Part 3: Gigue

Fanfare

Transitions — quit my job, sold the house, sold or gave away most everything else. “But you can’t do that!” Wrong, I did. But where are you ... what are you ... but what about ... but you have to...

Irrelevant. Not my problem. Wrong question.

I’ll give you a clue: the only things that can’t be replaced? They bleed when cut; they’re attached. Anything else? Doesn’t matter.

But where will you live? A female yoga instructor (lithe and lovely) in Palo Alto invited me to move in with her. Welcomed me with open arms, and more.

Another example: I didn’t stop working. I worked, just at different things, different goals, different scales. I worked, harder than I’d worked in the past, and I learned.

Oh, how I learned ... I learned about myself, and my gift. I refined it, incorporating and extending what others had learned and developed. In some situations, my abilities border on the godlike. In others, useless at best. Quite a range...

Consider money: everyone does. I could sit at a card game and “see” what my opponents held. At entry-level poker games, that was enough of an edge. Still, poker combines skill and luck.

Luck cost me my seat in a tournament. In retrospect, it was good luck; I got to observe elite-level players up close. They worked at an instinctive level, their actions at times contradicting what (my) logic suggested. Similar thing with other games, luck and instinct coming to the fore, my “talents” not useful.

Not useful at best ... In some situations, using those talents would have brought me to the attention of people who are skilled in ... let’s say, alternate methods of dispute resolution ... The House has an edge, and they intend to keep it.

So I took to approaches to multiplying capital which involved less physical risk. Eventually, you get to the point where money makes more money, and you just need to keep things on track.

I knew I was ready for another transition. Even if my path, my destination, wasn’t clear, the next few steps were. Another thing I was learning is to trust my gut and go with those feelings. My gut told me to go with it. I did.

On my way to Estes Park, Colorado, Vanessa “suggested” I be there on a certain date. I flew from Boston to Denver (not alone), a few days early to acclimate to the altitude, and to make the drive to Estes Park. After three nights in Estes Park, I’d return to Denver and fly to Tucson from there.

Still in transition, I’d spent the last eight weeks in Western Mass at a very nice place, a cross between a resort and a monastery. I’d been practicing yoga, teaching yoga, working toward yoga instructor certification. I spent time with their resident therapists. I spent my days practicing, meditating, interacting with others.

Interacting — hah. In a weekly session, I reminded a senior therapist that when I arrived, I voluntarily and openly took the Five Precepts. Had I acted in any way against those vows? The gentleman backpedaled, no, they were concerned, that’s all. I moved to the next pose in my sequence, probing him gently. Oh, what is your concern, I asked, knowing it full well; I could read them like fucking billboards at high noon.

One group frequenting the place were those suffering from existential angst brought on by financial depths exceeding their personalities — more money than sense. They’d spend the time practicing yoga, working with therapists, at the very least living in a focused and constrained environment. Some got instructor certifications. A few even learned.

Hell, that’s part of what I was seeking, part of the reason I was there. That and the simple fact that the retreats I’d been on before, on the West Coast, were austere and extreme in comparison. This place had superb food, massage, comfortable rooms, a pool. And no vow of silence, even though I spoke little during an average day. I spoke with therapists, did yoga as a student and as a teacher, sat in meditation, walked in meditation, ate, swam, had the occasional massage.

I also practiced one-on-one with some students (and some instructors), always in the open (in spite of requests and suggestions for more intimate settings). Unstated but understood, one period in the morning and one in the afternoon were open, more on the weekends. Oh, others did the same thing, it wasn’t something I started. It was understood that you asked politely if you could join, or wait to be invited, and if that invitation didn’t come after a few minutes, well...

I didn’t turn up whatever it is I radiate at times, but I didn’t turn it down either. Some of them were drawn to me, male, female, undecided. At a gathering of those working to instructor certification, a senior instructor told me I had a gift and would never lack for students. Another instructor, a young woman, added that I’d never need to sleep alone, either...

