The Cities [Treatment for Screenplay] PART 5

[Michael Erlewine]

M-400 Michael Meets Mary

Michael is crammed in a booth just inside the door of a nearby bar, where he went to wait out the evening. He was seated just in front of the elevated stage where the musicians performed. He was with several of the arts people, but as far as he know, none of knew anything about what just had happened. There were having beers and small talk. The night was young, and the bar was not too busy yet. Smoke hung in the air, and the smell of stale beer was obiquitous. Things felt pretty good.

Then, in the door comes a customer he had just seen at the Flying Dragon, who immediately spots Michael and makes a beeline for his booth. Michael cringes, because he does not want talk about what came down with Jefferson. The rest of those present had no idea about this, but Michael was certain that this man would soon enlighten them, and with him sitting there too. It was clear from the look in this man’s eyes that he had Michael pegged and was about to question him. Michael knew he was in for it and, without even thinking about it, instinctively made his move and left the booth, mumbling something about being back soon.

But where would he go? He was already on his feet and lurching down the aisle, away from the front entrance and along the wooden bar. Where to settle? He knew he had to be careful what table he chose to sit at. He could get his ass kicked as easily as not, and for just any reason at all. There was a rough bunch there already.

bout midway along the bar, sitting on a high stool all by herself, was Mary Mack. What was she doing here? He thought they had spread out. Michael winced on seeing her, and hesitated. She also bites, but it was too late. He was already within five feet of her, and she had seen him, and was about to say something. Without asking, Michael slid onto the barstool next to Mary. "Hope you don't mind if I join you," he said, and mumbled something about having to get away from where he had been, but this escaped Mary Mack, who was startled to see him appear, and more surprised yet to find him sitting next to her. But it was OK with her. Michael was not a threat.

All Michael could think about was her rude remarks to him, earlier, when they had first met. He made some joking references to her about that meeting, but these too just slid by Mary. She had apparently forgotten about the incident, and didn't seem to know what he was talking about. Then something totally unexpected happened.

As they sat on their barstools, facing each other for a moment, their eyes met and their gaze locked. Michael at first freaked, because they were way too close for his comfort. It was as if their eyes were tied together, fixed. And in that moment, was it brief or long, Michael never knew. Let's say it was somehow timeless. In that moment, when their eyes met, Michael, without ever thinking, suddenly saw beyond the Mary Mack that he thought he knew, straight into her heart. Perhaps it was the events of the night had unnerved her, and her guard was down. Who knows?

He could not explain this then or now, but in that moment he saw a very scared (and innocent) little girl, all alone in the world, and not able to take care of herself. He could see how fragile she was, like a flower floating on the surface of this rough world. She will never make it here, he thought. And he didn’t mean make it here in the prison cities; he meant anywhere, in life. She is way too hopeful and too pure. He had never seen this before in her. As far as he knew, she was tough as nails.

All he could think of was: what will become of her? How will she survive? Who will take care of her or give a damn for her, not just in this tough prison place, but in the equally tough (in these matters) world outside. The answer that came back was singular: no one. It was too tough a call; she was too hard a case and the world had too little time and not enough compassion to gather her up in its embrace. He felt that she would slip through the cracks of life, unnoticed, and be pegged for the tough-ass broad she pretended to be, her inner purity stained and slowly stomped out. Who did she think she was? How could she expect so much? No one would care. Why was he witnessing this?

But for some inexplicable reason, Michael was getting this, and taking it all in. In a flash he realized that only someone like himself could shield her enough to break it too her gently, that life was often cruel and impersonal. From that moment, he was already protecting her.

His overwhelming response was he could not let this fragile being just be crushed out by the way the world was. It was clear to him that probably no one else ever saw Mary this way, or had a clue to the gentle creature within her hard exterior. Without a thought, he responded, despite any warnings he might have given himself, and they were many. There was no choice in the matter and no doubt - without a doubt. He became responsible. He found himself responding to Mary.

Michael was simply speechless and had no idea what Mary felt or was experiencing at the moment, but he certain that Mary felt something as well. She could see and feel things happening here between them, and they felt good, not bad. And in some ways, that moment never ended.

Mary did not know what was going on, either, only that suddenly Michael appeared so different from before. And she saw him see into her, and felt at once protected, and known. She felt known, perhaps for the first time. Someone had found her, at last. Her inner fear and anxiety, something she carried all her life, just vanished. She found herself relaxing in Michael's gaze.

