“The first measure of wisdom is this: There is one underlying reality in the universe, an infinite, creative energy that is the source of all things visible. The material world rises from this unseen energy, like the mist that rises from the warm sea on a cool morning. In the same way that the water in the sea and the mist that hovers above are a singular substance, so the underlying reality and the material world that rises from it are a singular substance, but expressing at different vibratory levels.”
“Okay,” I said, my readings on quantum physics vaguely dancing in my head. “So what do you mean when you say ‘underlying reality’?”
“This is God, of course. God is the one underlying reality behind all things.”
“That’s a little ambiguous. A lot of people would think you were talking about an old man with a long white beard who lives up in the sky, nursing a real bad attitude about the way things are going with all of us.”
“Old man? Beard?” He stroked his own. “The sky? But why would they think … ? Hmm. Bad attitude? How could God have a bad attitude?”
“I was hoping maybe you could explain it.”
“I see. To understand God, one must take care to free the mind of all human characteristics. Think of God as the Creative Life Force … Spirit, like a breath”—he blew against his hand—“unseen, but you know it is there. You feel it. Unlike the breath, however, the Spirit is everywhere, spread out over the earth. It is within everything—every man, woman, and child, every rock and tree. It is, as you say, up in the sky, but it is also in the deepest parts of the sea. No place exists where the Spirit is not. It is present in the wise and in the ignorant and is no respecter of race, class, religion, age—none of these things. The Spirit is the life of all, in all, and through all, and, most importantly, it is working for the good of all. This is the first measure of wisdom. Do you understand this?”
“I think so.”
“Explain it to me.”
I thought for a moment. “You’re saying that the essence of Reality is invisible, like an energy field, a creative life force that produces everything that we see.”
“Very good,” Marcus said. “Now, it is of special importance to understand that the Spirit, this creative life force, abides within every person as the very essence, the true Self, of the individual. This knowledge, my good friend, is the second of the three measures of wisdom, an understanding of which is critical to a man’s happiness. One must learn to still the busy mind, to delve beneath all externally oriented thinking, and learn to commune with the true Self. In the stillness of the mind’s depths, the Spirit moves and speaks, not with a voice, but by imparting direct, universal knowledge and unspeakable joy. As the vine sustains the branch that grows out of it, so the Spirit sustains all its offspring. This Spirit, this divine life force, is the essence of every living thing. With disciplined practice, one can know, through direct experience, the will and intention of the infinite Spirit. This direct knowing will free the seeker from all suffering.”
“You will know the truth,” I said, quoting a biblical verse that suddenly took on a new significance, “and the truth will make you free?”
“Precisely. There is only one true path to absolute freedom, and it is within reach of every living being. And this brings us to the third measure of wisdom. The third measure is very simple, really, almost a restatement of the first two. Yet, it has a place, because it speaks to the connection between the one Spirit and everything in the universe, especially to the individual. All live in a relationship of oneness with the Spirit, and that relationship can never be altered. Nothing a person can do affects the love that the Spirit has for him. If that person thinks he has sinned and he asks the Spirit to forgive him, the Spirit cannot, because the Spirit has never condemned him. He might as well ask the sun to forgive him for creating a shadow. Does the sun care if the man creates a shadow? No. What the man chooses to do does nothing to alter the sun. The sun shines; the man does what he will. The Spirit does not punish the man. The consequences of the man’s foolish choices—these are punishment enough. The instant the man turns within to understand his own underlying Reality, the Spirit is there to greet him with open arms.” Marcus locked his eyes firmly on mine. “Do you understand all that I have said?”
“I think so. You’re basically saying that if people are going to change for the better, they’ve got to reconnect with this inner Spirit, the true Self. When this happens, everything else follows. Life starts working.”
“Yes. This is exactly it. The harmony that is so prevalent in all the universe begins to prevail in the life of the one that discovers the true, unseen Self.”
“So,” I said, “it follows that if a nation is to become great, truly great, it has to be built by people whose minds are open to this inner Self, this natural wisdom that permeates the entire universe.”
