The American Delusion,a parody of life. L'illusion Américaine, une Parodie de Vie

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Prologue to EBook.

2008-03-20T15:12:00.000-07:00

Prologue

“That diamond is having a very important family. From the Golconda mines in Kollur, come such purest of all diamonds - as they lack the element that would corrupt them.

Its history begins many, many, hundreds of years past, in the household of Babur - relation to the greatest Khan, Genghis . Named the ‘Great Mogul’ after the Mogul Emperor Shah Jehan ...the same such who built the Taj Mahal....it was split into two of the world’s most powerful diamonds.

Whomever owned one, was foretold to rule the world; and it resided in the infamous peacock throne until Jehan’s son, Aurangzeb , stole all from his father and began the quick decline of the Mogul Emperors. Also then, Jean Baptiste Tavernier , the same cursed French jewel thief who purloined the Great Blue for the French Emperor, purposely created confusion by poorly identifying this part as the whole - while pretending to elucidate. Falling then into the hands of Nadar Shah, the King of Persia, it was dubbed the ‘Koh-I-Noor’ - ‘Mountain of Light,’ in Urdu tongue - and, eventually, demanded by Victoria, Queen of England.

The second part of the ‘Great Mogul’ remained the powerful eye of Deity in holy Brahmin Temple in Mahishuru - until stolen by a French sailor, and later given to the Empress Catherine The Great , as the Orlov Both diamonds shine today, as the stars of the British and Romanov Crown Jewels; and, profited none, as they worked their way to preeminence - such is their power.

Thus, the rape of ancient India is illustrated; providing yet another example of the perpetuation of Samsara. Unbridled thirst for wealth, power and supremacy always results in the squandering of all, and spiritual desolation. Will my people never learn the debt of bad Karma? Are other peoples destined to succumb to the same tortured fate of mother India? Sad is the thought...”

-Lamentations of a Hindu Brahman

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"A high crowned rose stone with a flaw at the bottom, and a small speck within..."

Chapter 1: INTO VARANASI. Tibet, Lamplight Unto a Darkened World

2008-03-20T15:08:00.000-07:00

Chapter 1

Into Varanasi

-Jean-Baptiste Tavernier’s misleading description of ‘Great Mogul’ Diamond

The metal wheels screeched, as the train moved slowly into the station. If it could be called a station. Located in lowland swampy surroundings, bent gnarled trees dotted the landscape around the ramshackle building. Surrounding small fields of sun browned hay lay interspersed amongst half-acre plots of green sugar cane stalks. The steel bars over the train windows added a horizontal view to the world of contrasting colors, feelings, and perspectives. As the train slowed to a stop at the station, the standing people parted quietly, and a brave little gray monkey came directly to the open window.... looking in for a treat. She was a nursing mother. Her two offspring scampered away, up the station railings, with innocent and quizzical looks in their eyes.

“Hey, look at the monkeys!”

“Aren't they incredible?”

“Here come some more! Hurry up, and hand me my camera Susan. I’ve got to get pictures for my kids - they won’t believe it.”

The small group of Indians sharing the train car exchanged knowing smiles, as they laughed kindly at the obvious tourists in a strange land. The train pulled away slowly, and moisture-laden air flowed through the crowded train car. As the visitor’s minds and hearts tried to assimilate the mysteries that they had been observing during the long train ride, the silence was broken sharply by the food vendor hawking his spicy fried chick pea and onion mixture from car to car; and calling out, loudly, about his milk tea.

“Chai, Chai. Hot Chai!”

The strong smell of spices lingered long after he had passed through the train car; held captive by the heavy, sultry, air. It nearly masked the almost forgotten, urine-like, smell of the slums through which they had passed. As fresh air began to waft through the slowly moving train car, the travelers sighed a collective sigh of relief. They had finally passed from the horrors of tenement cities, to the beguiling countryside of Northern India. The train was bound for Varanasi. Varanasi, one of the oldest continually occupied cities in the world...some say, for over 5,000 years. A holy city to Hindu pilgrims. The train was scheduled to arrive at 5:00 a.m., and Tom hoped that their arrival would be timed so that he would see his first sunrise over the Himalayas. He wanted to watch, from the shores of the Ganges, as thousands of people made their morning descent down the wide stone steps, into the water to perform their daily ablutions. Thereby cleansing their souls of sins. This was the romantic image of India that he desired so much to see, feel, and experience…an image that would erase the pain in his heart from the all too real, brutal, images of Delhi.

Tom saw the Chai wallah pass through his peripheral vision. His movement woke Tom from his reverie, a beautiful vision of the scene playing out within his mind, and he called out to him.

“Hey! Hello? How much for a cup?”

“Four Rupee sir.”

”Here, I’ll take one.”

Tom pulled a handful of well worn currency out of his sweat stained pocket, and handed the man a 10 Rupee note.

“Sir, I have no change.”

“Oh, I guess I’ll wait then.”

“No, no, sir. Here, I find what I can…”

After the gaunt man handed Tom a steaming cup of sugared goats milk with a floating tea bag, he dug in his pockets for coins. He handed Thomas a five Rupee piece, and swore to bring back the remaining rupee later. Tom and the other people in the train car shared understanding glances. They all recognized that the man would never return - savoring the extra nickel that he had scammed.

“Such is the life of many in India,“ thought Thomas, “scraping out a meager existence any way they can. Honorably, if possible - or not so, if it means hungry kids at home.”

Tom had experienced similar short shrift in Mexico, but it was maddening there - due to the mocking of the ’Gringo’ that accompanied it.

“In India it’s accepted as benign tribute to the guilt in our hearts. Guilt from the pervasive suffering of those around us, and our failure to do anything about it,” his silent thoughts ran on.

Philip smiled at Tom with a warm look. His sparkling and intelligent eyes accentuated his serene countenance.

“Where are your thoughts, Thomas?” he asked gently, and with sincere interest.

“Oh, all over the place. I feel like a dam has broken in my emotions, and I’m trying to ride the waves of them without being overwhelmed.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, for most of my life I’ve felt really strong emotions; and I thought I was expressing them clearly through my actions. I tried through my work, large sacrifices for others, things for my family, or in my gardens. But everything I did was misinterpreted. So now I’m allowing the feelings to wash through me, and trying my best to communicate them verbally. It’s something new to me...”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I guess like most men, I expected that the passion inherent in my actions was self evident to those around me. That they understood how I felt, by how diligently I supported them, or how expansive my creations were, or how elaborate my construction projects became. I only recently began to understand that most people interpret other’s actions relative to their own perspective, and their feelings. I thought I was accomplishing something through my actions, while they only related to how it affected them.”

Philip's smile widened, showing that he understood and could relate to what Tom was trying to convey.

“Men are often taught to do, rather than to talk, Thomas. Miscommunication of our emotions is both our greatest weakness; and, our greatest refuge from hurtful people,” Philip commented, then fell silent.

Soon after, Philip slid out of his seat and walked to the end of the train car to smoke of one of his ‘famous’ hand rolled cigarettes. As Tom reflected upon how they had connected so deeply in less than 24 hours, he noticed Sinjin - entranced by the same feelings of India. With one leg propped up in the window, and his knee to his chin, his face reflected a pensive look.... held in a quiet stasis. He lifted his camera to capture what he could of the passing countryside. Susan sat next to Tom, with her legs crudely extended to the opposite seat alongside Sinjin. She was similarly captivated by the pregnant moment of reflection. A bit numb, jaded, and worn out after three months in Delhi; she was trying to cope with realities that her mind didn’t want to accept. Denial of the painful and harsh reality of life in India was her mind’s only safeguard to the overwhelming press of sensory and emotional information.

So the day went, delimited by the sounds of clicking train tracks and lulling cruises in and out of minor station stops. Gentle, heavy, breezes passed through the train car - easing the heat, and soothing the passengers. With a calming whistle, many cars ahead of theirs, the engine warned the cows and people off of the train tracks.

“On and on we go,” thought Thomas. “On to Varanasi. On through the waning day. On with the melancholy reflections in our hearts.”

Tom felt a now familiar pull towards something. Something calling to his heart. He knew not how, when, or even if he would find it in his travels. But it was reassuring in its reoccurrence. It helped calm his mind, and heart, of all that was troublesome.

“It’s preparing me to accept what I must,” mused Tom.

Philip returned, and began talking quietly to Sinjin about his camera. Sinjin smiled, because of Philip’s genuine interest. Watching the happy duo lifted Tom’s flowing thoughts and emotions. But he sat quietly, observing; just letting the feelings flow through him...savoring the experience.

As the day progressed, the countryside transformed into neat plots of vegetables, waving sugar cane, and small mango groves. At first glance, the little villages seemed to epitomize squalor. Yet on closer inspection, Tom saw that they were comprised of simple homes shaped by three walls of bricks and rocks, with rush roofs. Many courtyards contained a black cow. Some held a large pig; while others housed random chickens.

While Tom surveyed the scenery, two eager brown dogs began running alongside the moderately moving train - with their little boy masters leading their way. The boys smiled benignly, and appeared happy to be alive. Tom’s attention then shifted to conical-shaped mounds of wheat, which rose randomly in the fields...many right next to similarly shaped, larger, mounds of dried cow manure ‘chips.’

“Food and feces,” mused Tom. “Beginning, and end. Life, and death. All accepted as part of nature. Part of life, part of the very fabric of their existence. Poor of money, they aren’t poor of spirit...accepting their lot in life as the will of whatever Gods they worship,” his silent voice spoke to his conscious mind...attempting to ameliorate the emotional shock of the mysterious world through which he traveled.

And so the day wore on, and Tom’s mind drifted in and out of a dreamless sleep; like station stops, for his roiling emotions.

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Chapter 2: OBLIVION. Tibet, Lamplight Unto a Darkened World

2008-03-20T15:05:00.000-07:00

Chapter 2

Oblivion.....

“In visions of the dark night, I have dreamed of joy departed. But a waking dream of life and light, hath left me broken-hearted” – E.A. Poe, “A Dream”

“Do you remember yesterday?”

“Some....”

“Is there someone you would like to call?”

“No, I left notes to anyone who might care.”

“Would you like to have a roommate?”

“You mean I don’t have to stay in there anymore?” he said, pointing at the lock-down ward which contained more than twenty people milling about -each oblivious, each wrestling with his or her demons.

“Well, you can move to one of the rooms with two beds in them, if you can sign this ‘promise’

document. It essentially says that you won’t try to hurt yourself.”

Silence met the question, as he tuned out of the world again, into his ‘safe place.’ A place where he felt no pain. A place where everything meant nothing; and the world, and all of its words, were a peripheral image...an image that was safely blurred into obscurity. It was the place where he felt like staying - as if safely resident within a fuzzy impressionist garden painting.

After waiting a few minutes, the doctor realized that his patient wasn’t responding, and therefore not ready to leave 24-hour observation.

“Well, I have to leave now; there are people to meet. We’ll talk again. Tomorrow....”

He continued to stare, his near catatonic stare, at a blank wall. The doctor recognized that his patient wasn’t ‘with’ him any longer. He didn’t show any recognition of the question, and his facial expression remained blank. As blank as the wall, he sat perfectly still. The doctor added instructions to his chart to increase his medication, to keep him under observation; and stood to leave. The patient responded to the Doctor’s movement by rising rose from his chair. Lifeless and limp, he followed the doctor’s lead. He felt the doctors’ gentle hand on his shoulder.