Michael wondered if he was falling in love? If so, it certainly was not what he expected. All of these years he had been looking for someone, and had always kept an eye out. Not that he knew the first thing about it, but Michael had imagined he would find someone like himself, someone looking for him, just like he was looking for someone. Like that. The big sensitive person that was him would encounter a big sensitive other person, and the two would unite, come together, be one.

But it was not at all like that. In that moment, when their eyes met and fused together, Michael did not have the sense of meeting another great sensitive one who was looking for him. Far from it. Instead, he had a simple realization and it was that there was no other "one" out there. Not another one looking for him, but just one, not two. The words of the Greek philosopher Parmenides flashed through his mind: "Being Alone Is." He got it now.

You could look at it happy or sad. He had always looked at it sad, that being alone is sad and we each should find another, but Parmenides meant that "Being Alone Is!," There is only being, only ONE being, not two. There is not one being in Michael looking for another or second being somewhere out there to be paired with. That was not it. There was and always was only one being, call it alone or all-one. It was, he could see now without a doubt, all one. Michael realized that when he met Mary that night at the bar.

In that noisy bar, surrounded by people, this timeless moment occurred. It was not just an experience that he had that would pass in time, but an actual realization, an understanding that he would never lose. And he never did.

In that moment, Michael had a mini-enlightenment, at least about his love life. His search-for-someone days were over, because he instantly lost any desire to search on. That hunger vanished. A veil had been lifted. He realized here was nothing to be found, and through meeting Mary like that, he knew this for the first time. And it lasted.

Instead of finding another 'one" to love, he found himself, probably for the first time in his life, actually responding to another person, as he wished someone might respond to him. He took her all in, at a glance, and he felt solely and absolutely responsible for her, from that moment onward. It was a done deal. All he wanted to do was to care for her and protect her from the harsh reality that surrounded them both. She was more important to him than his own concerns.

Mary could sense all this, as well, they were suddenly together. It was not about words. Something had happened here. Together they soon left the bar and went back to Michael’s room, where they spent the night, and awaited the dawn, and the bus ride to Dune City.

[Mary and Michael leave the bar together and are never separated from that point onward]

R-500 Getting Jefferson Out of Town: The Strike is On

Michael and Mary arose well before dawn, grabbed their baggage and prepared to set off. The hotel, as usual, was locked up tighter than a drum, so they had to feel around in the semi-darkness for lights, wake the gatekeepers, etc. They met Richard at the bus station well before eight, trying to look like the tourists they were. Isaac was there with them. He pointed out that Mark and Jefferson were waiting just around the corner, in case the squads were there searching for Jefferson. It was Isaac’s job to bribe the bus driver to make that extra stop about a block away and pick the others up. No problem.

But there is a problem. They find out that today there is scheduled another of the prison-wide strike days, protesting the advent of taxation. In fact, this time they are striking for two consecutive days and the first day has been declared to be "very serious," whatever that means. In order not to have their vehicle stoned, they have to somehow get from Center City to Dune City early enough in the morning so that the strikers were not yet up and about. OK. They had been assured that the main bus to Dune City that day would run on schedule and not be affected by the strike. They counted on this.

At any rate, by 6:15 AM they had left the station, picked up Mark and Jefferson as planned and were on their way out of Center City area, heading south-east of the city toward the main checkpoint and the bus terminal to Dune City. Even in the pre-dawn darkness, it seems like there is heavy people-traffic on the road, probably because the day is one of the strike days. Everywhere are small tent shops with glaring lights, in which are offered all kinds of goods and with loud music. In many places along the road, bare 4-foot florescent tubes are mounted upright and arranged on either side of a shop, to create a funnel-like light effect into the tent or shop. Perhaps as many as 10-12 tubes would be set up this way, giving an eerie and carnival like effect. The endless music booms out of the darkness as they sped along. It is like a carnival, but spread along the narrow highway.

Soon they are at the main checkpoint, and the officials are not yet on duty. There are huge booms across the road, which block all traffic from passing through. In their rush to avoid the strikers, they set about waking the local officials, who are in no hurry to help them until they promise some bribe money. Even then, it is a slow go.

Finally, the customs officials appear and slowly put them through the long form-filling process, while they eye the clock and the increasing daylight, which means possibly more danger for them once beyond the checkpoint. There are three checkpoints, three sets of forms, and three waits. Michael left Jefferson locked (like some folks lock dogs in a car when going into K-Mart) in the jeep in the semi-darkness. Of course, they had to have each member of car personally come into the office and sign the forms. It was hoped that Jefferson's papers would still work and that word that he was wanted had not reached this far, yet. Hard to say.

