Fifteen minutes late, and the battery is dead. And he's supposed to take the Lama to catch his plane. He climbs the hill to the main house, a half-mile, hot, dusty, saying mantras, hoping the local mountain lion won't pounce on him. He imagines a scenario: “Where's Jubal? Go look for him. Report back.” Later, “Jubal's been eaten by a mountain lion. Nothing left but a leg bone, but it'll make a great thigh bone trumpet.”He climbs the hill, rounds the bend, thinking how it's always something. He sees the luggage on the front porch. This Tibetan doesn't travel light. A roll of thankas, Tibetan paintings, and four black suitcases. Maybe he should prostate up the driveway. Full body. Do guru yoga mantras. No, no time for this. Just say there's going to be a delay. Phone a friend. Get a jump. Hope there's time. The Lama nods. His English is good, says, “I gave myself an extra hour in case of such a contingency.” Jubal has a reprieve, returns to the van to wait. Half an hour, a jump-start, and they're on their way.
Driving through the village of Gem, there's a stack of elk antlers in front of a tannery. A sign says, “The buck stops here.” Jubal points to the antlers, and the Lamas's mantra machine kicks into overdrive. They travel further, the mantras at a low hum, and a rainbow arcs across the road ahead of them. “Wow, Rinpoche, you liberated a whole herd of elk.” Not a mile down the road, a bolt of lightening shoots straight down from the sky in the distance. Incredulous, Jubal guesses either one of the elk was rejected in nirvana, or the Durango Airport has been obliterated by a flying saucer.
No, the airport is intact. He parks in the short term parking section. Unloads the bags. Grabs a cart to ferry the luggage to the terminal. The Lama is in fine form, doing a little shuffle. Jubal watches a pair of tennis shoes move in small steps in a circle. A little Lama dance to propitiate the local deity. Not much time to spare, but the flight is on time, and Jubal is feeling only mildly fatigued. They are in line, and Jubal thinks, “The battery slowed us, but all the obstacles have been removed. How does he do it?”
After they are checked in and are walking towards security, Jubal notices the Lama has a purba on his belt under his robe. A purba is a triangular-shaped dagger made of iron and brass, eight or nine inches in length, used to slay demons. No way it can get past a metal detector without sounding an alarm. Jubal is sure they will never let him on board with that, but Jubal is not one to interrupt the Lama. The Lama marches right through security without the purba being noticed. He didn't check it in, didn't show it to anyone. Walked right through the metal detector. Jubal stood in the visitor's section. The Lama turned and waved and was gone across the causeway.
Telling this story later, Jubal said, “Half the time it doesn't seem this man is even in his body, and the other half of the time, he doesn't seem to even be on this planet.” And he quoted Jigme Lingpa: “Through signs one comes to believe. Through faith one comes to understand.” Jubal does mantras.
Poems Copyright 2004 by Richard Denner (No reproduction without express permission from the author)
You're invited to Richard's website: dpress
Table of Contents
Letter to the Author: Richard Denner at rychard@sonic.net