“That hand means something, doesn't it?” he thought randomly. “But what? No, nothing. Well...” his thoughts faded.

Then, his interest was captured….when he saw a familiar face in the loud and disrupted room.

“Oh, there is Sarah...”

His thoughts tried to focus on something, but he couldn‘t quite grasp it all. He forgot about the doctor’s existence.

“I should let her talk to me, it’ll do her good,” he thought with some random purpose.

Then he was gone. He walked directly to the scariest inhabitant of the large, sterile, and cold white room.

The doctor shook his head, and thought: “We’re going to have to watch this one!”

“Nurse?”

“Yes doctor?” the middle aged woman answered him from the observation desk.

Walking up to her, while still making a few more notes on the patient’s chart, he didn’t even look up as he spoke.

“Lets keep this one under close supervision for a couple of days. If you see that he’s having trouble sleeping with all of the activity around him, then give him 500 milligrams of Ambien. O.k.?”

“Yes Doctor. Its been really rough in here...what, with the large number of people, and Sarah’s outbursts. She’s refusing her meds again, slips right back into extreme paranoia, and isn’t shy in voicing her fears,” she said in exasperation.

The doctor heard frustration in her voice, so he tried to let her feel included in the decision by explaining his logic.

“We could isolate her if need be, but she’s been here two weeks already without much progress and I’d like to keep her with people. By herself...” his voiced trailed off, as he observed her troubled countenance. "O.k., I agree with you. I’ll call Alice up in the office, and we’ll get a couple of orderlies to help give her the Meds. That should help.”

“Well, keeping her cigarettes from her doesn’t seem to be working. It plays into her paranoia of people plotting against her. A direct approach isn’t as easy, but at least she’ll understand it. She’s adapted to the cigarette trade, and just gets louder and louder, trying to raise a ruckus so we’ll give up and give her cigarettes to shut her up - and frankly, I’m tempted. But she really needs her Meds!”

The doctor drifted off into his thoughts. He knew all the things that the nurse was saying, but he also knew that she had to be able to vent it. Working in this ward was tough on everyone, and a patient ear was the least he could do to make it bearable. Looking out, and surveying as many of the patients as he could, his eyes picked up the large woman who was screaming obscenities…while engaging in alternating periods of serious ‘self discussion.’ Her long dirty grayish-brown hair was matted like an unkempt dog; and her clothes, mismatched and threadbare, looked as though they’d never been washed. She calmed down, as soon as his last patient sat down close to her.

“Jesus!” said the Doctor. “Of all places, he chooses to sit close to Sarah. What’s that about? He’s going to be an interesting case. Obviously self destructive, severely depressed to the point where he’s nonfunctional, in a near catatonic state; and yet he goes and helps a woman in pain?” he exclaimed, puzzled.

“Curious, very curious,” he thought.

Then he commented aloud: “Well, thank you Ann. I’ll look into it!” he said absently, with apparent concern. But he couldn’t remember exactly what he had to ‘look into.’

“Oh, well,” he thought, “its a good generic response, when I need to cut off the ranting nicely.”

The nurse gave him an exasperated look, and commented under her breath: ”Doctors, when will I ever learn? I’d better just go do what needs to be done!”

The doctor’s sharp mind turned to other matters, even as he was finishing his sentence; and he strode confidently down the hall towards the adjoining building.

He left ‘Cottage A,’ the entry point for all nonviolent suicide cases; and began rounds in ‘Cottage B,’ where the chemically addicted patients were housed. Thoughts of all his patients swam around in his head. Most people would have been overwhelmed, but not Dr. Randolph. He enjoyed the challenge, and treasured his “successes.”

“God, she stinks like nasty old shit. I hope I don’t throw up. That certainly won’t help anything,” the disheveled and disoriented patient thought, as he purposely sat down close to Sarah, and forced himself not to wince.

“She has to know that I’m not making any judgments, otherwise she’ll never open up to me; and she has to open up, so I can convince her to stop screaming.”

The pain in her screams chilled him to the bone. It felt like small daggers being stuck all over his body.

“I’ll go nuts,” he thought, “if she doesn’t stop. And God knows that she needs rest, food, and her medications - whatever those are.”

He wasn’t really sure if drugs helped, or hurt, in the long run; but in this case, he was certain that they would help the tortured woman.

“If she doesn't calm down soon, she’ll really blow.”

He wasn’t sure that he could handle the resulting psychic shock waves of that possible event.

“God, isn’t there a quiet place to go?” he wondered.

Every noise and movement grated on his psyche. So the combined pain projected by all the people around him was devastating. It was an ongoing emotional assault. He literally felt their pain being transferred to him, and he wasn’t sure how much more of that he could take in his highly sensitized state before he started screaming too - if to just release the growing, unbearable, pain. He was normally very empathetic, but he was now highly sensitized to everything - especially pain. The place felt physically safe, although some people were a bit scary. After a few hours of being crouched in a corner, he realized that few if any of the people were dangerous...though many were very disconcerting.

“But Jesus, they’re in such mental agony; and their bodies reflect it.”

Some were fat; others were only skin and bones. None were remotely calm. He knew he appeared calm, although inside his feelings and pain matched or exceeded that of those around him.

“Maybe I should scream and let it all out - like those crazy new-age primal scream people on TV?” he thought at first.

He had tried to scream, but no sound would come out - or even start. He just didn’t have the will to care whether it came out or not, whether he ate or not, what he looked like, or where he was ‘to go.’ He had given up on everything, and just didn’t care. If he drove off of a bridge, he wouldn’t have cared.

“If anything, it would be a relief...to stop this pain,” he thought.

A delivery from the unbearable internal pain.

“Where did it come from? How? Why?”

His questions always withered out into confused and conflicting thoughts- so he didn’t try to think, worry, control, understand, or do anything anymore. It was enough to just “be.”

But when faced with this pitiful woman; his mind gave him answers, directions, and seemingly clear solutions. He finally decided that of all of the people in the hospital, Sarah was the worse off- displaying her pain and agony as a camouflaged plea for help.

“All I have to do is to work into her confidences enough to give her a big hug,” he thought. “But it won’t work unless it’s sincere, or if I do it right away as a stranger.”

No, they had to become friends for her to desire, and then be relieved by, a big hug. A hug? How could it be that simple? Was he right, or dead wrong? God knew. All he knew was it was the thing that he wanted, and needed.

“We can’t be that much different, she’s just much more extreme,” he reasoned. “And God knows that she hasn’t gotten any loving attention in her present physical shape. It may not work, but I’ve got to try.”

While the doctors’ existence quickly faded from his damaged memory, her exhibition of pain glared like a beacon. She was a siren of agony, and he was strangely drawn to her pleas.

“What are you doing here?”

She was skeptical of a handsome young man choosing to sit close to her, and paranoia kicked in.

“They sent you here, didn’t they? They wants what's up here,” she said; pointing to her brain.

“I’m smart, and they know it. I know their ways! I know their tricks! They want what I know, and will pump me full of drugs to get it!”

“No,” he said. “I could see that you were smart. The bastards! I’m here because I didn’t want to sit by the crazies, and you remind me of my favorite aunt.”

“They think that I’ll give in! They think if they torture me by keeping my cigarettes, I’ll voluntarily submit to their mind-bending drugs. No way! I‘ll die first, and torture them in the process. They can’t get away with this!”

“Well,” he started. “I think that it’s working some, but it’s also upsetting the crazies. That's not cool. I’ve got a better idea!”

And feigning a conspiracy, he started. He felt that her paranoid mind needed some game, so “let’s give her a benign one,” he reasoned.

“What are you thinking of?” she whispered.

She shrank down, and her bright intelligent bluish-gray eyes looked directly into his eyes.

“I’ll sit by you, and when they bring the Meds over I’ll look at them- so they won’t dare give you the bad ones! Then, you make sure they give you your cigarettes. After that we can talk in the courtyard, where they can’t hear us.”

“You’re a smart one,” she said with a warm smile. “I knew it, the minute I saw you! We’ll trick them, we will, and get them good!”

"Ok, agreed! Now start talking louder about other things. Otherwise, they’ll suspect something. ”

“Deal!” she said with the gusto of a marine sergeant, giving him a firm slap on his back for emphasis.

So they talked. It wore him out, but he kept talking. He asked her questions about her family.

“My daughter put me in here, the bitch!”

He asked her about her husband, deftly changing the subject.

“He was a good man, but the alcohol got the better of ‘em.”

And, he asked about education.

“I went to college, and had a good career. I’m smart. Smarter than they think!”

A nurse started walking in their direction.

“See her?”

“Yes. I’ve been watching them. They’re curious about us talking so much. It’s kind of odd, given your screaming and all. Anyway, that bitch nurse carried Meds in a paper cup to the supervisor and the staff doctor at the main desk. She said something to them, and the other nurse and the doctor seemed puzzled, and didn’t seem too happy. Then they shook their heads, like they were saying ‘no.’ The nice nurse took the Meds from the bitch, looked at them closely, and showed the doctor. He took some of the pills out, and threw them into the trashcan! Boy, was the bitch nurse pissed! He gave the rest to the nice nurse, and walked over here with the safe Meds. You’re right, that bitch was going to give you some horrible shit!”

“I knew it! I knew it!”

“Shush now, she’ll hear us. Be real nice, and tell her that there’s no problem, so long as she brings you the Meds. Otherwise, let ’em know that you’ll start screaming again- even louder than before, ok?”

"Ok.”

The nurse was half way across the cavernous room when two white-coated orderlies joined her, and bore straight towards the two conspirators.

“Sarah,” she said nicely. “I have your Meds, you need to take them, ok? These two men will help you if you cause problems, ok?” she added as sweet as could be.

"Ok, I’ll take my Meds. Even regular like. But, it has to be you bringing them every time, and then giving me cigs.”

Unable to hide her shock at the unexpected easy compliance, the nurse visibly regained her composure before speaking.

“Why sure, Sarah. Whatever you want. That’ll be fine. We just want you to be happy.”

“Bullshit, you’re all commie whores! Don’t ever forget that I know it either! I just want my cigarettes!”

“Well ok,” she said meekly. “Here are your Meds, and some water. Take them now, and I’ll get your cigarettes back.”

She handed her the Meds with shaky hands, and smiled when Sarah quickly swallowed them.

“Good, good! Now drink this glass of water so your stomach won’t be upset.”

Sarah drank it in a few large gulps, and threw down the empty cup.

“Now bring me my cigs!”

"Ok, I’ll make sure that they give them to you on the next break in the courtyard; which will be soon.”

“Uhhmmmmm, make sure you do! And tell that bitch nurse to steer clear of me,” she spat; pointing directly at the other nurse who was visibly surprised.

"Ok, I’ll bring you your Meds from now on.”

“Thanks,” she grunted.

Soon they were gone, and chatting with animated gestures at the station.

“That went well,” he said to Sarah. “But you were a bit rough with her.”

“Yeah, I know. Gotta keep them on their toes. Don’t ever trust ‘em, they’ll betray you. Last week they injected me with something that knocked me out for two days!”

