And a few drops of Paula's child's blood.
I,like Seymour, have the influence of it in my life.
I drive to Joshua Tree National Monument,and when I arrive the moon is high in the sky. The park is large, and I have no ideawhere Paula sat whenthe brilliant blue light came out of the sky andblessed her. Only that she sat on a bluff watching the sunset. After the blue light left and the sun rose the next morning,the surrounding Joshua trees were larger.
"The Joshua trees around methey were all taller."
"Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure. Some were twice the size they had been the evening before."
I park in a spot that catches my eye and get out and walk across the desert. The moonlight, as it pours over me, seems to seep into the crown of my head, and I am reminded of the time in the desert outside Las Vegas when I escaped a nuclear explosion by filling my body with moonlight and floating high into the sky. As I prowl the sandy terrain among the Joshua trees that stand like sentinels from another age, I feel my step lighten. It is almost as if I can bob off the ground,and that possibility fills me with excitement. To fly up with the stars and escape the prison of my problems. My bare arms begin to glow with a milky white radiance. I can almost see through them.
Then I see the place. My recognition of it is immediate. I do not even have to take note of the tall surrounding trees to confirm my belief. I simply know it is the spot. A feeling of tranquility, of sanctity even, radiates from the place. It draws me forward. Clearly something momentous occurred here. In a minute I am standing atop the bluff where I am convinced Paula conceived her child.I lift my arms to the stars." Suzama!"I call. "Show me what yous aw!" There is no answer, at least no obvious one. Yet I am suddenly overcome by a wave of fatigue, and I sit down to close my eyes and meditate with the rhythm of the breath and the secret mantra.Soon white light is pouring,not from above, but from a place inside me, and I am lost in memories of nights of wonder and terror at the feet of a tender clairvoyant,who saw not only the birth of God,but the death as well. There was, of course, a reason Suzama died so young,and perhaps I was apart of that reason.
When I arrived in Egypt,it was fifty years after the death of Lord Krishna,fifty years into the dark age, what was to become known as Kali Yuga.Following the trail of adventurous merchants, who traveled the Far East thousands of years beforeM arcoPolo was born, I arrived in an Egypt that to my eyes was infinite in splendor and riches. Truthfully, it overwhelmed me, although I was also relieved to be out of India,where Yaksha was in the midst of a bloody rampage to destroy every living vampire, as part of a vow he had made to Krishna.
The bright sun was hard on a young vampire like me. Riding into the enchanted city on the backof a camel, I had to keep my head covered with many layers of cloth.The sun burned into my brain,sapping every ounce of my strength. Yet the sight of the Great Pyramid,four times larger than the present-day pyramid that bears the same name, filled me with wonder. Covered with shiny white ivory and capped with glistening gold, it stole my breath away. All I could think as the bright rays heated my already boiling blood was to escape into its dark interior, rest,and try to forget the many trials of my journey. I thought it more than a coincidence that one of the first people I met when I entered the magical city was Suzama herself.
She was far from a high priestess that day. Only sixteen, with long dark hair and eyes as bright as they were kind, she wore a slave's simple garment. I saw her bending over the bank oftheNile to collect water in a large clay jar. On my exhausted camel, moving slowly toward her, I thought she seemed to stiffen. She glanced over her shoulder at me, almost as if she felt me approach. Later she was to tell me that she'd already had many visions of my coming. As our eyes met, my heart beat faster. I could remember no dream I'd had about her, but I knew her face was one I would never forget awake or asleep.
Suzama was not merely beautiful, although she would have been considered attractive in any age or place. Her allure came from the marks that austerity and pain had stamped on her young beauty, marks that made her enchanting, not repulsive. It was as if she had witnessed a thousand lives of suffering and come to a realization that transcended mortal acceptance. She was both saintly and sensual. Her lips so generous, she had only to smile to make you feel kissed. I loved her when I saw her, and until then I had never loved anyone on sight, except for Krishna himself.
She offered me a drink from her jug.
"I am called Suzama," she said. "Who are you?"
"Sita,"I answered, giving her my real name. I drank the water hungrily, and splashed someon my dusty face. The Nile was cool and sweet in those days. I don't know what has become of it now. "I am new here."
But Suzama shook her head. "You have always been here." Then she touched her heart and I saw tears in her eyes. "I know you, Sita. You have great power."
This was my first sign of her power. Suzama knew things from inside herself, not from outside. Indeed,later, I came to believe the entire world was a dream to her. Yet paradoxically it could still cause her intense pain. Her deepest feelings were enigmatic, dispassionately unattached, but at the same time passionately involved. When she took my hand and led me in the direction of her family, I felt I had been touched by an angel. Yet I did not know that for the next three and a half years, I would hardly ever leave her sight. Her mystical mission had not yet begun, but soon it would hit like abolt of lightning.And I would be her thunder.
5
The next morning I have been only seconds in my expensive and exquisitely furnished tri-levelhome in Pacific Palisades when the phone rings. Upstairs I hear Seymour snoring peacefully, yet the call makes me anxious. Our number is unlisted. Who would know to call? And so early in the morning?
I pick up the phone and hold it close.
"Hello?"
There is a pause. Then the soft voice, the gentle inflections.
"It is I," she says.
The blood freezes in my veins."K alika."
"Yes, Mother, you remember me. That is good. How have you been?"
"Fine. How are you?"
"Wonderful. Busy."
"You haven't found him yet," I say. "You're not going to find him."
Kalika could be smiling."You are wrong. I haven't found him but I am going to find him. You are going to help me."
"I hardly think so."