At last they were done and crossed beyond the limits of the gate area. Unfortunately, it is now quite light as they head on down the road. Groups of strikers are gathering here and there. Some have rocks in their hands. But luck is with them and they wheel into the tiny bus terminal and pile out. Michael is pleased that all has gone so well thus far, and that they are already at the terminal. Now all they have to do is wait for the main bus. Little did they know.

It is still early and no one is around. Jefferson stays low. Their conversation manages to wake a few people, who had been sleeping somewhere in the open building. Their driver has an animated dialogue with one of these and then turns to faced them, a little wide-eyed. For a second, Michael thought the driver is telling him that the bus has been cancelled, that the bus will not be coming here today. The man next to him nodded in agreement and in better English said the terminal has been closed due mechanical problems with the bus. He WAS telling Michael that!

They are in shock and refuse to accept this information. But the terminal folks are only too happy to repeat it and it sounded no better the second time. Michael's mind is racing. Let's see: The strike is on in the cities, not just for today, but for tomorrow also. The bus they needed only comes once a day...

In other words, they are stuck miles from safety with no bus and no way to travel to another city. It is only a matter of time before Jefferson is discovered, and everyone knew what that meant.

Worse, they have only two days to make connections for their plane reservations back to the outside, but that could wait. Now it was too late to go back to Center City and try to catch a bus to either North or South Gate cities. And that ride was too dangerous anyway. Michael is not a happy camper and his protestations soon produce a bus official on a small motorcycle. He is Hindu, but he speaks some English. He assurs Michael that they could stay here locally for as long as they wanted and be well treated. Not comforting.

"But I have no intention of staying here," michael protests. The official appeals to the terminal manager, who just shook his head. There would be no bus here today and that was that. Then the terminal official said he would appeal that decision and that perhaps another bus could be sent down from Center City. Accompanied by a second motorcyclist, they drove off to make calls or confer - whatever. Michael is for a moment hopeful, but when they return, they just shake their heads. No bus today or even soon. He suggests that they go to the local restaurant and wait, and he gestured toward a building that is little more than a hovel. "No!," said Michael, actually asserting himself.

By now quite a group of people have gathered around to enjoy the show, watching Michael freak out. The nearest city is back to Center City, but the search for Jefferson is sure to be there by now and there was still the strike to consider. A call to the owner of the mini-van they had been riding brought only the response that he would not allow them to use his vehicle. There was too much danger of damage from the strikers. They are stuck and time is running out.

All of this is made worse by the fact that Jefferson is feeling worse today, and not up for much. He had lost some blood and they need to get him to somewhere, where he can recover, where there is food and rest. Thoughts flood through Michael's mind of their being stuck here for days, trying to get out, missing their own flights to the states, getting caught, arrested, and who knows what else. No Four Thoughts just now.

Michael pleads with the different folks there for help and asks if there is an ambulance that they could hire to drive to Dune City. Surely, people will not stone that. Michael pointed out that his friend was sick and Jefferson moans a bit for them on cue. There is also this off-duty security guard who is standing around. Perhaps he could ride with them up front in the ambulance and make them look official.

They like the ambulance idea and began to call around looking for one. They find one, but it will not be available until that afternoon. "Better than nothing," was Michael's response. Upon hearing of the advent of the ambulance, the owner of the mini-van (who had refused its use of it earlier) comes down to the airport and dickers himself with them. He is also a Hindu and they have a Hindu war between the terminal official (who really is trying to help them) and this man, who does not like to see them spending money on an ambulance, when he might get some. Michael suggests that the security guard ride in the jeep, of course, for a stiff fee. The owner now sees dollars and said "Yes, that hwe is willing to chance it , but not with the jeep. He has a larger truck that they can rent, and they could start at once. They make a deal to drive through the strike to somewhere beyond Dune City and all they can hope for is that they will be able to find the back way up the mountain to Crystal Cave.

And, sure enough, pretty soon, a large open bed truck appears and pulls up beside them. There are already quite a few people on the truck, obviously inmates from the looks of them, and everyone is standing, hanging on to the open overhead frame that stretches over the truck bed. The owner is trying to make as much money as he can from this. They don’t dare say a thing, and toss their gear up onto the back and climb on. Jefferson, who is not well, rides up in the cab. The truck lurches forward and they off.