“Jeez, that sounds bad.”

“Don’t ever trust ‘em. Your plan was great, but lets see if they give me my cigarettes.”

“I think that they will,” he interjected. “I’ll make a point of stopping by there on my way to the toilet, and warn them if they don’t.”

“You’re real smart,” she said with a warm appreciative smile.

“I’m going to watch TV for awhile, and then go to the toilet. That way they won’t suspect we were working together, or anything, ok?”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

"Ok, I’ll see you. Good luck, partner!” he said with a warm smile.

He crashed on one of the couches in the TV room for a few minutes; spent and exhausted.

"Ok, hang in there,” he told himself. “You’re almost done,” he reassured himself.

Then, he forced his wobbly legs to walk the distance to the toilet; telling himself that he only had a little more to do before relaxing fully. Sarah perked up when he entered the main room, and intently watched him enter, then later leave, the bathroom. He casually walked alongside the nurse’s station, and right up to the ‘good’ nurse. She ignored his presence for a while. They always did, as a matter of policy. He didn’t let her speak, however, as she raised her head to look at her visitor.

"Ok, be quiet and listen up. I don’t have long to talk. Sarah will take her Meds if you give them to her. If you want to play good nurse/bad nurse with that other nurse, then it’ll convince her even more and she’ll begin to trust you. But you have to give her cigarettes too. I got her to trust you, provisionally, ok?”

A little surprised, and obviously amused by the good nurse/bad nurse remark, she quickly caught onto his plan.

“We will. Thanks.”

“No, thank you. That poor woman needs serious help, and none of us can handle her screaming any longer.”

“Well, she has a history, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, this is her third time in. She’s ok when she’s on her medications, but she’s chemically imbalanced and stops taking them at home when she seems to feel better. Then, she falls hard. Her daughter brought her in the first time. The last two times, it was the police. She was found roaming the streets for God knows how long.”

“Well I can’t talk too much, she’ll think I’m on your side,” he said with a wink.

“Thanks again.”

“Me too. I feel really weak now. It’s been a lot to even focus on this, and I can feel myself slipping again. You’d better look upset with me, to be convincing. I guess once her Meds kick in, she’ll be over the hump, eh? I hope so; it seriously hurts too much to hear her pain. It’s real to her, and it hits me hard.”

“Why don’t you go to sleep in that little room over there?”

“Can I? That would be great. This is all too overwhelming for me. Its just too much...” his voice trailed off, as the stress of the events kicked in.

“No problem, now go away!” she said with an over dramatized scowl.

He tried hard not to laugh. She was so funny. He turned away quickly, and back to Sarah...pretending like he was walking into the TV area. As he passed her, he said: “alls cool, you’ll get your cigarettes. But you can’t give that bitch nurse any ammunition. You have to take your Meds without any more fussing, ok?”

"Ok,” she said sheepishly.

He could tell that deep down inside, she knew it was all a charade; but like most people, she turned a blind eye to incongruent things when they knew deep down that it was for their benefit. Sarah knew that she could trust his sincerity, so she went along with everything he asked. He understood her feelings of hurt, sadness, and anger; caused by people pretending to be good, and then betraying the trust they intended to engender by their apparent sincerity. It hurt him worse than any bad news ever could; and when vulnerable, it was devastating because his fragile trust was violated and he felt even more alone, feeling then that he couldn’t trust anyone. He’d taken so many blows of betrayal that he couldn’t cope with anything anymore. While the current situation was upsetting, it helped him understand the source of some of his own pain- by seeing it glaringly in the hapless woman.

“Maybe that's why her pain affects me so much?” He could identify with it deeply.

Most patients in the ward felt beaten up by deceptions and betrayals, and were only reaching out...however oddly...for help and protection from an onslaught of now overwhelming emotions.

“Sanctuary, sanctuary, sanctuary,” Quasimodo, the hunchback of Notre-Dame, beseeched.

He’d sought refuge, in order to escape his societal-driven tormentors. The unbidden quote pierced his awareness, like an unexpected arrow.

“That’s what I need,” he realized, as the last of his energy drained out of his worn body; and he collapsed on the small cot.

His last thoughts were: “Thank God she’s going to be quiet. I can sleep without fear. It’s good for her to have her medication. She’s a nice person ...just scared as hell, and lashing out with anger at an increasingly insensitive world. My anger and hurt is similar, it’s just turned inside and against myself. I need rest, silence, time...” his mind rambled off into oblivion.

He woke, because someone shook him. He didn’t want to get up, but everyone was forced to move out of the ward. He hardly knew where he was, being pulled from a very deep sleep brought on by his medication. His brief period of semi-clarity with the Sarah situation had been a last effort fluke, and it drained him even further. He felt like a zombie. His thoughts were incoherent, confused, jumbled; and it was frustrating for him to try and hold them in his conscious awareness. Nothing ‘stuck’ in his short-term memory. His mind got wiped clean, or things didn’t even register. He’d let himself totally collapse. It had been a relief to find sanctuary at the hospital…so he checked himself in. Then, when his newfound peace had been threatened with psychic disturbance, he’d used the last of his reserves.... from somewhere deep inside.... to deal with it. But it took his last energies. Maybe he allowed that, knowing that there was a safety net for him to fall into when totally spent. After all, he had only allowed himself the respite of the hospital after feeling assured that his kids would be safe without him. It was only when he knew that he had done his best by them, gotten them safely through the treacherous emotional storm that had threatened to damage them for life; that he could let go totally. For seven years he did everything in his power to assure than the worst of the divorce consequences fell on him, not them. Protecting them, until they could stand on their own; independent of the twisted thoughts, and warped values, of his ex-wife.

“Come on now. We have to clean the room, and you need fresh air,“ a disembodied voice spoke.

“Lets go,” the orderly directed insistently.

Corralled like limping sheep, the patients ambled inside a small, totally enclosed, courtyard. Sarah was way ahead, but her presence didn’t register with him any more than anything else. He felt remotely good about her, but his memories were fuzzy at best. Sarah stopped by the nurse’s station on her way out, and was handed two cigarettes.

She scowled a “cheapskate” look at the nurse, but caused no incident. She’d been mercifully quiet for a long time, and was somewhat defused as her meds kicked in. He was punchy, and not attempting to process anything. His mind wouldn’t even try. It had been overloaded, chemically drained through prolonged and continued stress, and was misfiring. He felt like he was in a fog. Never quite getting past that place between sleep and awake. It was an emotional gray space… a numb and quiet space. He recognized Sarah when they were outside, and she smiled to see him.

“It worked!” she said brightly.

It was nice to see her feeling something other than pain, but he couldn’t feel anything other than the absence of her pain. He was just slightly less oppressed by her slice of happiness. Not much else registered in his worn out cerebrum.

“I keep giving pieces of myself away,” he thought, “without someone giving some in.”

Knowing that Sarah was on track helped somehow, but he was still drained. He did, however, remember his last responsibility as he saw it.... the hug. He girded himself for the smell, actually holding his breath, and gave her a big bear hug. He slowly let out the air that was trapped in his lungs, so not to run away too quickly and display olfactory disgust. That would have defeated the purpose of all his work, and hurt her terribly. She smiled broadly, as she left his embrace. He let out the rest of his breath, and simply said: “You’re a good person, Sarah. Don’t ever forget it again, ok?” Shocked into silence, she stood enthralled. She glowed with appreciation.

He headed for the nearest bench and collapsed. Someone eventually helped him back into the building when the break was over. Dropping onto a makeshift cot, he thankfully fell into a deep, nearly comatose, sleep. The medications insured that, but he didn’t know, or care.

Or here, for whole book:

OR here, for info on author:

For An Overview of “Tibet Lamplight Unto a Darkened World (The American Delusion,a Parody of Life)” Click this :-)

Chapter 3:ANTICIPATION of INDIA,Beginning his Journey. Tibet, Lamplight Unto a Darkened World

2008-03-20T14:55:00.000-07:00

Chapter 3

Anticipation of India, beginning his journey......

“When troubles surround us, when evil comes. The body grows weak, the spirit grows numb. When these things beset us, he doesn’t forget us. He sends down his love, on the wings of a dove. On the Wings of a snow white dove.....”-‘On the wings of a dove,‘ by Dolly Parton

The pull of the G-forces gently held Tom in his seat as the plane banked, hard left, immediately after take off - setting course for Delhi, India. They had just left Zurich airport, and its strikingly sterile appearance. Tom traveled Air France to Zurich, and then Swissair to Delhi. Both were wonderful airlines, with incredible in-flight service from pleasant and sincere stewardesses. Because of them, the travel time from New York seemed nearly instantaneous.

He knew that soon he would be experiencing the extremes of human existence; in living color, and with full surround-sound stereo. India, he was told, was life at its best and at its worse. He knew he’d be unavoidably faced with the pain and sadness of severe deprivation, the filth of overpopulation, and the serene peace of acceptance. Acceptance, that the world wasn’t as they would have it. Acceptance, of the realization that its our unwritten responsibility to do what we can to improve the world, as we can. And, acceptance of the fact that if we lived 100 years, we wouldn’t be able to solve everything. But that was o.k. too, because the world’s problems weren’t ours to solve alone. It was the epitome of the ‘do what you can, and let go,’ philosophy that Thomas was trying his best to assimilate. He felt that India would be his catharsis - his challenge, his test of himself in learning how to ‘let go’ of things beyond his control.

The spiritual and temporal growth that served as the foundation for Tom’s heightened state of awareness had been building for over 20 years. Although, he didn’t always understand his path during the process.

It seemed so simple - life. “Work hard, think logically and strategically, and have the balls to follow your dreams and plans. Then, Bingo! Happiness will be there,” he had reasoned in his collegiate youth.

“Duh! Was I ever wrong!” he’d thought.

With an excellent education behind him, and a career firmly on track, all he had to do was find a wife.....a college sweetheart, maybe....and forge a wonderful marriage and family. Then life would unfold. That had been his plan. The template for life that he’d been taught from birth. That was the only way, or so he thought.

Shaking himself from ruminating thoughts, Tom looked at the little video monitor in front of his seat. It showed a representational plane flying over a blue map with white letters. The little plane began flying into Germany.

“Life does go on. Just like the little plane, and sometimes with about the same level of comprehension,” he lamented.

“Where are you bound?” asked the polite young woman seated to his right, across the aisle.

Surprised by her voice and her abrupt presence, but thankfully shaken from his thoughts, Tom replied:

“To Tibet, eventually. But starting in Delhi, and spending a bit of time traveling about. Yourself?”

“I don’t even get off the plane in Delhi. The flight continues onto Japan.”

“That's wonderful, I’ve always wanted to visit Japan. I’m really into gardening, and they have a way of putting so much into such a little space; with balance, and in a way that makes sense. Its hard to describe, I guess you would have to be a gardener to......”

“Oh, I understand. Completely!” she interrupted excitedly.

“That’s one of the reasons I’m going. I’m participating in a University exchange program.”

“That should be wonderful. Where are you from?”

“A small town south of Zurich. You’ve never heard of it, I’m sure.”

