Seated in the Longmont Public Library Keith Abbott stared at the computer screen for a long time. The chat box had opened up before his eyes with a question: But the real state of nirvana – what’s it like?
Keith knew that this was a test. He recognized the question and understood there was no real answer. It had been part of the Zen training before and after being ordained as a Zen monk. This was one of those Zen questions that was regularly set out like a roadblock, preventing potential flare ups of the ego.
Keith was thinking that sitting in the Longmont Public Library in Longmont Colorado was a far cry from actually experiencing nirvana. But, then again, was it? Maybe the Longmont Public Library and the fact that the Longmont Public Library did not own a single copy of any of his books was, in truth, ideal for Keith to reach the state of nirvana. He was free of himself.
On the other hand, maybe the Longmont Public Library itself had obtained nirvana. After all, it had been built on sacred Native American ground. Attempting to circumvent any further delays, the contractors had swiftly begun to gas the surrounding prairie dog population until protests emerged from the protesters who, up to that point, had been busy with protesting the building. A relocation program was set up. For the prairie dogs. As a civic building, the Longmont Public Library had possibly achieved unobstructed connection with its own innate buddha-nature.
Keith liked this thought. It was satirical. He started to imagine the Longmont Public Library as a wobbly cartoon-like representation, drawn in black ink on rice paper. His hands started to itch. He wanted to hold his brush again. In his imaginary drawing a sign saying NIRVANA was nailed to the front of the building and dead prairie dogs littered the lawn.
But how was he to reply to the Zen question AND get in contact with the Rhino Ritz Detective Agency? It certainly was a very delicate matter. Keith knew he had to be truthful and go the way of the dharma. He glanced around him. He was looking for simplicity, enclosure and completeness. He was looking at a poster of Lake Estes. He typed in his response.
Alpine lake, snowy mountains
Trout tails slapping at the bait
“Son, don’t fight over women–
Let women fight over you..”
And he pressed Enter.
Julie came home from her shift at the restaurant to find Blessing and Mila in the garage. The girls were sitting on the floor in front of the infra-red heat panel. Blessing was typing into her laptop. A ten month old baby was asleep in a car seat next to them.
Julie said hello. “I don’t think I’ve met you before,” she said and looked at Mila and then she looked at the baby.
“Hi, Mrs. Alexander,” Mila said. She introduced herself. “And this is John,” she added, touching the baby’s leg. The baby was wearing a clean pair of Star Wars Chewbacca overalls from Target over a long sleeved shirt. A light green fleece blanket lay next to the car seat.
“It’s Mrs. Collins,” Julie corrected Mila. “Are you girls babysitting?”
“We’re working on our book reports,” Blessing replied, “they’re due on Friday.”
“Blessing is helping me because I am not very good at writing book reports. I had to drop out last year to have John.” Mila said politely, lifting up her blue eyes. She’d gone easy on the mascara that day. “My aunt will pick us up in an hour.”
Julie continued to look carefully at Mila. The dark haired teenager was wearing baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. Julie couldn’t see if Mila had any tattoos, but she was relieved to see that the girl didn’t have any visible piercings. Julie had a small amount of tattoos discreetly hidden under her shirt. She was thinking about getting them removed.
“Roy took Taylor to the park.” Blessing said, reading her mother’s mind.
Julie turned and stepped back into the kitchen. Shutting the garage door, she took a deep breath. Then she reached up and opened the nearest cupboard door. She started to take out the contents of the cupboard. A tray of seasonings, pasta packages and canned goods. She thought she should clean out the cupboards while deciding what to make for dinner. This way she might eavesdrop. Just a little.
Blessing looked at Mila and Mila looked back at her friend. “So, next question,” Blessing said in a clear voice. “What kind of character qualities does Daisy have? How would her friends describe her?”
“Well, she sure can’t drive,” Mila answered.
