Richard from Texas has some cute habits. Whenever he passes me in the Ashram and notices by my distracted face that my thoughts are a million miles away, he says, "How's David doing?"
"Mind your own business," I always say. "You don't know what I'm thinking about, mister."
Of course, he's always right.
Another habit he has is to wait for me when I come out of the meditation1 hall because he likes to see how wigged2 out and spazzy I look when I crawl out of there. Like I've been wrestling alligators3 and ghosts. He says he's never watched anybody fight so hard against herself. I don't know about that, but it's true that what goes on in that dark meditation room for me can get pretty intense. The most fierce experiences come when I let go of some last fearful reserve and permit a veritable turbine of energy to unleash4 itself up my spine5. It amuses me now that I ever dismissed these ideas of the kundalini shakti as mere6 myth. When this energy rides through me, it rumbles7 like a diesel8 engine in low gear, and all it asks of me is this one simple request-- Would you kindly9 turn yourself inside out, so that your lungs and heart and offal will be on the outside and the whole universe will be on the inside? And emotionally, will you do the same? Time gets all screwy in this thunderous space, and I am taken--numbed, dumbed and stunned--to all sorts of worlds, and I experience every intensity10 of sensation: fire, cold, hatred11, lust12, fear . . . When it's all over, I wobble to my feet and stagger out into the daylight in such a state--ravenously hungry, desperately13 thirsty, randier than a sailor on a three-day shore leave. Richard is usually there waiting for me, ready to start laughing. He always teases me with the same line when he sees my confounded and exhausted14 face: "Think you'll ever amount to anything, Groceries?"
But this morning in meditation, after I heard the lion roar YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW STRONG MY LOVE IS, I came out of that meditation cave like a warrior15 queen. Richard didn't even have time to ask if I thought I'd ever amount to anything in this life before I looked him eye to eye and said, "I already have, mister."
"Check you out," Richard said. "This is cause for celebration. Come on, kiddo--I'll take you into town, buy you a Thumbs-Up."
Thumbs-Up is an Indian soft drink, sort of like Coca-Cola, but with about nine times the corn syrup16 and triple that of caffeine. I think it might have methamphetamines in it, too. It makes me see double. A few times a week, Richard and I wander into town and share one small bottle of Thumbs-Up--a radical17 experience after the purity of vegetarian18 Ashram food--always being careful not to actually touch the bottle with our lips. Richard's rule about traveling in India is a sound one: "Don't touch anything but yourself." (And, yes, that was also a tentative title for this book.)
We have our favorite visits in town, always stopping to pay respects to the temple, and to say hello to Mr. Panicar, the tailor, who shakes our hands and says, "Congratulations to meet you!" every time. We watch the cows mill about enjoying their sacred status (I think they actually abuse the privilege, lying right in the middle of the road just to drive home the point that they are holy), and we watch the dogs scratch themselves like they're wondering how the heck they ever ended up here. We watch the women doing road work, busting19 up rocks under the sweltering sun, swinging sledgehammers, barefoot, looking so strangely beautiful in their jewel-colored saris and their necklaces and bracelets20. They give us dazzling smiles which I can't begin to understand--how can they be happy doing this rough work under such terrible conditions? Why don't they all faint and die after fifteen minutes in the boiling heat with those sledgehammers? I ask Mr. Panicar the tailor about it and he says it's like this with the villagers, that people in this part of the world were born to this kind of hard labor21 and work is all they are used to.
It is a poor village, of course, but not desperate by the standards of India; the presence (and charity) of the Ashram and some Western currency floating around makes a significant difference. Not that there's so much to buy here, though Richard and I like to look around in all the shops that sell the beads23 and the little statues. There are some Kashmiri guys--very shrewd salesmen, indeed--who are always trying to unload their wares24 on us. One of them really came after me today, asking if madam would perhaps like to buy a fine Kashmiri rug for her home?
This made Richard laugh. He enjoys, among other sports, making fun of me for being homeless.
"Save your breath, brother," he said to the rug salesman. "This old girl ain't got any floors to put a rug on."
Undaunted, the Kashmiri salesman suggested, "Then perhaps madam would like to hang a rug on her wall?"
"See, now," said Richard, "that's the thing--she's a little short on walls these days, too."
点击收听单词发音
1 meditation | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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2 wigged | |
adj.戴假发的 | |
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3 alligators | |
n.短吻鳄( alligator的名词复数 ) | |
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4 unleash | |
vt.发泄,发出;解带子放开 | |
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5 spine | |
n.脊柱,脊椎;(动植物的)刺;书脊 | |
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6 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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7 rumbles | |
隆隆声,辘辘声( rumble的名词复数 ) | |
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8 diesel | |
n.柴油发动机,内燃机 | |
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9 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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10 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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11 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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12 lust | |
n.性(淫)欲;渴(欲)望;vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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13 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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14 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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15 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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16 syrup | |
n.糖浆,糖水 | |
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17 radical | |
n.激进份子,原子团,根号;adj.根本的,激进的,彻底的 | |
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18 vegetarian | |
n.素食者;adj.素食的 | |
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19 busting | |
打破,打碎( bust的现在分词 ); 突击搜查(或搜捕); (使)降级,降低军阶 | |
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20 bracelets | |
n.手镯,臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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21 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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22 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
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23 beads | |
n.(空心)小珠子( bead的名词复数 );水珠;珠子项链 | |
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24 wares | |
n. 货物, 商品 | |
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25 defense | |
n.防御,保卫;[pl.]防务工事;辩护,答辩 | |
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26 sterling | |
adj.英币的(纯粹的,货真价实的);n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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