She glowed with an infectious positive energy. Tom was easily caught up into it, and enjoyed having her alongside him during the flight. They spoke about various topics, and then drifted off to sleep not long after finishing dinner.

Before he knew it, the nearly empty plane lit up, and subtle musical tones sounded - waking them for landing into Delhi airport. The young woman remained sleeping, and Tom began to ready himself mentally for the landing.

“Let’s see, its midnight local time, and I don’t know where I’ll be staying or where I should go first. I’d better ask one of the stewardesses for information,” he instructed himself.

“Miss?” he asked a passing woman.

“Yes, can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m going into Delhi for the first time, and I’m not sure where to stay, nor where to go first. Do you have any suggestions?”

“It’s a filthy place, we try to fly through and not stay there. Ann?” she asked the other stewardess. “Do you have any suggestions on places to stay in Delhi?”

Ann walked over to them, and began discussing options.

“There isn’t much open at this time. When you get into the airport there will be information booths, and kiosks, for lodgings and transportation. People mostly use cabs, because the busses and trains are infrequent. Use only the state authorized cabs though. They are safest, because they are closely monitored by the government.”

Tom wondered about the necessity of such tight controls over cabs, but he ignored his doubts, and asked about accommodations.

“Is there a hotel where the flight crew lodges? I like to stay at the airline’s designated hotel, in cities I don’t know.”

“No, we don’t stay over in Delhi anymore.....too dirty, too hard to get back to the airport; and frankly, too dangerous for women alone.”

“Hmmmm,” Tom groaned as he tried to think quickly. “I’ve not even landed, and there are challenges already. Finding a hotel wasn’t one I expected at first.”

“Well, India is a challenge. Where are you headed?” asked the perky Ann.

“To Tibet, eventually. From Delhi to Kathmandu, and then Kathmandu to Tibet.”

“And you haven’t a more specific itinerary with bookings?” asked the first attendant.

“What for? I wanted to see what I was getting into before making reservations at places that were so foreign, probably overpriced, and hard to travel to anyway. I’m traveling like a student. I thought I would play it by ear.”

“Just so,” confirmed Ann. “You never know what you are in for in India. Transportation is spotty at best, and you just don’t know until you see for yourself. That's another reason why we don’t stay there. Its just too unpredictable.”

“I don’t really mind that part. I’m not in a great hurry, nor on a tight schedule. I don’t think India is a place to travel on a tight schedule.”

“That's for sure,” chimed in Ann again.

“I brought 7,000 Rupees with me. That should last me for ten days, until more money is deposited into my account at home,” confided Tom.

His admission garnered worried looks from both stewardesses.

“What, isn’t that enough? I heard that it’s a cheap place to travel.”

“Well, it is.....if you travel along with everyone else. Regular good hotels, however, cost just as much as most cities in the world. That 7,000 Rupees will last you about two days.”

“Damn!” exclaimed Tom.

“Oh well, I’ll just do the hostel thing, or small guesthouses. Its ok. I planned on that anyway, just not on the first night there. I wanted to get my bearings first, before jumping right into the scene. Whatever. It’ll work out,” he rationalized.

“You’re a brave one,” commented the stewardess. “Just don’t drink the water. Use only bottled water.”

“I heard that, so I saved a couple from the flight here, to tide me over until I find a store.”

“Well,” she said worriedly; “let me give you a few more so you’ll have enough. Why Tibet of all places? It’s so hard to get to.”

“It’s going to sound weird, but I feel drawn to it for some unfathomable reason. It’s as though destiny is calling, and I have no free will to disobey the summons. Not that I want to disobey. It’s intriguing, just a little baffling. After looking at the maps, and reviewing the logistics, it looks like I need one day in Delhi to run errands, notify the embassy, find supplies and buy a backpack and appropriate clothing. Then, I’ll travel to Varanasi by train. I’ll be halfway to Kathmandu by then, and should meet some interesting people in the countryside. Delhi seems like a big nasty city to me, and is only frustrating to me at this point. It’s something to be avoided. I’ve no interest in staying there long. It’s about 500 miles across country; 375 miles by train to Varanasi, and roughly 250 by bus to Kathmandu. That should be an adventure in itself, and I don’t really want to make an inflexible plan beyond that right now.”

“That sounds quite interesting to me,” responded the stewardess. “I’d like to do that someday, if I could only get the time off. It’s a pain, really, traveling all over the world, but having no time to explore it. Someday, though...” she finished wistfully.

“I think you will, when you really want to, and are able to make it a priority. Thanks a lot for your advice. I appreciate all your help!”

“No problem,” said Ann. As they both returned to the galley, they looked at each other with a ‘poor bastard, I hope he survives’ look.

Their looks, and genuine concerns, weren’t lost on Tom. He appreciated their caring natures; yet, he also remembered what Zurich airport was like. He was dealing with probably the two greatest extremes in human living conditions in the world.

“It couldn’t be as bad as all that,” he reasoned.

But, he allowed healthy caution to rule, nonetheless.

The stewardess came back with an armload of bottled water and packaged snacks for Tom. He was surprised, and appreciated the caring gesture, but it also highlighted their concern for him.

“I’d better mind their caution,” he schooled himself.

He packed the welcome supplies away in his bag.....his only bag. His friend Ritchie in New York, whom he stayed with before leaving, had been shocked that he was leaving for months of travel with only a gym bag in hand.

“Much less to carry,” was Tom’s justification.

Now, he was happy that he only had the simple bag to worry about. Light baggage kept him mobile and unencumbered. Just as he completed stowing away his bag, the plane began to descend into Delhi.

So it was, with a mixture of ambivalence, trepidation, and barely contained joy, that a major chapter of Tom’s life began....anew.

“Maybe, its even a different book?” he mused. “I’ll come back from this changed, but how?”

He didn’t know, and so he wondered......

*********

The plane landed with a thud at the Delhi airport. Tom was unconcerned about the possible premonition that it implied, however, because he knew it was one of the largest airports in India.

“Even if I have to stay the night in the airport, that’ll be ok,” he reassured himself, as he disembarked from the plane. Logic said that he would be fine, but he also knew that India wasn’t a world of logic.

The stewardesses wished him luck as he left, and the young Swiss woman slept through it all.

As soon as he stepped off the plane into the terminal, he knew things were going to be different than he had expected. Customs and Immigration was obtuse, and erratic. At first, Tom attributed that to the midnight arrival time. But as he stood in line, and the humid heat, buzzing mosquitoes, and flies accosted him, he saw that many passengers looked worrisome as they went through the process......mostly the Indians. He thought it was odd that he and another European tourist glided through with welcoming smiles, yet the Indian émigrés were given a thorough, and obviously stressful, review.

“I guess it’s the tourist dollars thing,” Tom reasoned.

“Why are there so many flies inside the airport terminal?” he groaned.

As soon as he walked into the circular rotunda of the main terminal, he knew he was in trouble. Almost all of the small shops and exchange counters were closed. He went to the Thomas Cook office first, waited 15 minutes before anyone came to the window, and was promptly informed that he couldn’t get an advance on his credit card.

“But, in every city I’ve ever been in you can get an advance at Thomas Cook, and I’m an Airline employee!”

“So sor-ry. Dhis is India,” he said sarcastically, with a sing-song Indian inflection. “Things are not the same here! Now, go onto the bank. That dis the only place for you.”

“What about an ATM? Is there one around here?”

“What dis that you say? Go away now!” he yelled at Tom, as if he were too busy to be bothered further.

Tom walked to the long, well lighted, but nearly vacant bank counter to get some more cash. Since his conversation with the stewardesses, he’d worried that he hadn’t enough cash, so he wanted more ready cash before he left the relative safety of the airport - just to be sure. He had no clue of how to find a bank in Delhi, on a weekend. To him, the airport exchange centers were his only alternative. By the time it was done, the bank employee and he had a verbal fight over exchange rates, and charges.

“If you no want money? What do I care?” the man exclaimed loudly, into the cavernous and near empty terminal. He didn’t even look at Tom, and then walked away into a back room.

Dejected by the weird & hostile environment, Tom returned to Thomas Cook; and asked about exchange rates.

“I can do nothing for you. I told you already!” he said, as he dropped the blinds to cover his window.

Tom realized that the exchange rates were terrible at the bank, and he’d get only half the money he got in New York for his U.S. dollars. They knew he had no choice, and obviously worked together somehow. Tom had been ripped off at airport exchange places before, most notably Cancun Mexico; but, this scam beat anything he’d ever seen. After an hour of wandering around and exhausting all alternatives, he accepted that he was screwed, gave up, and went back to the bank. The man just laughed at him, and Tom boiled inside.

“Welcome to India,” he thought sarcastically.

With extra money in hand, Tom set out to find a place to stay. Even though he would never do it in the States, he went to the ever-present airport fixture - the wall of hotel phones. He used the antiquated phone set to call the state approved hotels to find a place to stay. After another hour of unanswered calls and painful wrangling, he reserved a place at a guesthouse near the historic Connaught Place .

“Now,” he said to himself out loud, “for a cab. I’m exhausted!”

He walked into the cramped offices of the official cab company, and purchased what he thought was another overpriced service, a cab fare into the city to his hotel at 220 Rupees. He didn’t try to argue about prices, or even the necessity of taking a cab; he had given up, and only wanted to get into a bed to sleep.

“You must take this ticket out door to the cabs. Dhis has specific cab number on it! That be your cab,”he said flatly.

Tom accepted the ticket, smiled, and thankfully left the concourse from hell.

“And I thought that Newark NJ had been my worst airport experience! I’m not staying at this hell hole any longer than I have to,” he said to himself, mumbling. “The place doesn’t even have seats! I couldn’t ever sleep here, even for a couple of hours. I’d be robbed for sure.”

Tom remembered a long night in Newark airport, in the early eighties. He had missed his late night flight by five minutes, and had to stay at the airport for 5 hours - through the night. He slept with one eye open, and held onto his bag tightly then. This was much worse. Something he never imagined for an airport - especially in a major city.

Tired, and now a little cranky, Tom walked out of the terminal and into the mass hysteria of the cab pool. Literally dozens of cabbies were congregated there, in a mass of tiny black vehicles with open sides. The cabs were roughly the size of Yugos, without doors. They were three wheeled affairs, that looked like they belonged in a ‘Roger Rabbit’ cartoon.

“Whatever!” Tom thought, “just pick one, show him your ticket, and get out of here,” he decided quickly.

As he walked outside, he was assaulted by ten or twenty cabbies waving him their way. It was dark, confusing, and he was quickly met by two men who cut through the crowd and spoke directly to him.

“Please, you are to ride with me. Let me see your ticket!”

Taking his ticket in hand, the man nodded and confirmed that Tom was his fare. “My cab is this way. Come with us!”

Seeming like the only sensible guys in the crowd, Tom started to follow them. Then, he got worried as they led him into a totally dark area of parked vehicles. There was no one in the area, while the other areas had lights and many people. Tom’s internal alarm went off, and he slowed his pace to nearly a stop. Just as he was about to turn around and run back to the terminal, a man came running up behind him and began screaming. Startled out of his senses, Tom started running back to the terminal......now far away. The screaming man didn’t give up, and passed Tom screaming even louder. Tom was puzzled, and turned to see what was up.