I learned so much! Not only yoga ... I learned to skim instructors, therapists, students (as the guests were called). I learned so much in early morning meditation, those attending sitting in silence, eyes closed, minds wandering ... I learned, and I worked to integrate what I learned.

Working one-on-one with students, leading them, assisting them with challenging poses, and looking inside, seeing their troubles (real and imaginary), it was so easy to reshape, to refocus, often with a suggestion, a question — as with all such therapy, change has to come from within, but I could mediate those changes, bring them about with such seeming ease. And since I could “see” those points of leverage, I could, as one student said, “really hit the nail on the head.”

So it was with Diane, a delicious but troubled young woman. Many of her troubles stemmed from inheriting way too much money — more money than self-control. Working with her in yoga, taking her to places where she was challenged yet comfortable, relaxing into the intensity of a pose, I made remarks, posed questions, usually in a humorous double-entendre style, that brought her such insights, mediated such change. The change has to start from within...

And pissed off her “official” therapist no end, evidently, as the senior staffer speaking with me obliquely let me know that her therapist thought I was interfering!

I knew the staffer thought that was a load of crap, but felt obliged to bring it up. I reminded him that some students were more talkative than others, I had enough issues of my own, and felt no need to stick my nose into others’ problems. I respected the sanctity of the patient-therapist relationship. I actually said that! I finished up with some roundabout remarks that settled his view that the complaint was based on jealousy, both professional and sexual. He wished me well, and sent a problem my way!

Oh but that one, that young man, the best I could do was help bring into clearer focus the rock and the hard place he was between. But walking the grounds with his therapist, talking about it, even that had been a very big step, and one for which both therapist and client thanked me.

So part way through my stay, I’d developed a reputation for insight, as well as for charisma, strength, and flexibility. Unlike some, I also had a reputation for celibacy. Oh, I looked, but I didn’t touch (or otherwise sample).

And just as I saw students who had stiff hips, or were scared of trying certain poses as challenges, so some saw me and my reputation as a challenge...

A few days after my conversation with the senior staffer, Diane asked me to walk with her. We hadn’t worked together for a week.

New England fall air, crisp and cold; trees bare under gray skies.

“My therapist doesn’t want me talking with you,” Diane started out.

I took her hand in mine. “Why?” I asked as we walked.

She sighed, and after a bit, said, “He thinks it isn’t good for me.”

“Why?” I repeated, moving my arm around her waist, pulling her closer as we walked.

She sighed.

After walking more, she started in. “He’s jealous! He’s such a petty little...”

I stopped and pulled her head to my shoulder. “Shhh...” I whispered, holding her close, rocking her gently. She sighed and put her arms around me. I held her, protecting her. Taller than Betty or Jen, between Jen and Betty in abundance, and in better physical condition than either of them.

After a while, we started walking back.

“What do I do?” she asked as we got close to the door, standing toe to toe.

“Decide,” I whispered. I held her close once more and kissed her forehead, marking her.

The next day, she resumed doing yoga with me during my morning free period, announcing impishly, “I’m not going to talk to you.” I smiled and nodded. That’s fine.

I worked with Diane. I worked with a number of students, occasionally two or three at a time. The area was used for large classes, talks, and such. When not so used, individuals and smaller groups used it. There were usually a few working along the walls, individuals and clumps on the floor. Commonly, there would be an instructor, maybe even one or more of the staff, or therapists, observing.

I knew damn well when they were observing me. One morning I was working with Diane and Angela. Another young woman, Gina, who was also going for yoga instructor certification, approached. As she approached, I could hear her replaying the conversation she’d had with the folks sitting in the corner observing — “Flirt with him! Really turn it on! You can do it! You can get him, he’s a man!” they taunted and encouraged her. She was attracted to me, and having it sanctioned, well...

She did everything short of pulling off her clothes (or mine), or jumping me. That only made Angela bolder, and Diane more focused on yoga, bless her.

I had them in Cobra, extended, focus on length ... I cleaned up Diane’s form and whispered to her, “I’m proud of you.”