And its “hang on for dear life,” as the truck lunges down the road, across the sandy roads, going as fast as the driver can push it. The convicts aboard love it and the driver knows it. The rest of the riders get numb knuckles just trying to keep from flying off the side. Isaac flashes Michael a big grin as they hurtle along the dusty road. Michael is thinking whether he would be better off sitting, down, wedged in one of the corners of the truck, behind the cab.



And so it goes. After a stop for gas and to gather some sandwiches, with their uniformed policeman sitting up front, they head out into the strike zone. The plan is to tell anyone who stops them that they are headed for Dune City to get medical help, and, at the last minute, push on through the city to the mountains beyond. There cannot be many people there. Jefferson is slumped over in the cap, and hacks and coughs when they are stopped. He looks the part. He does not look well.

And so began what became a three-hour trip toward Dune CIty. They do stop at different checkpoints and pass many groups of men armed with stones, but none really are thrown. Perhaps Michael hears one hit the side of the truck. Still, there is tension in the air as they drove along. The guard, in uniform, sits bolt upright and hangs one arm out the window, as if he could care less (as a policeman should), surveying the endless throng of people along the road eyeballing him. The fact that the strike was on means that the roads were empty of cars, but even more full of people and animals.

The short of it is that they make it to Dune City and through the armed guards that have congregated there. The other riders get off at what appears to be a saloon. Once inside the city, they have to play it cool, slowing way down and moseying to the north-eastern edge of the city, where they make a run for the dunes, taking the one road that would take them through all this sand.

Isaac manages to bribe the solitary guard at the Sector perimeter, and they drive through there with no complications. Some of the dunes are hundreds of feet high, and as they cross the top of the highest one they can see not only Dune City, but the road that they have come in on from Center City. In the distance, along that road from Center City, they can make out what looks like a whole group of police land cruisers heading into town. They are certain now that they are being hunted, and without communicating this news to their driver, they urge him to press on, as quickly as possible. More money works.

The truck is not able to just go straight across the dunes. Instead, it moves slowly through the maze of sand dunes and hills. It is like the switch backs on mountain trails, but here they are moving between a long series of staggered sand dunes. By now, the sun is blasting and it is easy to get overexposed. It his roasting in the cab of the truck, and hands and arms need to be kept inside the vehicle. Those in the back protect themselves as best they can.

On the far side of the dunes, Michael can see what is a small village. This must be Cottonwood, and what they are looking for is the Cottonwood Trail, which is the only direct access to getting to Crestone Peak, from the south. The truck finally rumbles to a halt, and they all get out. They say goodbye to their driver and the police guard, gave them some extra cash to continue on north, rather than go back the way they came in, lest they run into the squads and give them information. They help Jefferson down from the cab. The truck drives off, back the way it came. And that was the easy part.

R-600 The Climb to Crystal Cave

Both of the experienced Cities trekkers that Michael has spoken with said that trying to reach the Crystal Cave from the back was just too difficult. In fact, neither of them had ever done it. It was just too high and tough a climb. Michael began going from door to door in the small village, looking for someone to guide them.

Michael located one man with a tractor, but, since it was the harvest time, he had already agreed to work elsewhere that day. Things did not look good. But then he suggested that there might be one fellow, a newcomer to the area, who might be free. Knocking at his house aroused his fierce dog and brought his wife to the door. He was still asleep, but she would wake him.

After some time, he came out rubbing his eyes and Michael gave him the pitch. He spoke only broken English, and Michael could not hear it all, but he could see by the way he was shaking his head that things were not going the way they had hoped. He kept upping the price until the man couldn't afford to refuse. This tactic worked; the man agreed to take them and went to get his machine. Although it seemed from the outside like a garage, the man opened what turned out to be a courtyard (with no roof), where the tractor was kept.

Now the Cities tractor is not the beast we all know by that name here in the U.S. What they mean by a tractor in the prison is more what we would call a Rototiller, the small 2-wheel, 2-cycle engines that can plow a field and (in the prison cities) pull a cart. These tractors fill the streets and side roads on the city outskirts, pulling carts filled with vegetables, brush, or (most often) people.

Then there was the starting of the tractor and the fact that the cart (where they would ride) was filled with water from the recent rain, which had to be drained. That done, Michael and the others climbed into the cart, sitting on feed bags and blankets that his wife brought out just before they were about to get their butts wet. She tucked a small bottle of butter-tea and some sandwiches under the driver's seat (his lunch) and they were off, although at what seemed a snail's pace.

