[UCB Catalog #13-40]
Sister Mary and The Beast
Dr. Jack’s Hartley’s Flight
1.2
As Jack was able to finally catch a breath standing outside the terror within his apartment, everything that he knew about what happened inside was flashing before his mind’s eye, like a high-speed slide show. Everything from the ancient manuscripts and even older tomb texts-- everything he had survived. Everything in him screamed to run, just as he was. Run. Naked. To run without stopping. Run to the nearest naturally flowing water. To get across it if he could...
So, he ran. Mostly along old, soft deer trails as much as possible. But sharp stones still tore at his feet-- dry branches and thorns ripped his skin. He went the shortest way he knew and the least visible. Much of the time he was bent over as he continued to run knees to his chest under the chaparral. About half way, he stopped briefly to bury the knife. But then seemed to change his mind, to keep it with him.
After about 5 miles he could see the boulder-banked stream, flooded this time of year from the snow pack above. And he could see the cottonwoods that would shield him while he rested and thought what to do next. He waded across the stream up to his knees (deep for southern California)
He prepared a nest among the last year’s leaves and was chagrined to discover that a rattlesnake about 5 feet long wanted to share it with him. But he was wilderness trained with lighting reactions. So, he grabbed the snake behind the head and escorted it back across the stream where he carefully dropped it behind some boulders without injury to either party. In fact, he prayed that the snake and Oroboros would help guard his Path.
After wading back across the icy stream, now much drained of body heat and shaking from battle and flight, he curled in amongst the sacred Alamos (Cottonwoods) to rest in safety. He pulled fallen leaves over his body as best he could and slept.
Shortly, a shadow hovered on the other side of the icy stream– unable to cross. It congealed into a form, a woman? Its clothes were ragged, a torn and bloody dress. At first it looked more like a beast of some kind. Slowly, it congealed more and more into a human female. It paced up and down the rocky shore. Something about the energy, the Tao, of flowing natural water prevented her crossing. She could sense the presence of her quarry. Writhing, it turned to face the striking rattler! Then it ran and soon disappeared towards the desert.
Jack woke up late in the afternoon, warm and refreshed in the long shadows of late daylight. He washed again and then headed for some houses a couple of miles further down the stream where a family’s laundry was hung in the back yard to dry. He was lucky to find pants that weren’t too tight or too short-- Even clean underwear, a heavy, faded, cotton, cowboy shirt, and a pile of old flip-flops housing a couple of spiders on the back porch. He hoped his theft was not too much of a loss for these poor folk. But he was desperate. And he couldn’t risk going to the door in his torn underwear and bleeding feet to ask. He’d draw too much attention. He made a mental note to repay them.
The highway in this part of the county was not much further, Once dressed, he made for it and started hitch hiking north. While he had been running earlier in the day, he really couldn’t think all that much. But images of places along the eastern side of the High Sierra Nevada north of the desert where he lived crowded in his mind. So that’s where he decided to head. That’s where he knew people who might shelter him. Where he might find refuge and hiding for the time being…
He had a ride within a half hour and was in Bishop, California beneath the High Sierra Nevada by midnight-- staggeringly beautiful especially in the full moonlight. He had often backpacked the wilderness trails above this pleasant town with Tom the son of his father’s employer—the banker and owner of the ranch his father managed. He felt a particular closeness to wilderness. It refreshed him. But now he was looking for someone in particular with a place to hide while he considered the knowledge that made him dangerous to dangerous people.
More soon about old Sister Mary and young Dr. Jack Hartley...
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Life has spirit and matter, consciousness and persons. A person might be considered a nexus of relationships, time and non-time; indeed, might be the Animist’s sacred stone, tree or wind. This might be animal, plant, deity and human being—self-reflection, moments of ineffable insight, mechanics and psyche in the context of self, environment and spiritual origin. ‘Consciousness is untouchable and non-temporal, a divine participation in the universe. Identity is of primary importance’: Nairatmyavada. [Sic] THE SILENCE OF GOD, R. Panikkar.
