Time has passed, long after my journey to Africa; yet, I could not be content with the way the world was. Why is there mistrust among friends while these make deals with thieves; innocent are imprisoned while vicious malefactors are acquitted; old people suffering from mental abuse lay neglected and abused children bear arms against their parents? So I further embark upon another quest for answers: to find a great advisor, the Panchem Lama, the Learned.

He is Amitayus, considered an incarnation of Amitabha, the Buddha of Infinite Light. On Earth he is second only to the Dalai Lama. I tried to rationalize as a skeptic man that even if such titles were mere symbolic, the parallelism to the revelations given to me by the Great Mother were still too mystifying for me to resist. I guess that the human brain delights itself with coincidences.

To meet the Panchem Lama, I was to enter Mustang, the Forbidden Kingdom, in Tibet. Access to the Tibetan border was gained through Nepal, which I must enter from northern India. I will not reveal my point of contact since entrance to Tibet remains off-limits to foreigners and would jeopardize the livelihood of my agent and the Buddhist monks who assisted in the rendezvous.

An emissary had gone forward in advance, to arrange for my clandestine visit, but by the time I had reached the Buddhist monastery of the exile government of Tibet, located within the border of India, some political disturbance in China (as it commonly occurs in the region) had my liaisons strongly suggesting on my desistance of the journey. I was virtually obligated to stay. I was to remain inside India.

As a consolation, the Dalai Lama, the highest-ranking spiritual leader in Buddhism, received me. His audience, however, was dry and uneventful. He had consoled me in saying that the aborted journey, though it would had been rewarding in that it would have lead me closer to enlightenment, was nonetheless a treacherous and insecure one which I was detoured. "It is failure for not trying which is bad. You tried but were not let. Be content with your effort." I realized, that his words were out of sympathetic pity. So too, he provided minimal advise, recognizing that I was aware of this. His words said nothing. He was a most compassionate man.

I was utterly disappointed; after so much planning and so much time and energy invested, that such meeting had ended without realization. I had no other alternative but to return home.

Yet the world is a strange place indeed, for on my return, I had the most unexpected and enlightening encounter.

Alone, I followed the Ganges River, which eventually lead me back to Calcutta, my point of departure towards home. Along the way I encountered a guru sitting in lotus position, exercising yoga underneath a great Indian-rubber tree, Ficus elastica. I had seen him from a distance, and approached him to inquire upon the road to follow.

Without uttering a word I stopped some meters away from the meditating old man, to wait for his acknowledgement.

He remained disassociated.

I approached closer, quietly and sat down.

From my pack I got out my old bamboo flute and played a soft meditative melody.

When he opened his eyes some time later, I nodded and smile at him. Ignored, I stopped playing and introduced myself, saying: "even though I have met you here by chance, I am very much interested in a conversation with you." I was counting on the many years of English colonization of India, that I would not need a translator. He said nothing so I stood up and approached him silently, and from my pack I took out and offered the braided metal string given to me by the African shamanic woman. Being an ascetic I did not expected that he would take such a gift, but as fast as a thief upon seen a treasure, he reach out his hand surprisingly swift to grab it. So he did and kept it, and I was glad for it. I sat down, to rest beside him, assuming I was welcomed, and enjoy the shade of the enormous tree.

He offered me dehydrated fruits and some strange nuts, which I carefully inspected before eating; later to discover that they were in fact dried maggots. Their taste was bland, but they were nutritional and most certainly were what kept the guru alive. Not until after our short meal did our conversation began; and then, it was just him who spoke. He did so without stopping, for a long time, and never giving me time to answer to whatever he was saying; not to leave unstated that I could not figure his language, surely it must have been the ancient Sanskrit tongue.

He was an ascetic, yes, and I guess he broke his vow of silence to my imprudence (as well as accepting my gift). An unkempt man, he had a gray beard that fell to his navel, as dirty and withered as the brownish rags which did little to cover his body. Wrapped on his head, he wore a heavy black scarf. If there was anything particular of him that might reveal his identity, but which I cannot restrain myself from exposing, were the three piercing in his tongue: a ring of gold, a ring of silver, and a ring of copper. Only the gold ring maintains its luster. The silver turned blackish and dull, and the oxidized copper had tainted half his tongue in a grayish blue-green.

When my opportunity came to speak, he stood up and left. When I started to follow, he signaled me to stay and so I did, for three days. I slept unsheltered over the grassland, beneath the gigantic tree, and survived with what little provisions I had. I was about to leave on the second day-I do not know why I decided to stay-but I endured for one additional day. It was during that night I had a most unusual dream:

The sun rose as I was awoken by the soft melody of a flute. A small child stood motionless in front of a giant cobra snake, which swayed from side to side in hypnotic fashion. They were by my feet just a few meters away from where I rested. I sat up. Fearing for the boy's safety, I yelled as an attempt to ward off the snake. It looked back towards my direction, away from the child and then cawed behind the boy. The child smiled even as he continued playing the flute. I then realized that it was the snake that had been perplexed by the boy. The snake rose in height, expanding its characteristic flab and opening its mouth in a threatening gesture, and circled the boy to quickly approach me in his defense.

The child began to dance around the gigantic Indian-rubber tree while continuing playing the flute. I grew worried as the snaked approached me. An enormous snake, I would say, measuring in length twice my height. When it got too close I jump to my feet. And I stood there in fear.

At that same moment the boy stopped, quit playing the flute, and with one word signal the cobra to retreat.

He then approached me with a smile, stopping on his way to pick one red plump fruit from the ground, clean it, and offered it to me.

"Pipal," he said.

"Thank you," and I took the fruit in my hand.

He signaled me to eat the fruit, and so I did. He then sat under the Indian-rubber tree and padding the ground with his right hand, invite me to seat, and rest beside him.

As soon as I did, my tired body was overcome by slumber.

Then the young boy began to sing in Hindu, as soft breeze ruffled the branches above, and...

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