“Get out of here! Thieves! I cut you!” he screamed at Tom’s previous leaders.

Tom then realized that the crazy guy was defending him against his abductors, and was his real cabbie. After chasing off the thieves, he came to Tom panting with exertion.

“Let me see your ticket. I am your cab driver. Those sons of devils would take you away, and rob you!”

Comparing Tom’s ticket to his paper, he showed them both to Tom to convince him.

“See cab number 401! That is my cab, see?” He showed Tom his ticket, with Tom’s destination written on it, and walked Tom to his vehicle that had a number 401 painted on its body.

Tom was convinced, and relieved. He trusted the fellow. While the others seemed to look at him like hungry tigers, this driver was eager to please, and obviously sincere.

“You are very, very, lucky my friend. There are some very, very bad people here. I am so glad I found you in time!”

“Would they have robbed me?” Tom asked, although he knew the answer.

“Most certainly. And, thrown your body away where no one was to find it! Now, what hotel are you staying?”

Tom was not only shocked by the fact that he had nearly been robbed and killed in the first 15 minutes outside of the airport terminal, but more so by the man’s casual reference to his near demise.

“I’m in a different world. I can’t afford to let my guard down, no matter how tired I get! Keep alert, idiot!” he told himself.

The airport terminal, as horrible as it was, seemed like a safe haven now.

“How can I be sure this guy isn’t going to try to do the same?” he worried. “Watch the roads, and be ready to jump,” he instructed himself.

The ride was uneventful, but scary in its speed and random lane changes. The only vehicles on the unlit, and very rough, roads were monstrous old trucks that had to be dodged at every turn. If Tom hadn’t been so scared from the airport incident, and worried about his present driver, the ride would’ve really upset him. As it was, he was happy to have the option of throwing himself out of the vehicle through his open side....if need be. And there were a few times when he felt that the moving roadside was marginally safer than the crazy road. There were no street lights, so it was pitch black. Street signs were nonexistent, and the trucks seemingly came from nowhere, with blinding lights and blaring horns. Tom was convinced that if they were hit by a truck, they wouldn’t even stop to look for the pieces of his cabbie or himself. Death was in his face from the moment he walked out of the building, and the heavenly smell of dried eucalyptus filled the heavy, humid air. It was a strange combination.

“Here is your hotel,” the cabbie announced, as he pulled up to a four story, tenement styled building squeezed between what should have been two condemned buildings.

“This can’t be it,” squeaked Tom meekly. “Take me to another place.”

After what seemed like two hours of travel, really about 45 minutes, Tom had gotten to know his driver and had come to trust him enough to think that he wasn’t going to rob and kill him. The man was too small for that. So, he was willing to trust the man’s judgment for a better place to stay.

“There are no more places. You must have reservation. No places would be open, or open doors after dark. This is your hotel, see sign and paper? The names are most certainly the same. So this must the exact location.”

“Yeah, I see....but....”

“No matter, we get you inside. They will expect you.”

After getting indoors, and seeing the cabbie off with a large tip for saving his life, Tom walked up the three flights of narrow, dark stairs to the reception office. The man in charge was a well educated, middle aged man, who was quite pleasant.

“For how many days are you staying?”

“Just tonight. I leave on the train tomorrow.”

“Just fine. Here is your room number.”

“Is there a key?”

“No key, we don’t use keys here. Too hard to open if people don’t want to leave.”

All Tom could muster to that was: “Oh, ok,” and he went to his room.

The room was a box with a bed and dresser in it, and a bathroom next to the bed. Tom had to climb over the bed to get into the bathroom. The bathroom was a shower stall with a large hole in the floor that served as a drain, and a toilet.

“Well, at least its clean!” Tom joked to himself.

But he worried about security, especially after his airport incident. So, he shoved the dresser up against the door, and the large bed up against the dresser. Afraid that he would get some kind of lice or bugs from the bedding, he lay on top of the stained blanket.....with most of his clothes on. He awoke a few times, to odd sounds of creatures running around the room. Finally, he turned the lights on, only to see some vague shapes run through the shadows and into the hole of the bathroom floor. If he hadn‘t faced death that night already, it would have bothered him. But as it was, he merely left the lights on and fell into a fitful sleep.

The morning brought new hope into Tom’s awareness. He decided to eat breakfast, and leave on the first train to Kathmandu. He packed his things, feeling raw from lack of sleep; and went directly to the office area where the strangely urbane clerk resided, listening to a radio. Beside him, a wall of windows were all open unto a large, multistoried, courtyard. Strange and exotic sounds blew in past the gauzy white curtains, as did strong spicy smells from many kitchens. Tom could feel the city coming alive, and while alien in many ways, it was strangely enticing.

“Would you prefer milk in your tea?” the man asked without ceremony.

“No thank you, sugar will be fine,” replied Tom cordially.

Tom told him his wild story, and the older man listened in an attentive, but patient, way. This was a story that he heard many times before; only, as he recounted, “with not so pleasant endings.”

“Be thankful for your deliverance. Your calling must be strong indeed.”

Tom had told him about the strange ‘pull’ that brought him to India, and towards Tibet. He expected a dubious look, but the man took it very seriously.

“One must not question something so strong. Just because it is not explainable, or understandable, does not mean it isn’t very real. Just that our understanding has not been as fast as our hearing. You must learn to trust your inner voice.”

Surprised, in a way he never expected to be in the dump of a hotel, Tom enjoyed his respite with the intriguing gentleman.

“Yes, I have a son at MIT; and my daughter is married to a very respectable doctor in Berkeley, California.”

In his first twelve hours in India, Tom had been scared to death, saved from robbery and real death, coped with bugs and animals in his bedroom, and was now having his most civil tea ever with a most incongruent proprietor. Just when he didn’t think he could have any more surprises; in walked an eager, if nervous, French Canadian man from British Columbia - with a large yellow pack strapped to his back.

“Life can’t get much stranger,” Tom thought.

But, little did he know. His adventure had just begun, and Philip was only the first installment.

*********

“I’d like directions to the train station, please,” the tall, thin, man asked the Indian proprietor in a clipped and obviously edgy tone. “I want the first train out of Delhi,” he demanded, nervously, as if the man could deliver anything.

“It would do no good to go there now,” replied the Indian.

“But, I must. I need to leave Delhi immediately!”

“I understand how you feel,” interjected Tom. “My name is Tom, yours is?”

“Philip.”

“Where in Canada are you from? And, oh, where are my manners? Would you like a spot of tea?” Tom said in an openly silly way, with a jovial laugh as punctuation.

“This, after all, is India. Best damned tea on the planet, a?”

“I’d love to, but I have to get going,” he replied with an equally game laugh.

“So do I, but again.....this is, after all, India, and the trains...... Well, lets say, they are on their own time schedule. What our host is trying to tell you is that the station doesn’t even open until noon. Its only 7:30 am now, so we have a lot of time. Might as well set down your pack and relax. The station is only a few blocks from here, and I’m going there as well. I’ll accompany you, if you like.”

Visibly relieved, Philip took off his pack and sat down. As he sat, he emitted a big sigh of relief.

“Thank you. I would like that. I felt like I was the only person around, and......”

“Yeah, I know. I can guess how you feel. I had my own misadventures last night. I’d like to hear yours first, however. I‘ve only now just calmed down from mine.”

Philip's dark brown eyes glowed in concert with his big sincere smile, as he told Tom his stories.

“By the way......how did you know I was from Canada?”

“It was the yellow backpack that gave it away!” Tom joked. He purposely avoided anything serious, and poked fun at everything to lighten Philip's spirits, and to calm him down.

“Seriously, its a game that I play with myself - guessing the origin of the people I meet. Lots of clues go into the guessing. Accent, bearing, posture, affectations, language, etc...”

“You play with yourself?” Philip quipped comically.

“Not ordinarily in public, mind you,” Tom retorted without hesitation, but with a big conspiratorial

grin.

Within the hour they were travel buddies, and they headed off to the train station together. Both were happy, and relieved, to be traveling with someone they could trust, whose company they could enjoy; and who would watch their backs in the strange, and often harsh, world of India. As they walked through the slowly awakening streets of Delhi, towards the center of Connaught Place, they had to step over scurrying rats underfoot, and around huge piles of trash. The filth was something Tom had heard about; but the reality was entirely more repulsive. At the train station they waited in line for two hours, only to be told that the trains were sold out for three months time. Philip was immediately dejected, and his spirits nose dived once again. They walked outside of the stifling hot ticket room, into the dusty and parching space between the main buildings. Tom could see that Philip was not only upset, but physically exhausted as well.

“Stay here, and watch our stuff. I’m going into the official tourist bureau office, and ask around. Someone in line told me that first-time visitors to India can buy first class tickets there, and that they keep a certain number aside for people like us who are new to the place.”

"Ok. I don’t think it’ll do much good, but what do we have to lose?” Philip moaned dejectedly.

“Cheer up, its going to be fine.....we’ll figure something out, ok?”

"Ok.”

Within two hours, Tom was back with two first class sleeper car tickets on the next train to Varanasi.

“How did you do it?”

“There was a nice woman there who helped me out, and gave me this reservation requisition form. And then, I had to pay a little extra to the guy at the ticket window. This is, after all, India. The capital of bribery. They don’t pay these people anything, and they expect to be bribed.....its part of their income. One of the few perks of a public service job, you know!” Tom said jokingly.

“Thanks,” Philip said sheepishly, yet happily.

“Don’t thank me, you owe me a few hundred Rupees! And, I expect you to carry my bags! And......”

“Stop, stop! I get it. I’m now your slave, huh?”

“Naw, slaves went out of style a long time ago. Consider me your ‘benefactor.’”

“I think I’d rather be a slave!”

“Please yourself.... Slave! Hurry with those bags, our train leaves forthwith!” he said with a silly flourish.

“Really?”

“Really! We have to run....”

They grabbed their bags, and with a renewed sense of energy they ran through the complicated and convoluted maze of platforms, rails, and pedestrian bridges to the place where train number 4058 was to arrive. The train was, of course, late.

“Hey, why didn’t you get us seats on one of those ‘air cooled’ trains?” Philip teased, as they sat on the platform and watched trains come and go.

“Because those old things are worse than the open air cars. If the air conditioning breaks, which it often does, you can’t even open the windows. Its much worse than open cars. Anyway, when the trains are moving, the heat isn’t so bad.”

“Really?”

“Hell, I don’t know, but it sounds good, huh?” Tom said with a laugh.

They had connected really well; and were both were surprised that they trusted each other so quickly, and completely. Tom had left all of his belongings with Philip, after knowing him for less than two hours; and Philip trusted Tom’s judgment. Well, most of it.

“Hey, Philip, I wouldn’t eat those things,” Tom said as he pointed the little vegetable snacks on grape leaves, that he was about to swallow.

“Why, not?”

“Everyone, including the Lonely Planet guide, says don’t eat it if you can’t peel it, boil it, or buy it in a sealed package.”

“Tom, when in Rome.....”

“This ain’t Rome, and this place is full of sickness. Didn’t you see those poor bastards that we walked over, and around, when we ran to the train? I swear one of them was already dead, and a few more weren’t far behind.”

“They’re sick from other things, or starving. Don’t worry so much.....”