The idea was to ride the tractor as far up the mountain as it would go, saving their legs for the really hard part. As it turned out, there really was no road where they were going. Instead, they followed the bed of a stream uphill, moving very slowly toward the mountains. After a mile or so, it became difficult for the tractor to pull them in the soft mud and everyone had to get out and push. Pretty soon, Michael found that they were spending more time pushing than riding, and it was apparent that they could go no farther. So they bid farewell to the tractor and pushed on. Michael thought he understood how to go from this point.

As it was, Michael could not even see where they were going for the first part of the trip, because they were shrouded in mist and then clouds. He did know that it was tough going even from the start, as in: all uphill and steep at that. Their first goal was to climb to the a small gaging station perched on a ridge (call it base camp), from which they would push off up the mountain to Crystal Cave, a hard 3-hour trip from the ridge. But reaching that village was a long haul from the valley floor, perhaps 5 miles and always going up. Even though he didn't generally use caffeine, Michael had mental images of arriving there and having a nice warm cup of coffee, knowing that the long climb would burn off any bad side effects of the caffeine. They did reach the station, which was more like a couple of houses, but there was no tea. Everyone had abandoned the station to move back down to the plain for the winter. By this time, everyone was breathing pretty hard. After a good sit, they moved on.

From here on, it got really steep, something Michael thought it already had been. It is hard to describe, but in many cases they were just scrambling up steep slopes of boulders or the so-called path became just a wide staircase of strewn rock and boulders. Their day packs, which seem light at the start soon began to feel very heavy indeed. Richard and Mary just kind of dropped behind, while the Issac and Michael went ahead. Jefferson did remarkable well, despite his condition, but then: he was in perfect physical shape. After awhile, even Isaac gave up any pretense of being tough and just began to sit down when he needed to, which was all the time. At the worst, the group was resting every 20 or 30 feet, and that mean sitting down, resting.

Remember, they were at an altitude high enough to become very sick. Even simple movements were tiring ."What can I say? I am getting old, etc.," Michael said to himself, but it was tough. Issac, who was still walking ahead, met a local man who was up here looking for lost sheep, hoping to drive them back down for the coming winter. He and the guide went on ahead. By this point, they were walking in the clouds or at least surrounded by them. In time, they left the mist and clouds behind and began to be able to see more of the mountains surrounding them. They were essentially walking up the spine of a great wide ridge on the side of a mountain, with a deep canyon across from them. Aside from all the heavy breathing, this place was gorgeous.

From what he was able to understand from speaking with the tractor driver, the next place to arrive at would be a small Tibetan cemetery,dedicated to Tamdrin, the horse-headed deity. This was a traditional Tibetan sky burial place, where bodies are cut up and fed to the vultures. This spot was not readily forthcoming.

They climbed and climbed and climbed. Somewhere along in here, they met an old Tibetan man with skin like leather, coming down, who motioned to them to come close. He took what looked like a piece of quartz crystal from his pack and began to hack away at it, eventually handing each of them a small piece. It was rock candy, sugar. Michael thanked him and moved on. Those small pieces of sugar, something he would never eat normally, turned out to be just the thing and that little bit of energy meant a lot at that point. On they went and after a very long time the guide pointed through the mist to a distant cemetery, high on the mountain. Groan. This was the place he should have reached an hour ago, itself just a stepping stone on the journey. Panting and struggling, they climbed on. The mist and clouds prevented them from seeing into the valley below, where the squads might already be following them.

One of the strangest experiences in this kind of climbing is that, sooner or later, you do reach these far-glimpsed places. It just takes time and suffering. They reached the sky burial place and sure enough, there were human bones and meat cutting tools scattered around, a wrist and hand lying under a small bush. And clothes everywhere. Apparently, it is the custom to scatter the clothes of the deceased nearby. The place looked like a Good Will store after a hurricane. And there was a small Tibetan stupa, which is some kind of sacred Tibetan monument. And this stupa was just a way station.

After a very long time, the trail began to even out some and there were sections that almost resembled walking, but not quite and not for long. Isaac offered to help Michael carry his pack and they took turns for a while. They began to have glimpses of a small monastery across a canyon that, believe it or not, was where they had to get to. It seemed so far away from where they now were. By this time, they were high up and our sheep herder began to find some of his flock, but they were always on the other side of the canyon from him. He had a sling and was adept at winging rocks across the canyon and near the sheep. They hit with a pinging sound, but the sheep did not pay too much attention. Meanwhile, Michael couldn't even look around half the time, so hard was he breathing. It was all he could do to look at the ground in front of him and put one foot in front of the other.

