sometimes reluctantly because I don’t know if this experience is only for me since the subject matter is something more than predicting football games. 

As far as predicting goes, I have been horribly wrong across the board;  predicting the Cubs would win the world series this year and predicting the Maple Leafs would win this year, predicting the end, predicting a marriage on top of a mountain with Mitch Albom there to write the story, ha John, in hindsight that was so, I don’t even know what to say.  I was being sympathetic to Cubs and Leafs friends and the imagination of the spirit or as Amir would say the compression of big bang dust that makes matter and you and me and is too hard to define is becoming what many said, too much charas and that’s what it will be called instead of an entheogen if nothing happens in two bloody months.  Nothing has come remotely true, from the beginning until now, I have been everywhere in my head and nowhere right now. 

And there it is, the end of the day.  The high season has been quite high for the Super View Lodge, another night of all rooms filled and I don’t know who is in rooms one and four and am unsure of two but Osho Goldfarb in room eight.