"Ok, its your stomach. Just let me know if you feel sick, I have a big supply of antibiotics in my bag. My doctor friend in Washington gave me a pile of samples before I left. You’re welcome to whatever I have.”

“Thanks, but you worry too much.”

The train pulled up to the platform as they were talking. It was well organized, and clearly numbered as to platform, train, car, and berth. Tom was impressed with the organization, if not the conditions of the train. The sleepers turned out to be rough, hinged, beds that swung down and locked into a set position.

“Crude, but effective,” thought Tom.

At one of the next stops, a young woman from Texas came aboard, as did a Japanese student named Sinjin. They all were in the same car, and naturally grouped together to talk and travel together. At one point they were all in the same berth, and two creepy Indian men walked into their space, and sat down exactly opposite of Susan, openly leering and staring at her.

“This isn’t your car, or your seat! Go away!” Susan said harshly.

Tom was surprised at her rudeness, but they were lecherous guys, and they wouldn’t stop staring at her. It was like they wanted to have sex with her, right there, immediately. Both were overweight, extremely ugly, and smelled like pigs who had rolled in their own shit.

“Repulsive is the word I’d use,” said Tom out loud, inadvertently.

He was surprised at his vehemence, but the guys had only gotten worse with Susan, and moved in to sit on either side of her.....squeezing her between them. Tom was getting concerned for Susan, and upset by the aggression in the guys. He’d never met such obnoxious men before. All of the other passengers were pleasant people, but none did or said anything to dissuade them. Then, an old man spouted something harsh at the two guys in Hindi. The two just waved their hands at the old man, and pushed closer into Susan. Philip and Sinjin were surprised as anyone, and didn’t know what to do. Susan, meanwhile, had lost her bravado and was visibly wincing.

“Do they understand English?” Tom asked Susan.

“Yes, enough to know I don’t want them near me!” she said with intentional malice.

It was too much for Tom, and he rose from his seat, and stood before the two men.

“The lady says you’re crowding her, and she wants you to move. Get out of here before I throw your sorry asses off the train!”

By the time he was done, he was shouting into their faces Their sick little smiles disappeared, they got up in tandem, and walked away grumbling, down the length of the car, then on towards another car.

“Jeez, I’m sorry that I lost my temper, but crap, those guys were weird. I came here to learn to be calmer, and I seem to just get more pissed off!” Tom said in an embarrassed tone of voice.

Tom looked around to gauge the reaction of the other passengers, and he received only pleasant smiles in return. Evidently, he wasn’t the only one who didn’t like the creeps......but, he was the only one to do anything about it.

“Susan, how do you put up with that kind of crap?”

“Well, I used to get mad like you did. But when you are a woman traveling alone, no one will defend you, and it only gets worse if I yell at them. They think all white women traveling alone are loose women, and that we want to have sex with anyone. So, they come onto women like that!”

“Ewe,” said Sinjin disgustedly. Everyone laughed at his reaction, and the mood lightened in the berth.

“I’m surprised the locals don’t stand up to them.”

“Its not that kind of culture, Thomas. Its everyone for themselves here....except if you are family, friends, or whatever. Its hard traveling alone as a woman here.”

Tom didn’t say it, but both he and Philip exchanged knowing looks. They both agreed, silently, that it had been hard on Susan. She looked beat up, and emotionally exhausted. She was a tough one, but still.....it wore on her, and it showed.

*******

As the long day neared its end, the blanket of darkness fell completely upon the countryside; and the passengers began to lower their sleeper beds into position, so that they could lay down as intended. The only problem was that there were more people than beds.

“Susan, what do we do?” Tom asked. “These are our seats, right? How do we ask them to leave?”

“You don’t ask, you tell them.....bluntly, and in their face. Otherwise they’ll just sit there - even though they know they’re your seats. This is considered first class sleepers, but they wander in from second and third class, and will take whatever they can get. The other areas are crowded and messy.”

“Jesus!” exclaimed Tom. “If this is first class, I can’t imagine what its like in the other areas.”

“You don’t want to know, or find out. Always travel first class, or don’t travel.”

Then Susan got up, and started lowering the bunks. She didn’t wait for people to move, she made it clear that they were going to get hit in the head with the heavy metal bed, if they didn’t move. It worked, they all disappeared, and they had the berth to themselves. As everyone found their own bed to sleep in, Susan gave them her last bit of advice:

“Put your suitcases in bed with you, lock the zippers up, and lock the handles to the chain on your bed. They’ll come in the dead of night, and rip your bag away and be gone with it before you can even move.”

“Really?” Asked Philip naively. “Isn’t it going to be cramped to sleep with your bag?”

“It’s either that,” replied Susan, “or you lose all your stuff. Which is more inconvenient?”

Not waiting for an answer, she continued: “Remember, lock your zippers too. I had a friend whose bag was there in the morning, locked tight to the bed chain, but it was completely empty. Its up to you what you want to do. Good night!” she said bluntly, as she rolled over to sleep with a small smile - full of pride; from her practical, and therefore superior, Texas advice.

“Beware the panty raiders!” joked Philip to Tom.

“Yeah, really.....” commented Tom in reply. “Goodnight.”

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite......nor any of the locals!” quipped Philip.

Tom smiled at Philip's goodnight joke. He moved around his upper-level bunk, and tried to get a view of the passing countryside through the big window; but it was fruitless. It was inky black outside, without any visible light. Lacking light, the window became a solid shiny wall. He laid his head upon a roll of his clothes, stared at the rusty ceiling; and tried to review all that had happened that day. As the train swayed in a bumpy, but rhythmic, motion it pulled him away from his attempted thoughts, and quickly lulled him into a restful sleep.

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Chapter 4:PRINCE,of CORPORATE AMERICA. Tibet, Lamplight Unto a Darkened World

2008-03-20T14:48:00.000-07:00

Chapter 4

Origins & Futures:

‘Prince,’ of Corporate America 1970’s - 1980’s

“There was happiness in his father‘s heart, because of his son who was intelligent and thirsty for knowledge. He saw him growing up to be a learned man, a priest, a prince among Brahmins.” --“Siddhartha”, by Hermann Hesse

Tom knew he was prince material; destined to be a prince, of the business world. It started the day that he went through the Carousel of Progress at Disney World. His parents had taken him and his sister to the newly opened theme park in its second season, and the impressive Monsanto house of the future and GE exhibits entranced Thomas. There, in the major corporate exhibits, he found a voice for his yearnings; and further confirmation of his nascent ambitions and perceptions. He saw that these companies had donated, out of their own benevolence, huge attractions that espoused their dreams for mankind. They professionally presented their view of American history, and a bright future of economic supremacy . It was not only inspiring, but one of the first major revelations in his heretofore short life. He felt that this was where he was destined to go. It felt ‘right,’ and he knew that he had to do whatever he could- to be accepted as an executive prince of America. He knew that he would feel at home, and in his element, in a fortune 100 company.

“Only the best will do,” he concluded.

There, he felt confident he’d receive the best of training; and gain complete freedom of expression, by being guided by the most principled and intelligent people in the world. These, he felt, were the people who were building the new world. The well trained executives who had the insight to perceive possible futures, the resources to pursue them; and were thereby able to work towards their creation. He felt that if he did anything less, his talents would be wasted and he would surely wither.

As a child he worked hard to make money. He delivered newspapers, sold packaged seeds door to door, and even set up concessions at town events. But every attempt ended in discouraging results. He achieved all that could be achieved in any one task; but it was never enough for his burning desire to have it all. So, to Tom, they were inadequate results. Then, he saw it…the allure of corporate America. Business corporations seemed to be the answer for everything. The best of them appeared to be the epitome of logic, efficiency, and public largesse. There, in these kingdoms, Tom saw order; justice as a natural outcome of supremacy, and the power to make a difference. He saw an opportunity to have all the resources at his disposal to achieve a life with less struggle and strife. A better life for his family, for whomever was affected by his accomplishments; and, for himself by achieving true self-fulfillment through a fair, objective, and beneficent princely rule.

This was how he embarked on a sincere, and seemingly noble, path. He was a product of his times - it was the 1970’s. The establishment had been overrun by the longhaired hippies of the 60’s. They’d apparently rooted out the evil through public demonstrations, and open resistance to meaningless war. It was the dawning era of corporate responsibility for the public good. Or so it seemed. America was in the process of shaking off its damaging addictions to psychedelic drugs, and awakening to a new economic dawn.

Tom could feel the changes coming, and through his middle school years he could see that many people didn’t understand the coming changes. They were too damaged from drug use, and self-absorption. It was the focused, directed, and persistent that would rule - and he was destined to become one of them.

His friends still did crazy things, wanting to hang onto the rebellious ways of the 60’s- even though it was now 1972. Some did lines of cocaine on their desks, while the lights were out during film study class. A few of them had group sex under the auditorium stage, while the rest of the school was assembled above for the first, and very controversial, public educational films in ‘sex education.’ The irony was not lost on them. In fact, they kept trying to make a statement that no one heard, or maybe cared to hear. After the race riots of the late 60’s, no one was concerned with ’free love’ issues any longer. It was passé. So, Tom’s classmates were lost in a self-induced fog, a time warp of sorts. They were a little too privileged to feign neglect, but not so much that they could afford their expensive habits. As a result, many turned to petty crime to keep themselves in drugs.

Not Tom though. He kept clean, focused, and pure for this true calling- as he felt it. Building his résumé as those around him partied themselves into brain damage with acid.

He progressed on to be a leader in Junior Achievement . A program sponsored by ‘only the best corporations.’ He rose to the highest post in J.A., as president of the Achiever’s Association governing board. He spoke at local Rotary Clubs, and attended the National convention at Indiana University, in Bloomington, Indiana, during the summer.

There, he was again assured of his true path. Mr. Simon, the Secretary of the U.S. Treasury, whose signature appeared on every dollar bill, told him and his thousands of peers so. He was to be a prince. If, he could stay the course, not fall to any temptation that would sully his growing reputation, and continually exhibit his pure intentions and sincerity.

He desperately wanted to belong, to excel, to prove his brutal classmates wrong by surpassing them; and, this was the path. A path that led him to Holy Cross College and Notre Dame University for further training in character, while he learned the more banal details of the world in academic classes.

It was a path that then led to the best undergraduate business school in the country, at the University of Michigan. He had a plan, early on, and he worked it; while being surrounded by less motivated, mostly blind, and sometimes clueless peers. He knew the true path, and he pursued it zealously.

He blazed a trail, he believed; while following the guideposts that had been meticulously, and subtly, laid out by those in charge.

******************

The gray Ann Arbor skies drew Tom’s emotions and feelings closer together, eliciting a sense of comfortable security rather than winter blues. As he sat in the café drinking his coffee, he peered out of the window, in a near catatonic trance. He was physically there, but not really ‘there.’

“Yet, it’s all cool,“ he thought.

He was content, and simply happy to be lost in his thoughts. He reveled at the luxury of being removed from day-to-day survival; to be able to reflect on new information, concepts, and dramatically new perspectives, without distractions. It was wonderful to be in a place where he felt so much at home. Here, everyone thought through things with due consideration; and loved to constantly discuss all manner of ideas and topics. It was intellectual freedom, and a cerebral challenge that fired Tom’s senses….besides being a retro-hippie haven, with radical and sexy places like smoky night clubs.