The path turned into almost a rock staircase just before he reached Crystal Cave Monastery. They scrambled up the last rock slide and into a wide courtyard. The monastery front had a single large door, but it was closed and looked for all the world like it was abandoned. "What to do?" MichaeI said. “Try opening the large door," Isaac said and, sure enough, it swung open. They pushed inside and collapsed on a porch in a sunny inner courtyard. They were a small number of monks here and Michael inquired about the Rinpoche. "He is at the cave," they said pointing to a tiny white mark high on the mountain peak. Michael's heart jumped at the thought of seeing Rinpoche again, but his mind groaned at the steep climb before them.

They collapsed in a sunny spot, where they had a quick lunch and butter-tea. It was only hard-boiled eggs, some bread, and a few cookies, but it tasted like ambrosia after the long hike. They were so tired. As it turned out, this monastery marked the end of the easy ascent. From here on it was almost straight up, like rock stairs. The good news is that in this last stretch it takes less than an hour of climbing to reach the cave.

Starting out, they crossed a small natural rock bridge above a rushing stream and began their climb. From here on, the way was indeed steep, with sheer drops on one side and a rock face on the other. The building and the cave high above them seemed far away, protruding out from the mountain side. They climbed on, with Michael and the others often plopping down to rest and staring out over the valley or looking down the steep drop. As they hiked, they began to come across brightly colored strings tied to objects hanging from the rocks. Many pilgrims had been here before them and must have taken this very same path, there being no other.

Exhausted, but exhilarated (and proud of himself), Michael finally made it to the top and to a small level area next to the 2-story building that houses the Crystal Cave and a small adjoining building. From here there must be an incredible view of the entire valley below, if only the clouds were not there. Next they climbed some steep ladder-like steps to their left and entered a tiny room, which contained a few more steps to an even tinier place, the cave itself.

R-700 The Last Meeting with Rinpoche

Outside the cave, one of the attendant monks greeted them. Rinpoche is expecting you. There is not much time. Please hurry. Michael does not understand, because how could they have any idea way up here that they were coming.

As they file in, there is rinpoche is seated on a small throne, with some monks on either side of him. Khenpo Rinpoche motions them all forward. They move up and sit on the floor, beneath the small throne that Rinpoche is sitting on. Michael looks around, but there is no translator, and he starts to explain, but Rinpoche puts up his hand, showing just a little of the palm, and very gently, showing more palm, makes the slightest of motions for Michael to just relax and sit down.

Then, in pigeon English, he said "I will take him." Michael did not know what he meant, and you could see this by the look on his face. And Rinpoche said it again, "I will take him," and he points with his open palm to Jefferson. "Come," the rinpoche said, now gesturing to Jefferson, "No time now. Hurry." Again, he motions to Jefferson, who, looking around, slowly gets up and moves toward the rinpoche, finally kneeling down before him, the big hulk that he is.

And Rinpoche leans forward and, ever so gently takes Jefferson't head in his hands, one hand on each side of his face, and then he leans farther until his forehead touches Jefferson's. Their foreheads bump. And then Rinpoche motions to an attendant and says something in Tibetan. The attendant comes over, helps Jefferson to his feet and leads him to the back of the cave and off through a tunnel or doorway, Michael cannot quite see to where.

Rinpoche turns to all of them and says, "Some tea?" He motions to his attendant, who immediately brings cups for all of them and begins pouring the rich salty butter tea that the Tibetans all drink. Before they all take a sip, Rinpoche puts his hands together, and begins to recite a prayer. Michael and the rest quickly put their hands in the same mudra. And then they drink tea, sitting in a semi-circle facing Rinpoche.

But before they can even finish, there is noise and commotion outside, voices shouting, angrily. In come the police, more than a squad, perhaps several of them. They enter and spread around the perimeter of the room, and they carry weapons, locked and ready to fire.

Rinpoche stands up and greets them, bowing to them respectively. They don't respond, but they are watching him closely. And the squads have with them one Tibetan, who will translate. He speaks with the rinpoche. Michael can only guess at what they are saying, but it is clear that the translator is deathly afraid of the squad and also deeply respectful of Rinpoche. He immediately gets down on his knees and prostrates to the rinpoche, three times, to the utter irritation of the guards. Michael can make out the word "Jefferson," so there is no doubt why they were here. The guards are looking for Jefferson and they want to search the place.

