SHORT STORIES

A long time ago, in a time no one remembers anymore, there lived, in a very beautiful place that could remind you of all that is the very best of Earth, a wonderful Queen. Her name was ‘The Most Attractive One’.

Premo never did go back home to the very small town of Big Trees. Never say never—likely the circle comes around to the place where she began. But for this part of the story, her relatives were with her in India.

God Apart knew he had to come here. He wanted to come here. His wife, God Apartress, kept asking him, “What is going on there?

Let the revolution begin. In this day, the right to not be the ego-I, had not been won. Many of the other differences

Master Marinee knew her death was imminent. Her health had been steadily declining since the fall. She told no one and no one suspected that her health was failing.

Groovy Guru stood up and looked sternly at the assembled crowd. I can’t stand these people, he thought—and then, to his own surprise, he laughed at the thought. He laughed out loud.

Those were the days of a very good dream. Sanda was the daughter of a good simple man, kind and patient.

The play had ended, the egg had dropped. Her pulling, yearning for Him had also been His play.

Yakaboobis and Yakataboof were the best of friends. The enjoyed each other’s company immensely. They always knew how to enjoy whatever life brought their way. Their motto was, “Nothing ever happens, so why not have fun and enjoy all this mass of nothing that appears as something?”

The place that Sudra loved the most was the trail. She walked the trail alone.

Master Bonsai always pissed on the potted trees. No one could understand why his piss didn’t kill the bonsai trees. The miniature trees always thrived under Master Bonsai’s care if you could call it that.

This just did not make sense. Not that he was overly fond of making sense but it was a humor jumping-off place, a slant of horizontal rubber bending that gravity-wise was impossible.

Yakaboobis and his best friend Yakataboof had an urge to go on a journey.

Mahoot felt the wind on her face, a gentle warming breeze; it felt like a caress. It reminded her of her sister Yahoot and how she always lightly touched her face. It was always a light swipe across her cheek.

Mahoot felt the wind on her face, a gentle warming breeze; it felt like a caress. It reminded her of her sister Yahoot and how she always lightly touched her face. It was always a light swipe across her cheek.

They were survivors. They had seen it; they had lived it all. They weren't intact but they were in contact. She knew he needed her. His photo was by her bed and his face forever posed in the same expression.

Ayra didn’t have a strong sense of belonging to anyone or anywhere. She is the woman who walks forever. She once stayed in a small town for twenty years.

They say that there is nothing more dangerous than an idea that has met its time. But there was a danger to the status quo that was more powerful than an idea that met its time, and that danger was the dream that has met the power of its transmission

Doo Feelin's uvula juggled with exclamation. "Open the doors. I said, open the doors! Open them wide, wider! It's the grandest opening sale there ever was and there ever will be."

Sudra was impatient. Dam it, she thought. After the dust settled on her last adventure – an adventure that revealed a few more pieces in the big puzzle picture of her life, everything returned to a slow normalcy.

Sudra begged for something new to do; a change of pace –another way of seeing the picture. In other words she was ready for a new adventure. She felt that the Great Jester had something in mind already, otherwise why would she be sitting at her new glass computer desktop ready and willing? The Great Jester is her name for THE ONLY ONE WHO IS (and who is that?). That's the big number one secret everyone will find out sooner or later. The big secret had been divulged to her,oh, about twenty years ago, and though she can't keep a secret; her blabbing it to anyone that remotely looks interested didn't make a dent in it becoming a widespread open secret that everyone was in on. It's still the best-kept secret there ever was. That's how the Great Jester works. When it's your time to know, it's your time. And then you are smiling and your point of view is forever changed. You are in on the big joke, and believe me, it's pretty damn funny. You'll never guess the punch line till it punches you out cold.

It has been many years since Santosha last used my voice to express herself! Too long! She is an elder now, looking her age and creaking in all the right places. Fortunately, I don't age, as I am the voice of her awareness. I'm just as innocent as I have always been. Innocent and irreverent. How wonderful that awareness doesn't age, which leads to the question: does it process, grow, and expand into an unfathomable infinite depth? I don't know how to answer that. I know for sure that awareness is aware—aware of what? Aware of whom? I guess I'm back to (already!) perceiver is not an identity; it is a function. The function of being, of being aware. Our greatest luxury, and the greatest game of being alive. One thing I know is my innocence does not have process or growth or depth—it just is. I've always been an innocent, always will be. I could say that that is my greatest revelation, but I am way too innocent for great revelations. I am undiluted, purity-bliss of Being, radiating and soaking up the rays of its already happy happiness. Could happiness be that great? Is happiness way too much for this world? Is happiness a choice? Can you choose to be happy? Does anyone have any idea what happiness is? I recommend getting rid of any ideas you might have. They are only going to get in the way of already being happy!