The café smelled of freshly roasted coffee, and only a few muffled voices penetrated the lulling background music- effectively filling any remaining emotional vacancy.

“That's why it seems so comfortable,” he thought randomly.

The close gray skies held down his spirits, while the smells of coffee filled his olfactory senses. The muted audio sounds provided the remaining sensory filler he needed, but they could easily be ignored. He felt cozy and comfortable. The world was at peace in his mind, and nothing intruded upon his peaceful state. As Tom considered this, David entered the café - waving hello. He walked in a slow, deliberate, and confidently relaxed way directly to Tom’s table.

“Hullo Thomas. A little spacey today, are we?” he said with a good-natured voice and warm smile.

It was one of David’s most endearing qualities. He could make fun of something obvious about a person, while turning it into a caring compliment. In the end, he provided reassurance that all was ‘ok’ anyway.... without any apparent judgments.

Tom laughed, and responded without hesitation.

“Its something that I’m trying to learn from you. But, I just can’t seem to perfect it the way you do!”

“Ha! Yeah, right! Piker.”

“Blah, blah, blah...” Tom countered, without hesitation.

“You ready to go Tom?”

“What's the rush? I’m fine here...well, for a bit longer. I’m watching the sun go down.”

“The sun? In Ann Arbor? Are you daft? It’s just winter dreary here. It always is....”

“Ahhh, that's where you are wrong, my friend. You’re just oblivious to the subtlety of it all since you grew up here. For those of us who just move here for school, it’s a great environment for introspection.”

“Like I said, boring and dreary!”

"Ok, you win. I’m just feeling good, and the cloudy skies seem to be embracing, not oppressive.”

“The whole fricking place is oppressive to me. I wish I’d stayed in Wisconsin. At least they knew how to have fun. These guys here at the business school are way too wired for me. They’re kind of uni-directional in a weird sort of way. Obsessed, I guess.”

“Well, I agree, there is a noticeable lack of balance in people’s lives here. That reminds me of a story of what happened today. But before I go there, just remember that they’re training us to be the best and the brightest, to inherit the earth.........well, business wise, anyway. What could be more noble?” he joked.

“That requires focus, David, focus,” he said facetiously, with an overly serious emphasis.

“Well, lets focus on that pimple on your ass. Its more important!” he quipped with a hearty laugh.

“Damn, I didn’t think you saw that. Guess I can’t go to the gym showers with you anymore, if you’re looking at my ass all the time!”

This was how their banter began, and proceeded, and ended. It was fun, and lifted the onerous stresses of attending the toughest undergraduate business school in the country. While world’s a part childhood wise, they were partners in their contempt for their anal and ruthless classmates. Some were totally absorbed with business. So much so, that everything fell second to that burning drive to dominate. Admission into the two-year program was fierce, with thousands of applicants for 250 slots. Everyone had straight “A’s” in their first two years of study, wherever they were from. That put David and Tom into a shark pool; which Tom, for one, was challenged to survive.

The academics were tough, as expected; but the backbiting and treacherousness of the students was a new thing for Tom, and a hard adjustment. David remained above it all, due his wealthy family background. He openly distained the environment, and the people, for what they were. He understood the people, he just didn’t respect them; and therefore refused to be guilt-tripped into accepting their narrow, self-serving, culture.

They had met in Microeconomics class. David sat directly behind him. As outrageous comments were made by their stressed out professor, his barely audible comments made it to Tom’s welcome ears. Tom would laugh, as he heard them- as they provided a life saving monologue that kept him from totally freaking out.

Tom‘s first traumatic experience came during his first week, when his professor gave a lecture about “the perfect nature” of the economic system that “Knew everything, and adapted quickly and efficiently to all new developments and changes.”

According to the white faced and sleep deprived professor, who was stressing his publishing record...or lack thereof.... in an all too real environment of ‘Publish or Perish,’ the stock market was God’s indicator of reality. To him, everyone just had to accept that; and follow the ‘efficient market,’ wherever it took the world.

Tom, a budding entrepreneur who worked his way through high school and college by buying and selling everything from lumber to antiques at low prices, and then selling them for huge profits, was shocked at the absurdity of the man’s premise- something upon which the bright young professor staked all of his reputation. Tom was unable to restrain himself. He was concerned that he might’ve been really ignorant, and the professor was trying to teach him something he was too dense to understand. “How can a guy this smart, at this great school, be wrong?“ he worried silently.

Tom raised his hand, interrupting the lecture, to ask a question.

“Yes? What is your question?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” he started, but was interrupted himself.

“No problem, I want this class to be interactive. I hate lectures myself, and I’m sure you all have something valuable to add,” the professor interjected, making Tom even more nervous.

“Jesus, I’m sooooo going to make a fool of myself with this, why did I raise my hand?” he asked himself.

He answered himself just as quickly: “Because his perspective is skewed; and if he continues on with everything based upon this fallacy, I won’t be able to accept much of anything. I‘ve got to be missing something!”

Choking down his nervousness, Tom boldly continued on with his seemingly heretical thoughts. “Oh well, what the hell. I might as well let him know who I am! It might even help my grade for him to see that I’m thinking and paying attention.”

He started speaking, framing his question carefully: “Well, I think I understand what you’re saying about an efficient market that absorbs information and adapts to changes; but that’s limited to what’s fed into it, isn’t it? For example, all the SEC reports, filings, and public announcements made by companies become public record and are supposedly assimilated into the market ‘consciousness’ by analysts, and buyers, et cetera. But that also means that the market can’t possibly know everything that’s going on. It only knows what it’s told. Those reports are purposely obtuse, and therefore offer very little real life business information. How else can we explain the purchase and sale of undervalued companies, asset wise, and the profits people make on doing things like that? People find companies that have assets valued at historical rates, due to deprecation and dated accounting practices, understanding that the assets have a much higher market value than their book value. So they buy the company cheap, cut the company apart.... usually shutting down the production parts and firing all the employees; and then, sell the physical assets for a huge profit. So my question is: if the market is really as omnipotent as this guy would have us believe, that couldn’t happen, right?”

Tom was relieved and pleased with himself. Relieved, that he didn’t bumble his thoughts, and then stumble in nervous speech. And pleased, that he articulated his idea fairly clearly. He thought he’d started a new and interesting discussion on an otherwise dry topic.

Laughing slightly at Tom's apparent naïveté, the red headed professor rubbed his chin with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand as he pretended to consider Tom’s point. His right elbow rested in the cup of his left hand, and he looked like the perfect example of a respectable intellectual.

“Well, Tom. It is Thomas, right?”

“Yes,” Tom affirmed with a sincere and totally clueless smile...thinking that the young professor was being forthright in his consideration of his question.

“Well, Tom...” he started again.

Then came his authoritative, and thoroughly condescending, reply.

“What you are describing is a great example of how the market is all knowing. Through the example you are giving yourself, you can see that the market self corrects for temporary gaps in knowledge. If the markets didn’t self correct, that wouldn’t be the case, eh? You see, Tom...and you guys, Tom brings up a typical misunderstanding. So, its good he brought it up. Its because the market is informed of everything, that its so efficient. Of course there are temporary little gaps, but those are corrected quickly, eh?”

Flustered, yet still not accepting that he was the one that was truly naïve, Tom threw himself totally into the way of the conveniently simplistic theory, and the professor’s narrow perspective.

“But professor, how does that account for the knowledge that executives have about what’s happening within their company? They always know what’s going on better than outsiders, so how can a small investor from Iowa compete with that? It seems to me that the market works very efficiently for those people in the know, or for those people who can see an opportunity that others can’t yet…those who conceptualize a new way of looking at a business. For example, some people can perceive an oncoming paradigm shift that people too married to ‘what has always been’ can never see.”

“That's why there are inside trading rules being enacted, Thomas; so that everyone who participates in the stock market has equal opportunities to invest. No one is afforded an advantage over others.”

“Do you really believe that’s possible, given greed and human nature? It seems to me that the stock market is a formalized way to fleece the uninformed and inexperienced people; a way to use other people’s money for whatever purpose. How can a doctor in Peoria know as much about the market as a fulltime investor? He spends his time being a doctor, so he can’t by default know as much. So, if you just extend that thought a bit its simple to see that...”

“Thomas, we don’t have time to debate simple given facts. Read the chapter on market dynamics, and I’ll be happy to discuss it with you one-on-one someday.”

Surprised, Tom abruptly shut up, and his cynical ‘friend’ Bruce snickered with a silent look of: ‘you are sooo naïve! You just don’t get it, do you?’

As Tom was beginning to feel totally trashed, the period bell thankfully rang. People lurched out of their seats, glad to leave. Then Tom heard a friendly, disembodied, voice from behind him.

“First, lets assume we have a can opener.”

Tom didn’t understand what he said, but he could tell it was good-natured; unlike Bruce's gloating comments. He turned around and saw a tall, blond headed, guy with deep blue eyes who looked more like a surfer dude than a business student. The classroom was nearly empty...the professor being the first one to bolt out of the door to avoid further discussion. Tom knew that the ‘future one-on-one discussion’ would never happen. He could read the fleeting, but scared, look in the prof’s eyes when he didn’t relent. It forced the man to review his own perceptions, and exposed his fear that something could challenge the foundations of his ‘perfect system.’ The man’s mind snapped shut, thereby avoiding any possibly unsettling review. By rationalizing a way to dismiss Tom’s observations, he was able to hold onto his limited view of the world.

“What do you mean? Tom asked.

“Well, I think you hit a little too close to the truth for comfort. You’ve got to remember that economists don’t really deal in reality- even though they pretend that they can model it on a computer,” he quipped sardonically. He then continued, to reinforce his observation.

“There’s an old joke about three guys stranded on a desert island. One is an engineer, the other an accountant, and the third an economist. They have one can of beans. It’s their only food, and they’re trying to figure out how to open it. The engineer suggests that they ‘knock down a tree, and position the can on a hard surface so that the tree would smash it open.’ Not satisfied with that messy idea, the accountant says: ‘lets write down some calculations on what it would take to get the can open, and work on the problem until we’re sure that it’s right before we do anything.’ They couldn’t agree on either approach, so they ask the economist what they should do to. His response? ’First, let’s assume we have a can opener......’”

David delivered his joke with a good-natured laugh for emphasis, and then explained Tom’s misstep.

“Tom, you’re challenging this economist’s assumption of how the world works. He’ll never accept it, otherwise he’ll have to re-evaluate everything; and as a result, he won’t ever be able to be the expert who can say that he has all the answers. It means admitting that he doesn’t have the answers. It would mean that the stock market isn’t what they are trained to believe it is, and what they are trying to convince us ‘uninformed’ folks it is, so that we’ll dump our money into that black hole. Therefore, they have to say that the market ‘knows all’ so that it’ll be trusted by investors. Once people lose confidence in the stock market idea, the ’experts’ and ‘legal’ crooks lose everything.”

Both impressed with his logic, and with his compassion and patience in describing basic politics to him, Tom instantly respected him.

“What’s your name?”

“David. David Hewmay.”