“Yes. And the key lies in the understanding that this natural wisdom, as you call it, is found within the depths of every person. When a man or a woman is centered in his or her own inner Spirit—the true Self—then the external life naturally becomes a success. A nation that is composed of such enlightened individuals is a nation destined to flourish with the fruits of peace, prosperity, and creative ingenuity—a great nation indeed.”
I huffed out a small chuckle. My head was swimming. “This is strange.”
“What is strange?”
“The Three Measures of Wisdom, the secret knowledge, whatever you want to call it. It’s so simple, so close. We’ve been looking for it in all the wrong places, outside of ourselves.”
“You are right, my friend. The truth, it is not as great a mystery as one might think.” He thumped a fist lightly over his heart. “It is all right here.”
Marcus smiled, and I could see in his eyes that he had finished what he was there to tell me. Our time together had come to a close. We stood and faced each other; he smiled warmly, while I tried to cope with the sudden sadness of parting company with a good friend.
“You will remember all that I have said?” he asked.
“I won’t forget a word of it.”
“You always had a good memory. This is one reason you were such a talented scribe.”
I laughed. “It’s funny. After all these years, I’m still writing. Guess some things never change.”
“This is true. Some things never change. You, however, you have changed. In your eyes, I see the dawning of something new. I see the eyes of a genuine teacher.” He placed his hands on each of my shoulders, and I could feel my eyes fill with tears. We embraced in a back-patting hug. He stepped back, looked at me one last time, and then raised his hood, replaced the sunglasses, and turned to leave.
“Marcus?”
“Yes?”
“There’s … there’s something I’m not sure about.”
He turned to me. “Yes?”
“The people of Pialigos. They … they need help. They thought the Three Measures of Wisdom was their answer. I … I just don’t see how this teaching can—”
He smiled warmly and lowered his sunglasses. “My good friend, that which has brought you to this place in your journey knows how to carry you forward. This is true for the Pialigarians as well. The answer is always wrapped up in the problem. It will come to you”—he smiled—“when you are not even looking for it.” Marcus winked and replaced his glasses, and then he turned and walked away in the opposite direction he’d come.
I stood at the edge of the oasis and watched him shrink into the distance. I had no idea what I could do for the Pialigarians. I didn’t even know what I could do for myself. But suddenly I felt a warm sense of peace about the whole thing.
A dust devil peppered the palm leaves with sand. Once again the light began to grow into a dazzling glare. In complete submission, I closed my eyes and waited for the intensity to pass. When it did, I sensed that something had changed.
I reopened my eyes. I was lying on my back staring up at the statue of the Great Mother … in the Labyrinth of Roses.
I stood, unsteady on my feet, wondering how I’d gotten to the Labyrinth of Roses.
It was morning. Artemas, busy working in the garden, was the first person I saw. I didn’t want to frighten him, so I waited for him to notice me. When he turned, his mouth dropped open; his eyes nearly popped from their sockets.
“Great Mother! It is a wraith!” He started to flee.
He thought he’d seen my ghost, and I had to look down at my body to make sure he was wrong. “Artemas, it’s me,” I called out.
He stopped and turned, his eyes narrow with fear. “Stuart Adams?” He took a cautious step toward me, the fear giving way to shocked surprise. “Glory to the Great Mother, it is you!” He leaped on me, locking me in a lung-emptying bear hug. “You are … you are not dead.” He pulled away, his face suddenly contorted with a confused frown. “But … how did you survive the earthquake? We … we thought—”
“Earthquake?”
“Yes. There was shaking, and a great thunder rose from the cave. We went to see but … but we could not go inside. The ceiling, it had fallen. Everything had fallen. We … we were certain that you were dead.”
“When did it collapse?”
“Yesterday morning; just before sunrise.”
His answer meant that I’d been out of the cave for at least twenty-four hours. Yet I recalled nothing beyond my experiences there—walking the labyrinth, the stations of remembrance, my conversation with Marcus. Then I remembered the final tea, the one that Euphemia said would enhance soul memories. Had I just returned from a major drug trip?