Rinpoche turns to the guards, and says something to the translator, who then says: "Rinpoche, says it is only his students here, but they are welcome here too, and to look anywhere." The guards immediately spread out and explore every last inch of the cave, the buildings there, and the area outside. The cave is located very high up. Aside from the rock staircase the guards had just climbed, there is no where else, except a sheer drop on the side facing the San Luis Valley. If anyone had been there, he would be found. There was no place to hide, only rock.

In time, a very puzzled bunch of guards re-assemble in the main room of the cave. They are not happy. Michael and the rest are terrified, but do their best to conceal it. Rinpoche turns to the translator and (when translated) says that he is sorry that the guards had to come all of this way and that it is already getting cold outside. He wants to make sure that they have some hot tea and food before they journey back down the mountain. The squad members look around at each other, with some confused stares, but their translator motions to them to sit down and they do.

Altogether, there are about 15 of them and the sit along one whole side of the cave. It takes almost a half hour for the attendants to get that much food and tea together, and it is somewhat awkward for everyone present. Not much is said. When the attendants have brought the food and tea, they serve the guards and also offer some to Michael and rest. Rinpoche says something to the translator, who tells the squad team that Rinpoche would like to say a prayer to bless their food and give them safe journey. Again, they all look around at each other, but nod in assent.

Rinpoche says a brief prayer, as he had before, and then begins a second, much longer prayer, this one with a wonderful, but very simple, melody. The sound of Rinpoche's voice fills the small cave and has holds the complete attention of everyone present. Something very special is happening, which is difficult to describe. As Rinpoche chants, the light in the room seems to change. It gets lighter and lighter, until the entire room and everyone in it is almost transparent white. It is as if you could see through everyone's body, and everything around, the people, the very walls themselves become white-light transparent. It is an utter lightness of being.

And when the rinpoche stops, everyone present looks different. First, the eyes of all them are filled with tears, and tears are running down the cheeks of those big-bodied squad members, the same as everyone else. And faces have changed. Foreheads broadened, the area around the eyes of everyone somehow more open now. All the faces are shining, looking around - wide eyed..

Some of the squad team just sat there on the floor, blubbering away like babies. All sense of sides has vanished. There is no we and them. All are together.

And when it comes time for the squad to leave, rinpoche goes to each one of the squad members, and places a red protection cord around their necks. They let him. Then he takes their each of their heads in his hands, and ever so gently touches his forehead to theirs. They can only mumble thanks as they file out the door and down the mountain.

R-800 After the Meeting

When the guards have gone, Rinpoche sits with them and they have more tea. They cannot really converse, because the translator has left with the guards, but it is pretty clear that all are happy to be there. It is getting late. Michael has no idea how they will get down the mountain and back to civilization. Rinpoche seems to understand, because he says something to the monks and they began bringing in rolled-up rugs and blankets, spreading them out on the cave floor. Rinpoche makes it clear that they are to say here for the night and head back in the morning. Jefferson never returns or is mentioned again. He just vanishes there and then on that mountainside. Gone.

As everyone is exhausted, it is not long before they are fast asleep, warm under the blankets, and under the protection of Rinpoche. There have only been a few times in Michael's life that he feels so at home, in a world that, even outside of the cities, can be harsh and forbidding.

In the morning, they have some sort of gruel, hard bread, and more of the Tibetan tea, and then they are off down the mountain. As he says, goodbye, Rinpoche takes each of their heads in his hands and touches their foreheads, and places a red protection cord around their necks. They thank him and say goodbye, obviously very grateful to have been with him.

Afterward, Michael visits the small building near the cave and finds that it contains a small shrine. The floor of the room is made of some sort of inlaid wood and very clean. At the far end, on a raised altar, is a gold statue of a somewhat fierce-looking deity, in the shape of a man. It is not the Buddha that Michael has seen in books. This figure is seated in the cross-legged position and wears some sort of hat. His expression is fierce, very strong, and he has a staff held by his left arm, while his right holds some form of ritual object. The figure has a short mustache and small goatee. The face is very alert. The statue is surrounded by rich brocades. Michael later learns that this is a statue of Guru Rinpoche, one of the principal protector figures in Tibetan Buddhism. Michael sits quietly for some time and lets all of this sink in.