“Thanks for your help. I was getting upset, and beginning to doubt my logic. It seemed like he was saying something stupid; but then again he is the professor, and is smarter and more educated than me...sooo...”

“Maybe he’s more educated, but I don’t think he’s smarter than you. Well anyway, his values are certainly different than yours.”

Tom was hit with another revelation; and it was a lot for him to handle. He’d never considered that smart people would pretend one thing, and do something else; and worse yet, try to ‘educate’ folks erroneously. He still believed that education was the ultimate pursuit of truth. Now he was forced into considering that some ‘education’ was to train people to do and believe certain things - for someone else’s, or some groups, ultimate benefit- regardless of the effects on others. For the first time, he had to consider that even really smart people tried to mislead others, rather than to elevate people’s intellect to some higher plane of awareness.

“After all, isn’t truth always truth; whatever it is?“ he questioned himself. “And the only impediment to discerning the real truth is the lack of education?”

Sensing Tom's broiling thoughts, David broke the silence.

“Do you have lunch plans?”

And so they became close friends.

Tom had been elated to receive his acceptance letter from U. of M.; thinking it was his ticket to the big corporations - the real seats of autonomous power, and responsible living.

“Keep your nose clean,” he counseled himself over and over, “and learn all you can; so that you can join the real privileged class of America, the fortune 100.”

But he wondered exactly what he was there to learn. It was 1980, and he was finally swimming with players of similar ilk. However, he had a disadvantage that he was unaware of; one that would throw him onto an unexpected course in time. It wasn’t his modest upbringing, his Catholic education, his lack of sports/social skills, or his limited capital resources. It was a curse that his father had placed upon him…a curse against a ‘successful’ life of unrestricted business.

His parents had quietly, deceptively, and serendipitously imbued his character with a sense of conscience. It was this ‘flaw’ that inhibited Tom from learning all that he could have from his ruthless, and singularly obsessive, business school classmates. It was the unconscious acceptance of this fact that pushed him towards his new friends, David and Andrew; and the even stronger conscious denial of it, that pushed him towards his future wife, Sally.

Maurice Blin, a French artist who spent his last forty years of life in Saint Anne’s mental hospital, said it best: ‘Follow a woman, and she will flee. Flee a woman, and she will follow you like a shadow.’

They had met at a party in their dorms. It was a Valentines Day dance, and she was a pretty petit thing that swung easily when dancing in Tom’s arms. Tom naively mistook their neediness as love; and, his calculations for a family, as planning. It started well enough, with all good intentions on both parts, but both people were clueless about real love. Tom did what he thought was expected of a rising executive. He married a college sweetheart, and took a high level job at a huge consumer products company.

Although he loved her, he didn’t know how to love her; yet, he felt that good intentions could weather anything. This was the ‘right’ path for him, he was sure; and, it all went according to plan. His life was falling into place, and it resembled his image of the best kind of life. A combination of TV’s ‘Brady Bunch,’ and ‘Father Knows Best.’

For her part, she saw someone she thought shared her values, and she tried her best to live a happy life...as she perceived it. Tom was into being successful, rich, and powerful; being part of that was attractive to her.

He had achieved his goal from childhood, and snared the best job offer of his graduating class. With his accounting and finance major, he was accepted into the ‘financial management development program’ of the firm. He, and his MBA compatriots, were the golden boys of their generation...and treated as such.

*********

Tom’s first days at the multi-national corporation of his dreams were permanently etched into his memory - such was the impact of him having, finally, ‘arrived.’

The offices were white…very white. The white walls and white-carpeted floors were tastefully framed by beautiful cherry wood trim; and narrow, impossibly tall, elegantly curved French doors with beveled glass. Everything was immaculate, ordered, and perfect in its proportion, placement, and harmonizing elements. What little color there was, resulted from subtle changes in whites and creams. They flowed together to create a manmade environment nearly as perfectly balanced as an untouched natural setting.

The place had a strange effect on Tom. He felt awe, inspired, and a sense of manmade order that commanded respect in its totality. It existed outside of normal time and space, above everything that could possibly be disturbing in the everyday world of the city.

The environment was meticulously designed to be comfortable, and inviting, while being unassailable. Visitors here were at the mercy of whoever came to get them. Otherwise, they felt abandoned to the subtly intimidating perfection of it all.

“These people must be right. The place projects superiority, through

a high quality version of simplicity,” Tom observed silently.

Only the best materials were used, regardless of their practicality. Materials that wouldn’t survive one day of heavy continual foot traffic. Thus making it clearly evident that only the privileged few were allowed upstairs to the 14th floor reception area. That, of course, was managed too.

Access to the entire floor required a special security clearance, or the escort by a special person assigned to that task.

Then, when he approached the big reception desk, it was an experience in itself. The woman there was trained to never look busy, and to appear to only serve visitor’s needs; while she simultaneously maintained a quiet stranglehold on admission into the inner sanctum of the corporate elite - the floors above her, that rose progressively higher in esteem, as they rose in space.

Silence and enforced calm ruled. It was easy to forget that this wasn’t a naturally occurring phenomenon, a contrived human construct meant to invoke the very feelings that it did in Tom, and all visitors. Behind the scenes, it took a lot to support this setting. The receptionist had her own assistant in a back room that she could talk to at any time over her invisible microphone. Cleaning was almost perpetual, but done in an invisible way. And, silent, hidden, surveying camera eyes were everywhere.

Unlike a real natural environment, this place protected itself; and was obsessed with the perception of balance, rather than an evolved state. It looked like it was an improvement above natural environments, but it still was only a temporary construct. Just another creation of men to reassure themselves, and others, that they ruled supreme over everything.... including nature...24 stories above the ground.

No matter how perfect appearing however, such an environment, such an image, required a lot of work. Man’s shaky hold on his perception of superiority and control, no matter how impressive it was, was tenuous since it wasn’t a natural state. All works of man eventually fall, as a result of this reality of the planet. Nature eventually rules, except where humans destroy it in their arrogance and ignorance. Why man fought it, rather than complimenting it, was an eternal human puzzle. Maybe it was because barbarians have a propensity for action first, as an expression of strength and power, rather than the kind of disposition that encourages compromise and coexistence. But, Tom didn’t understand any of this. The feelings the place evoked were exactly those that were intended, and Tom felt like he had finally graduated into the big league...the corporate elite.

After years of planning, and a dogged persistence in gaining an excellent education in accountancy, finance, and business law, his hard work had paid off. He was ushered into the top floor offices of the President, and the Vice President of Finance, within fifteen minutes of arriving. He had been expected, so he was efficiently and warmly presented to the men in charge. Then, he was given his first office…an office whose exterior wall was floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall glass. It provided a commanding, bird’s-eye, view of San Francisco and the bay.

“These are the places where the powerful people work,” he observed, as he looked out of his office window at the beautiful city. “Building and managing companies that recognize character, self correct any mistakes, and inspire imitation by those not so ‘together,’” he believed.

Tom felt a wonderful sense of power and control by association; and the heady feeling of success that it engendered.

“I’m one of the chosen few to have the opportunity to learn under the best teachers,” he concluded.

His perception was enhanced by a corporate plan, that was initiated by the top executives through the creation, and cautious management of, their ‘Financial Management Development Program.’ Through this, Tom’s ‘golden boy’ group was constantly given privileges associated with the upper management--visible signs of status and power that spoke to everyone. They were given window offices, beautiful wooden desks, a selection of original art; and, most importantly, direct access to the highest levels of management.

Existing employees were clearly being informed to leave the ‘bright, fair haired, golden boys’ alone. They were the chosen successors to present management--and the builders of the new corporate world. The bringers of fortune, in their inscrutable ways. They were the princes of America. They were the MBA’s and BBA’s of the early 1980’s. Bright, and imbued with the ruthlessness of inexperienced intelligence, they had all they needed to succeed--and not much of the developed conscience to understand the consequences of their dramatic actions. They were perfect tools for radical change, and unabated opportunism.

Tom was proud of his highly honed intelligence and abilities. He had worked with, and graduated with, the best and the brightest. He was not only exposed to every known business concept, and corresponding methodology for implementing them, he absorbed the knowledge voraciously. It felt good. It felt ‘right’ because it felt powerful, and seemed like positive and productive action. All the things young men adore. Tools, knowledge, and the chance to use them to build and change things...to make their mark.... to show their stuff...to exhibit for all to see, their inherent right to superiority. And, in Tom's case, vindication over all those who had marginalized him in the past.

He had already ‘won’ over them now, and he was compassionate enough not to rub it in. Instead, he wanted to go further, to achieve unassailability. This was just the starting point, an opportunity afforded to very few, so he felt justly privileged. Tom envisioned a form of immortality by aggressively seeking dramatic successes, which would result in major changes and improvements in the world. Achievements like new factories, better living standards through higher quality products. Permanent things that would endure beyond his career, and make him rich in the process. He was a willing disciple of a new order that would change the world forever. He had purposely chosen a corporation which was an apparent leader in social responsibility, highly profitable, and flush with the cash to facilitate growth. The company gave free products to disaster stricken areas, redeveloped a ghetto area in Oakland California for its headquarters, and manufactured high quality goods in model manufacturing plants around the country. Tom had seen the new facility in Fairfield, California, and the corporate commitment to research and development. He had done his homework on his new employer. He firmly believed the euphemism of the day, ‘Its hard to soar with the eagles when you are working with turkeys;’ and therefore, he made sure that he found an eagle’s nest in which to learn.

Once he started work, he was given near carte blanche by upper management. With his deft decision-making and analysis abilities, and lacking the sensitivity born of experience, it wasn’t too hard for Tom or his peers to earn their wings. Tom found inefficiencies everywhere, proposed changes, got permission, and then made correspondingly sweeping changes in business practices and personnel. It was a great high for Tom to be appreciated for his abilities, and to succeed at creating huge profits from revenue enhancing practices, or cost reductions. In one department alone, he saved the corporation tens of millions of dollars through his reformation of the corporate billings and receivables.

Tom felt he was finally at the level where his decisions mattered, and he was best suited to make them, given his training and abilities. This was his niche, and it felt wonderful and powerful to see the dramatic effects of his changes. For the first time in his life, he truly felt in charge of something, and he was able to exhibit for everyone to see, and reward, his innate abilities. Life was good, and Tom felt on a direct path to material and career success. He congratulated himself on all of his planning over the years, and all of the hard work it took to get here, and then to know what to do once he had the opportunity.

He had been right! His naysayers, the ones who took an easy route in college, were wrong. His career was going places, and they hadn’t even gotten off the blocks yet...and Tom knew, they probably never would. The best corporations were very selective of whom they chose to groom for leadership; and indecisiveness and inattentiveness weren’t desired attributes.

“If you didn’t care enough, or weren’t aware enough, to look out after your own interests, how could you possibly serve ours?” That was the unspoken question.

Tom was proud of the fact that he’d broken the sound barrier in Corporate America, right out of University.

“Now,” he cautioned himself, “I just have to pick my projects for success, and not mess up this opportunity. I won’t get it again; companies don’t accept broken goods. Be cautious, keep your own counsel, watch, learn, and then implement changes. The only one who can screw you up is yourself, Thomas.”

"Ok. Well, that's not going to happen!” he reassured his anxious self.

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