I moved in front of Gina; her eyes met mine, smoldering, and her nipples practically popped through her leotard. I moved to her side, touching her, positioning, sending a thrill through her. She thought she was winning.

I put a hand on her shoulder and leaned closer, whispering, “You disappoint me, Gina.”

Her nipples deflated and her posture went to shit! I sighed and repositioned her, touching gently, warmly. I let my sadness, my disappointment show. “How will you respond to this kind of challenge from your students?” I whispered in her ear.

It took a while, but I got her focused on the practice again, got all of them focused. Then in meditation at the end, I spoke to them, and to the voyeurs in the corner. Desire and attachment, I reminded them, are the seeds of suffering. I had them on the edge of laughter, my message either deep Buddhist thought, or rampant sexuality depending on how you interpreted it. And I saw smiles and nods out of the corner of my eye from the watchers. Fucking voyeurs.

After lunch, Gina approached me. “Walk?” she asked.

Once outside, walking side by side, arms going around waists, she said, “I want to apologize for this morning. I...”

“Thank you for this morning,” I interrupted, pausing to hold her to me.

She chortled and asked, “What?” as she nestled in my embrace.

“Thank you for the challenge. How will we handle such challenges from students, hmm?” It’s a topic discussed in some of our classes.

She sighed, snuggling in.

I held her closer. “Do you find me attractive?”

She looked at me like I’d asked if I had long floppy ears. “You are not that thick! But in case you haven’t noticed, women not only get hot and wet around you, some start ovulating!”

I chuckled and shook my head.

“Do you find me attractive?” she asked quietly.

“Of course! You’re beautiful,” I told her.

She sighed, exasperated. “Then why...”

I put my arms around her and kissed her. I melted her into me.

I held her again. “A different time, a different place, it would be so nice to be lost in you,” I whispered, holding her close. She sighed in my arms.

I stepped back a bit. We looked at each other. “But not here, and not now, right?” I asked.

She smiled and nodded. “Right.”

We walked back in, holding hands.

Diane took me for a walk after dinner. “You kissed her,” she accused, looking into my eyes.

I nodded.

“Spend the night with me,” she offered, demanded.

“Not while we’re here,” I replied.

She frowned, but that frown turned into a wry smile; she was learning. “Then come to Boston with me for the weekend,” she offered.

I shook my head again. “Not while we’re here.”

More of a smile. “Come home with me when we leave, then.”

I nodded once, slowly, smiling.

She hugged me, giggling.

I held her close. “But until then, behave,” I whispered, kissing her on the head.

She squeezed me.

“This afternoon, when you found out I kissed her, were you upset?” I queried.

She held me, nodding her head as she rested it on my shoulder.

“But that feeling was temporary; it went away,” I taught, or tried to. “Impermanence.”

She looked at me, smiling.

“And when you figured it out, just now, you were happy,” I told her.

She nodded, smiling.

“That too is temporary,” I whispered. “Impermanence.”

“Wait until I get you in bed,” she growled.

I laughed out loud! “That’s really temporary!”

She nodded and chuckled with me, her look a bit more wistful. “Yes, teacher — but I’ll take what I can get.”

We held each other again. So would I...

Two and a half weeks more, then we departed, going to Boston for two days, hardly making it out of the hotel room. She was insatiable! So was I. We flew to Denver, three days there, “acclimatizing” to the altitude. I don’t think I consciously clued her in on it, but Diane learned what a perfumed breast did to me. That and her weight on top of me, or squeezing my head between her thighs.

I took her back to the airport so she could fly home to Tucson. I’d see her in a few days, after my “meeting” in Estes Park.

A nice drive, an opportunity for me to think, to muse.

Checking in at the hotel, a nice place, a room was ready for me. Reaching out, I could feel the others already. I could also feel a group of captured thralls, that characteristic fuzzy mind.

I spent a while cleaning up after the drive, even sat in meditation for a bit, unwinding, clearing my mind, clearing the path in front of me. No expectations, no desires — don’t react, respond. There’s a difference, a big one.