Escapee from the Zen Buddhist Monastery

He escaped from a Zen Buddhist Monastery. Called up Pamela and said, “I’m ready to go now.” Like Allen Watts says, “The cat got up, stretched and walked away.” And this cat joined us.

I knew his presence would change the journey, not in a negative or positive way, just change the flow. And part of this is accepting change, letting people in, opening new possibility.

Stuck in Campbell, Pamela and I window shop. We rummage through thrift stores and boutiques. We stroll the tiny town and stop to split an organic veggie burrito. I can tell she is worried. “What’s wrong? I can read it on your face.”

She says, “I’m just worried about you two. I don’t know how it will change things.”

“I want to think about how it may affect you, not me. You can’t hold that. And your worry puts too much weight on me.” I say and pour green hot sauce over the rice and avocado. “This is your journey with him, not mine. And I am perfectly happy to open the space.”

She nods. “Good. Well then it’s settled. I can eat now.” She pulls the plate closer to her and joins me in the meal.

I share my momentary fear about time, “I do wonder about how that changes the travel away from the coast.”

She takes a bite, pauses and says, “Yea. Hopefully its not too far.”

I laugh at my own silly question and say, “We don’t even know if the ELF will make it another five feet so I guess I shouldn’t worry about any travel anywhere until it presents itself. But he does need to know that there is a possibility that she might stop running, that we get stuck. He can’t have any expectations.”

She agrees, “He has to be prepared to sit and wait.”

After six months of sitting, I am sure he is used to it. She gets the call from him. She smiles brightly and leaves me at the table outside. I wander into a used bookstore and buy my next reading material. I find a table at another restaurant and order a bloody mary. I post up there to read for hours.

I wave to Pamela as she passes with Steven and his gigantic backpack in tow. His hair on top of his head is tied into a neat bun. He wears blue shorts, and an earthen scent. He has a calm demeanor. I assumed he would be, coming from a 6-month stint of meditation and farming.

We slowly get used to each other, make small talk like capoeria sparing, a dance of kindness and curiosity. Pamela orders shots at a bar and the dizziness opens us to each other.

We hit the road the next morning. The highways are packed. Buses and trucks wiz by us as San Francisco looms on the horizon. It’s tense. Traffic and the ELF are not a good mix. Steven asks me calmly, “Want to get back to the 1?”

“Yes, good idea.” “Take the next exit onto Smith Ranch Road.” I smile at the thought of the Smith brothers, my family back home in Topanga and see this exit name as a good sign.

As we turn west on to the almost empty road, I immediately feel my body soften. Without trucks rumbling by, and potholed pavement, the ELF also softens. We wander onto and through gold hills of backcountry. We wind our way at 35mph. Steven takes over some of the driving so I can watch the birds. We oooh and ahh. Softness and surrender. Off the highway is the only way to get to know the country. Each barn that breaks up the landscape becomes my potential new home. I dream of owning a small farm one day. The three of us banter about the possibility.

Steven’s suggestion to get back into the country made all the difference. We weren’t blaring through cities past too many corporate storefronts that just repeat themselves. Highways are maddening, a ticker tape of absent desire.

The escapee from the Zen Monastery reminded us to get back to our slow crawl along the countryside past wooden signs about BBQs and community dances, past thrift stores and antiques, past cows slowly chewing and two bucks with newly sprouted horns. They match my gaze then dart from the roadside. Happy now, ELF creaks and rumbles at a slow leisurely pace and prompts us to look around.