heard I'd been infected with spores... but thirty seconds later, his tone brightened greatly as he learned he had a Class One mission. He raced me through the rest of my story, in a hurry to contact Starbase Trillium for confirmation of the assignment.
I didn't know why he was excited. For Cohen, the trip to Muta was no different from his usual duties. Pistachio would fly Festina where she needed to go, then wait in orbit till she decided to leave. Maybe there'd be survivors to evacuate, but so what? They were all just passengers. Transporting passengers was routine business for Pistachio.
Why did the captain welcome this trip when it was really the same old thing? Cohen would never set foot on Muta; he'd just watch from the high exosphere and listen to our reports. At most, he'd have the excitement of being a passive witness as we faced whatever had attacked the settlers...
Was that why Cohen sounded so eager? For the chance to observe a life-or-death mission from the safety of his command chair? Or was I simply in such a negative mood, I immediately thought the worst of everyone's motives?
Time to clear my head of unskillful thoughts.
One good thing about the ambassador's shuttle: it had remarkably wide seats. Wide enough that I could pull up my legs and assume full lotus while still wearing my seat belt. I settled in, let my breathing go quiet, and forced myself to meditate.
Westerners believe a lot of nonsense about meditation... especially that it's some kind of trance where you lose touch with reality. No. Just the opposite. Meditation aims at awareness of the here and now. You don't let your mind wander to the past or future, to the tug of memories or plans; but you also don't compel your thoughts to go somewhere you think they should. You don't strive for bliss or release from old regrets. Meditation is just being where you are.
Which is much much harder than it sounds.
When meditation works, nothing special happens. There's no mystic ecstasy—just a sense of truly being present. Sitting in the cabin of Li's shuttle, I simply perceived what was there. The plush seats. The dusty smell of upholstery. The motion of the shuttle. The sound of Tut's breathing. My own breathing. My own breath.
No fancy life force perception. Just being awake and aware. Calmer than I'd been in a long time. Certainly better meditation than I'd managed in many a month or year...
Suddenly furious, I jerked back to my normal clenched-up ground-state: ambushed by the thought that the Balrog was behind my atypical meditation success. It was helping me—clearing my mind. Since becoming an Explorer (and long before that), I'd only managed fitful bits of quiet... a second here, a second there, interspersed with long bouts where my thoughts drifted off on a string of casual distractions. Sitting sessions still helped me relax, but they'd seldom delved anywhere deeper. Now, unexpectedly, with all the troubles on my mind, why could I immediately reach a crystal-clear dhyana state and hold it?
The Balrog was manipulating my mind: making meditation trivially easy.
You demon, I thought. You've ruined this for me. You've cheapened the most valuable thing in my life.
I could never meditate again. If I achieved any heightened awareness, I'd always fear it was the Balrog's doing. And if I didn't achieve any "skillful effect," what was the point of meditation?
"You utter bastard," I said in a low voice. "You've cut my lifeline."
No answer.
For the rest of the trip, I just stared out the window at the black airlessness of space.
CHAPTER 5
Yana [Sanskrit]: Vehicle, conveyance. The different schools of Buddhism are often called "vehicles" since they are different ways of traveling toward the same goal: enlightenment. Hinayana (the small vehicle) centers around monastic life. Mahayana (the large vehicle) is more populist, teaching all people to strive for compassion. Vajrayana (the diamond vehicle) has a mystic bent; a number of Vajrayana
I didn't know why he was excited. For Cohen, the trip to Muta was no different from his usual duties. Pistachio would fly Festina where she needed to go, then wait in orbit till she decided to leave. Maybe there'd be survivors to evacuate, but so what? They were all just passengers. Transporting passengers was routine business for Pistachio.
Why did the captain welcome this trip when it was really the same old thing? Cohen would never set foot on Muta; he'd just watch from the high exosphere and listen to our reports. At most, he'd have the excitement of being a passive witness as we faced whatever had attacked the settlers...
Was that why Cohen sounded so eager? For the chance to observe a life-or-death mission from the safety of his command chair? Or was I simply in such a negative mood, I immediately thought the worst of everyone's motives?
Time to clear my head of unskillful thoughts.
One good thing about the ambassador's shuttle: it had remarkably wide seats. Wide enough that I could pull up my legs and assume full lotus while still wearing my seat belt. I settled in, let my breathing go quiet, and forced myself to meditate.
Westerners believe a lot of nonsense about meditation... especially that it's some kind of trance where you lose touch with reality. No. Just the opposite. Meditation aims at awareness of the here and now. You don't let your mind wander to the past or future, to the tug of memories or plans; but you also don't compel your thoughts to go somewhere you think they should. You don't strive for bliss or release from old regrets. Meditation is just being where you are.
Which is much much harder than it sounds.
When meditation works, nothing special happens. There's no mystic ecstasy—just a sense of truly being present. Sitting in the cabin of Li's shuttle, I simply perceived what was there. The plush seats. The dusty smell of upholstery. The motion of the shuttle. The sound of Tut's breathing. My own breathing. My own breath.
No fancy life force perception. Just being awake and aware. Calmer than I'd been in a long time. Certainly better meditation than I'd managed in many a month or year...
Suddenly furious, I jerked back to my normal clenched-up ground-state: ambushed by the thought that the Balrog was behind my atypical meditation success. It was helping me—clearing my mind. Since becoming an Explorer (and long before that), I'd only managed fitful bits of quiet... a second here, a second there, interspersed with long bouts where my thoughts drifted off on a string of casual distractions. Sitting sessions still helped me relax, but they'd seldom delved anywhere deeper. Now, unexpectedly, with all the troubles on my mind, why could I immediately reach a crystal-clear dhyana state and hold it?
The Balrog was manipulating my mind: making meditation trivially easy.
You demon, I thought. You've ruined this for me. You've cheapened the most valuable thing in my life.
I could never meditate again. If I achieved any heightened awareness, I'd always fear it was the Balrog's doing. And if I didn't achieve any "skillful effect," what was the point of meditation?
"You utter bastard," I said in a low voice. "You've cut my lifeline."
No answer.
For the rest of the trip, I just stared out the window at the black airlessness of space.
CHAPTER 5
Yana [Sanskrit]: Vehicle, conveyance. The different schools of Buddhism are often called "vehicles" since they are different ways of traveling toward the same goal: enlightenment. Hinayana (the small vehicle) centers around monastic life. Mahayana (the large vehicle) is more populist, teaching all people to strive for compassion. Vajrayana (the diamond vehicle) has a mystic bent; a number of Vajrayana
Similar Books
