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I
don
’
t
want
!
With
each
repetition
of
those
desperate
thoughts
,
I
could
feel
myself
falling
through
layer
after
layer
of
illusion
,
like
an
action
-
comedy
hero
crashing
through
a
dozen
canvas
awnings
during
his
fall
from
a
building
.
This
return
of
useless
longing
was
bringing
me
back
again
into
my
own
small
borders
,
my
own
mortal
confines
,
my
limited
comic
-
strip
world
.
I
watched
my
ego
return
the
way
you
watch
a
Polaroid
photo
develop
,
instant
-
by
-
instant
getting
clearer
-
there
’
s
the
face
,
there
are
the
lines
around
the
mouth
,
there
are
the
eyebrows
-
yes
,
now
it
is
finished
:
there
is
a
picture
of
regular
old
me
I
felt
a
tremor
of
panic
,
mildly
heartbroken
to
have
lost
this
divine
experience
.
But
exactly
parallel
to
that
panic
I
could
also
sense
a
wit
-
ness
,
a
wiser
and
older
me
,
who
just
shook
her
head
and
smiled
,
knowing
this
:
If
I
believed
that
this
state
of
bliss
was
something
that
could
be
taken
away
from
me
,
then
I
obviously
didn
’
t
understand
it
yet
.
And
therefore
,
I
was
not
yet
ready
to
inhabit
it
completely
.
I
would
have
to
practice
more
.
At
that
moment
of
realization
,
that
’
s
when
God
let
me
go
,
let
me
slide
through
His
fingers
with
this
last
compassionate
,
unspoken
message
:
You
may
return
here
once
you
have
fully
come
to
understand
that
you
are
always
here
.
The
retreat
ended
two
days
later
,
and
everyone
came
out
of
silence
.
I
got
so
many
hugs
from
people
,
thanking
me
for
having
helped
them
.
"
Oh
,
no
!
Thank
you
,
"
I
kept
saying
,
frustrated
at
how
inadequate
those
words
sounded
,
how
impossible
it
was
to
express
ample
gratitude
for
their
having
lifted
me
to
such
a
towering
height
.
Another
one
hundred
seekers
arrived
a
week
later
for
another
retreat
,
and
the
teachings
and
the
brave
endeavors
inward
and
the
all
-
encompassing
silence
were
all
repeated
,
with
new
souls
in
practice
.
I
watched
over
them
,
too
,
and
tried
to
help
in
every
possible
way
and
glided
back
into
turiya
a
few
times
with
them
,
too
.
I
could
only
laugh
later
when
many
of
them
came
out
of
their
meditations
to
tell
me
that
I
had
appeared
to
them
during
the
retreat
as
a
"
silent
,
gliding
,
ethereal
presence
.
"
So
this
was
the
Ashram
’
s
final
joke
on
me
?
Once
I
had
learned
to
accept
my
loud
,
chatty
,
social
nature
and
fully
embrace
my
inner
Key
Hostess
-
only
then
could
I
become
The
Quiet
Girl
in
the
Back
of
the
Temple
,
after
all
?
In
my
final
weeks
there
,
the
Ashram
was
imbibed
with
a
somewhat
melancholy
last
-
days
-
of
-
summer
-
camp
feeling
.
Every
morning
,
it
seemed
,
some
more
people
and
some
more
luggage
got
on
a
bus
and
left
.
There
were
no
new
arrivals
.
It
was
almost
May
,
the
beginning
of
the
hottest
season
in
India
,
and
the
place
would
be
slowing
down
for
a
while
.
There
would
be
no
more
retreats
,
so
I
was
relocated
for
work
again
,
now
placed
in
the
Office
of
Registration
,
where
I
had
the
bittersweet
job
of
officially
"
departing
"
all
my
friends
off
the
computer
once
they
had
left
the
Ashram
.
I
shared
the
office
with
a
funny
former
Madison
Avenue
hairdresser
.
We
’
d
do
our
morning
prayers
together
all
alone
,
just
the
two
of
us
singing
our
hymn
to
God
.
"
Think
we
could
pick
up
the
tempo
on
this
hymn
today
?
"
asked
the
hairdresser
one
morning
.
"
And
maybe
raise
it
to
a
higher
octave
?
So
I
don
’
t
sound
like
a
spiritual
version
of
Count
Basie
?
"