And then he stands, leaves the shrine, and looks out over the entire San Luis Valley, knowing that he has come from the very bottom to here. Today there are no clouds and he can see everywhere. This mountain and the valley which stretches on far below them is said to be a very sacred place. Indeed, it was vast and beautiful, awesome would be a better word. Michael cannot imagine how in the wide world they can ever get from where they stand now (on top) back to the plain below. It just seems physically impossible.

But back down they go, and it only takes them something over three hours and a bunch of blisters to reach the abandoned village. Michael's shoes can't take the constant pressure from bracing for the downhill climb and his toes suffered. With every step, his feet are jammed tight against the front of his shoes. After a while it just hurts. He can feel it happening, feel the blisters forming, but there is nothing he can do about it. Down they go and down they go, mile after mile.

To their surprise the man and his tractor have returned and are waiting for them, and they rattle back down the riverbed to town, just as the Sun begins to really bake them. After some tea at the tractor man's home, they climbed back into the tractor and are driven to where there is a vehicle.

As they drive along, Michael is in a sort of daze. He has never felt better. There are no thoughts happening. Everything has a smooth open feeling. Where before Michael had been irritated at the incredibly slow driver, now all of that is gone. Being with Rinpoche has been like sitting next to a wondrous waterfall. Michael now is completely relaxed and he feels an incredible openness and even love for the driver and for all the people that they pass on the way back to the city. He finds himself waving hello to just about anyone.



R-900 Back to Center City and to the Outside World

Now their group consists of Michael and Mary, who have become very close, along with Richard, and Isaac. Richard is in a state of pleasant shock, having taken way too much in an, pushed beyond his envelope, he knew that here was the change in his life he had been waiting for. His mind was a blank, but he understood everything. There was not the shadow of a cloud in any of their minds – a cloudless sky. The Sun was shining.

There was no reason for any of them to stay in the prison any longer. There were no more questions. The mystery was solved. They understood what the prison art scene was all about. Richard got it. Mary had been right. These were not unhappy people. Tortured by their situation, yes, but unhappy: not really.

They made it back to Center City, picked up the rest of their things, and headed for the outside perimeter and back to Ann Arbor. Michael and Mary were inseparable, and they would stay together.

R-950 Back in Ann Arbor

Richard returned to his classes, but he was changed. He finished the book on the art scene in the prison cities and was brilliant. And a different Richard now stood at the lectern, his now hair gray, and in more simple (and less stylish) attire. There was a softness around his eyes and a sense of kindness that had not been there before. He even had a woman friend his own age, who also had graying hair. Richard had grown up at last.

Michael and Mary had also been back in Ann Arbor for a few months, and their life was now different. For one, Michael was somewhat of a local celebrity, now that he had been to the Cities and lived to write about it. The few articles he had written had gotten a lot of attention and everyone who was cool in Ann Arbor had heard of Michael and most knew him to speak to. It was almost too much.

Mary was happy living with Michael, and she was happy playing her music, and she played like she had never played before. There is just one more thing.

The event I want to recount here happened early on a Wednesday morning in the Ann Arbor farmers market, just across from Zingerman's deli. Every Wednesday and Saturday, the otherwise empty place is alive with activity, as fresh produce and flowers from all over the area converge here and are offered for sale. Students, faculty, townsfolk, all vie for parking spots, so they can pick up something a little bit fresher than the local supermarket. And it is almost always jammed.

Michael was carefully picking his way through the slowly moving crowd, his arms full of apples, fresh bread, and a few other things. It was common for some of the vendors to call out to passers by, asking if they had enough peaches, or beets, or whatever, and this had just happened. Michael, who had enough food for now, was routinely saying no, no, and no.

So, when Michael hears an almost-familiar voice from behind ask, "Would you like some mountain flowers?," without stopping to think that there are no mountains in this part of Michigan, Michael politely brushes off the request with "No thank you, maybe another time," and he is already well into the crowd, moving away from that booth, when he heard that same voice continue, "If not today, then perhaps tomorrow, or the next life, which will come first?"

It takes a moment for this to register with Michael, but it does, and the voice suddenly is recognizable. It is the voice of Jefferson. Michael turns, and tries to move against the flow of people, back to that booth. When he manages to get there, it is empty, except for a bunch of cattails inside the booth, which are still swinging gently, as if someone had just brushed by them, only moments before.

Michael stares into the empty booth. No one is there. And then he turns, and slowly smiles, and says to himself:

"Tomorrow or next life, which will come first?"