The Empty Chair by Bruce Wagner Page B

calm abidings, the apparent and actual realities—for all that, well, Ryder was just going to impress Mom (especially) and Dad with an unthinkably bold act of tantric precocity, a supercalifragilistic Peter Pan leap into the Void from which he could boomerang back to the welcoming arms of that dimensional continuum he called home—
    . . . to leapfrog the teachings, and rock the house of Impermanence.
    There
are
a few pages of
How It Can Dance!
where
Ryder’s cartoon avatar learns about
tulkus
, modern reincarnations of dead Buddhist saints. I can’t help feeling that’s
what he grabbed onto—the whole darkly mordant
Watchmen
superhero ethos married to that Hardy-Boy-with-flashlight-under-the-sheets thrill. “The great meditation of no-meditation,” “the great training of no-training”
 . . .
you can
hear
the woman on those CDs she burned for him to listen to as he fell asleep!
    He grabbed an old tape recorder from the top of the bureau. It was already synched up; as fresh rain pattered the trailer’s roof, the soft, slow-cadenced voice of his wife, Kelly, began. While we listened, he toked on a joint, and poured himself a glass of wine.
    â€œThe most important dharma is to practice impermanence.
[long pause]
 . . . To be at ease with impermanence is to open the Golden Doors of dharma . . . The contemplation of impermanence cuts all ties to samsara, allowing all beings to reach nirvana . . . As you train in the great training of no-training, it will take root and light up your journey on the Path . . . As impermanence flows through your heart, your discipline will become diamond-pointed, but only if you
never stop meditating on it . . .
Befriending impermanence will allow you to see the equal nature of all things and take you to a place beyond falling back . . . Once you’re certain you will die, you’ll have no trouble giving up evil actions and doing what is good . . . Impermanence is the Golden Wheel of dharma . . . This is the day! Turn the Thousand-Spoked Wheel! Turn it, turn it, turn it!”
    He shut off the player.
    Impermanence
sucks
!
    See, but I
knew
my boy wasn’t a suicide. Weren’t never a doubt in my mind . . .
    But why a hanging?
    How come?
    How comes it?
4
    No further questions, Your Honor!
    [sings]
“Big Thousand-Spoked Wheel keep on turnin’, Proud
Tulku
keep on burnin’! Rollin’! Rollin’! Rollin’ on the ri-ver!”
Golden Wheel
ever turning, tightening into a magic ring around his neck—“To every season,
turn turn turn
”—turning and turning in the widening gyre
 . . .
to every season in
Hell
—every
saison en enfer.
You know about Ouroboros, don’t you? The serpent that devours its own tail? Right before you die, the sign of Death comes—your mouth forms a great O, those droll doctors call it “the O Sign.” The mouth O
-
pens (and o-pines its last)
and your eyes begin to flutter as they do in REM sleep—
RAM
sleep!—all roads lead to Rama, don’t you know . . . that’s what Gandhi said when he was shot, said “Rama” in his final exhalation. (And George Harrison, right after he was stabbed.) As the noose choked Ryder’s neck, so the noose of his tiny anus opened (a lowercase “o” to be sure) to spill out the tainted, sacred contents of the Five Hollow Viscera: stomach, intestines, bladder, gall bladder, semen sac. Do you know the myth of the mandrake root? The medievals believed it sprouted from the semen that fell from innocent men who were hanged. And after the O, comes, as the drier wits like to say, “the Q sign,” tongue lolling from mouth, the mouth’s last vowel. Wagging . . . oh those wags!
    But why?
[sings]
“Who by fire? Who by water? Who in the sunshine? Who in the night