“Come,” Artemas said, grabbing my hand. “Niki is hysterical with grief. She cries in the bed, blaming herself. I am sick with worry for her. You must show her that you are alive.” He grabbed my hand as if he’d been charged with the task of keeping me from vanishing into the ether, pulling me urgently through the garden.
“Stuart Adams!” Euphemia gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief. She clutched me as if I was the first glimmer of light after a very long, dark night of the soul. “I knew it could not be true,” she said, her voice trembling with relief. She pulled back and peered deep into my eyes, searching. “You were successful? You … you have recovered the lost knowledge?”
“You mean to tell me after that big lecture on my destiny, you’re still having doubts?”
“Tell me.” She was in no mood for the taunting.
“Yup. Every word of it, right here.” I tapped the side of my head with a forefinger; the words of Marcus were still vivid in my mind. “And I’ll tell you all about it—later. I’ve got to see Niki first.”
She held my gaze for a long, disappointed moment, struggling with the urge to protest. Then, she said, “Yes … yes, of course. You must see Niki. Then you rest, and you eat. We will talk when you are ready.”
Euphemia led me to a guest bedroom situated in a section of the house that sat flush with the edge of the cliff. I peeked through the door. Niki was asleep. The sheet was a crumpled heap. Her flowered, knee-length gown was twisted on her body. I stepped closer. Her face was red, streaked with fresh tear tracks. The thought of her in that much pain forced tears to my own eyes. I eased down to the edge of the bed and stroked her face gently. There was a deep ache in her moan, something fighting having to wake up to more pain.
Her eyes fluttered, at first unfocused and then wide with the shock of recognition. She shot up in the bed, gasping. “Oh my god! You … you are—” She didn’t finish her sentence. We were too busy throwing arms around each other, clasping, almost tearing at the other with the single purpose of squeezing out the last bit of space that existed between us. “Hold me,” she said, smothering me with a barrage of kisses. “Do not ever leave me again—ever.”
“I’ll never leave you. I want to get married—today.”
She pulled back and studied me for a long moment. “No. Not today.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Don’t argue. We’re getting married today.”
“You are the one who should not argue. You stink. You look exhausted. You need to rest. I do not want the man I marry to fall asleep at the altar. And there are many preparations to be made.”
“I am prepared,” I protested. “I’ve been waiting two thousand years for this. I say we do it right now.”
“And what do you intend to wear to our wedding? These silly pajamas?”
She did have a point. “Where’s that kid that took my clothes?”
“No, no. There will be no T-shirt and cutoffs, not at my wedding. While you were away, I ordered a fine tuxedo for you and a dress for myself. Dora has them. I will send for her and Nicholas. They will bring these garments. My dress, it is in need of some alterations. Dora will do this. We will marry at a place near the cliffs. Artemas needs time to decorate. Euphemia has agreed to perform the ceremony. The preparations will take time. We are going to do this as it should be done.”
I was so tired and happy to see her that I didn’t even care that I was losing the argument. But I didn’t intend to go down that easy.
“All right then,” I said as sternly as if my opinion actually mattered. “But if I have to marry you wearing pajamas, then pajamas it is.”
The comment raised a doubtful eyebrow from Niki. “We will see about this. For now”—she pinched her nostrils in a playful gesture of repugnance—“let us think about you getting a bath. It has been some time, no?” We stood, and she helped me ease the robe over my head, a mischievous grin creeping over her face. Then, bursting into laughter, she bolted for the open window, wadded the robe into a ball, and threw it out.
Duped and as naked as a newly plowed field, I half covered myself with folded hands, stepped to the window, and watched my only piece of clothing plummet like a sheet of wet newspaper the thousand feet into the churning sea. One sleeve flapped as if it were waving goodbye all the way down.
I turned a confused gaze on Niki. “Now, what’d you do that for?”
She was still grinning when she took my hand and led me toward the adjoining bathroom.
“I intend to take no chances with a man who has grown so fond of his pajamas.”
J Douglas Bottorff 