El-Don Mast was sitting in his sedan. He was studying the side wall of McCarthy’s Pub. It had been a month since he had seen something. Had it been a ghost? He hadn’t seen what-ever-it-was since that November night, and not for want of trying. He’d been staking out the wall every week after Men’s Fellowship and he was as unenlightened as he’d ever been.
Withers, Everett and Bob-Joe arrived on time at that night’s meeting and Lolly was supposed to bring the bear claws, but Lolly had the flu. Their Scripture Reflection was about having a firm grip on the Rock of Ages to climb securely to new heights. El-Don passively listened to the questions the group was supposed to address.
Are you putting your feet on solid ground?
Is the Rock you base your life upon too small?
Do you believe the Rock can hold your life together?
And all El-Don could think about was Good Times Burgers and Frozen Custard on 26th Street.
“Hey Donny,” Everett poked at El-Don’s plaid shirt, “come back down to earth.”
El-Don coughed and stated that he was a firm believer in the Rock. He honestly felt that the church was his mainstay in life. Jesus was always there even if you didn’t always see him. “As Jesus said,” El-Don lightly flipped through the New Testament, grasping at straws while his stomach rumbled, “‘I am the bread of life’.....and, ah, this here is the passage from Matthew that my dad often read for us.” El-Don looked down. His father had recently passed away. “Everyone therefore who hears these words of mine, and does them, I will liken him to a wise man, who built his house on a rock.”
“We definitely need to build solid platforms in our lives, that’s for sure,” Bob-Joe said, shaking his head for emphasis. Bob-Joe was a very reassuring person.
“So how would you visualize your Rock, Bob-Joe?” Withers asked.
“Earthquake proof. That’s for sure,” Bob-Joe replied and chuckled.
“We definitely need to be prepared,” Everett said.
“Anything can happen,” El-Don joined in.
“Earthquakes are unusual in Colorado,” Withers remarked.
“Has anyone considered a grounding cord?” Kane asked. Kane was a new member.
“Do you think that it will shake that much?” Bob-Joe asked.
“It’s a technique to help ground you mentally and physically. Rabbi Pyrestone is giving a class down at the community center.”
A silence fell upon the group.
“I don’t know about that,” Bob-Joe muttered.
“Sounds intriguing,” Withers said. Then the music director quoted Rudyard Kipling, “And God who clears the grounding berg and steers the grinding floe, he hears the cry of the kit-fox and the wind along the snow.”
“Well,” Everett said, “I, for one, can say that I don’t miss the snow this year.”
“Sure makes driving easier,” Bob-Joe said uneasily.
“I heard there’s an interdenominational petition against climate change going around,” Kane mentioned. He was young, enthusiastic and had been raised on an apple tree farm.
A silence fell upon the older men.
“Is that a cd player? It looks like one.” Kane said. “I just got this meditation cd.” He reached in and pulled Ashy Bonfire Memories out of his backpack.
An hour later, sitting in his car in front of McCarthy's Pub, El-Don noticed the sign. “Live Music Tonight!” El-Don suddenly wanted a beer. He felt like he deserved a beer. He also wanted to rinse Ashy Bonfire Memories out of his ears. He used to go to live music back when he was in college. What happened to him?
As he walked into the dive bar, El-Don realized he’d never been to that low a dive bar before in his life. The pub featured a lot of green accents to the decoration. The interior read wood panels plus green accents. El-Don ordered a Budweiser. He definitely didn’t wasn’t seeing any ghosts. Everyone seemed very present.
“And tonight!” A man was introducing the four man band that was set up on the platform, “It’s unusual here at McCarthy’s but we are proud to present Longmont’s very own! Give it up for The Spiritual Predators!” The people in the bar clapped obligingly.
“Thank you, thank you all for coming,” the band’s singer looked around the bar. The place wasn’t packed but it also wasn’t empty. “We’d like to start off with a little number called Goose Shit Park. Y'all know what I'm talking about.”
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