“Phone call, Sudra,” Jared called down from the house to the studio, hoping she would hear him and he wouldn’t have to walk down the hill and back up the hill.

Devi knew what happiness was. She lived what happiness is. She was a very lucky young woman. She knew she was a very lucky woman. A very great sage had shown her his beautiful, lovely, pure heart and had told her, "You too can know, live, and enjoy the purity of the heart."

From close and closer the multitudes gathered to hear the Great Debate. The debate was to take place in their own backyards.

Once a upon a time, far, far into the future...so far into the future that time has started over, a beautiful fairy full of spunk and curiosity - and excellent aerobatics - flew into a garden of immense proportions.

It was a well-kept secret, even among all the happiest places—where the happiest place on Earth is. Each happy place on all the different continents on Earth felt surely they must be the happiest of all. Of course, they all knew that the man-made attempts at creating happy places were just fabricated to make a buck and that making an unnatural creation out of what is natural had nothing to do with happiness. The best you could squeeze out of all that theater of the unreal, unnatural was some pleasure out of all the profit the creators of it made. Everyone just went along for the ride of fantasy. But men and the imaginations of men had nothing to do with the really happy places of Earth. Not that men had never been to a truly happy place, it is true they only got there by accident and didn't know what they were experiencing when they were there. They just didn't recognize what true happiness is really like—being so used to pleasure and propping up their ego-I's as happiness. So, not really recognizing real happiness, they weren't able to recognize a truly happy place. This was a good thing because as man's egos are truly of a magnificent size, it never occurred to them to exploit these beautiful, very rich places of the Heart. And as few people know, exploiting someone or someplace could never amount to a pile of happiness, not even an anthill of it. It was ironic that the happiest places on Earth were never recognized by men for what they truly are: happy!, when all men are in pursuit of it (they think) their entire lives.

Freedom Rider was geared up with her hiking boots and sticks and a full tank of gas. Today was an ascension day—up the mountain road till it ended. As she ascended, Freedom Rider handled the mountain curves with a steady push

There was much that she wanted to think about. There was much she needed to feel, and she wanted so much to be allowed that. Her husband was asleep next to her on the plane—eight more hours before they arrived in Australia. This wasn't a second honeymoon; not a vacation, it was work, and for the first time since this whole business of being a "messenger" got underway, she had ambivalent feelings about her work, her life, and her husband. She looked at her husband; he looked so peaceful, contented as he gently breathed in and out. How can he look so peaceful after all the trouble he caused? She felt a wave of rage swell up and she wanted to smack that relaxed, happy, sleeping face. She wanted to strangle him, too. She felt that it would be impossible for her to ever trust him again. She wanted to indulge her rage, allow it free expression, but everyone was counting on her to be the sane one and get everyone through his betrayal. People were counting on her, and they wouldn't understand and would be hurt and disappointed to see anything in her except tolerance and graceful forgiveness and acceptance. Since she wasn't allowed her rage and its natural expression, she felt stuck and kept herself distracted with her meaningful work. She had her own secret of betrayal, one that no one would ever know about—it was her indulgence; a way for her suppressed feelings to have a play of her own. She imagined it was alright to hate God—just a little. He or She wouldn't mind. Surely God understood the pressure she was under; it was just a little bit of well-placed hate of God to the alternative of strangulating her husband. Anyway, God is not really a person, God is not personal, so why would He mind? I have been his messenger for years; surely he understands. I'll make this up to him later.

Everest woke up and knew she had a deep dream. A dream that would call her to action. She got up and began to put her clothes on for the day. She heard a grumble from her sister in the bed across the room.

Tap-a-tap, fingers sound on wooden table. Knees hitting together. Terry shifted his bony butt and whistled out loud. He instantly regretted it. His history teacher gave him a cold stare and continued to drone on.

I have dreamed everything. I have dreamed it all. I am not saying and I am trying to make this very clear—I did not have dreams of these people (these women)—

Once a upon a time, far, far into the future... so far into the future that time had started over...

Suya Devi was very tired of being very tired. Se knew her time was almost up. They would be coming for her.

Flat out...today is the day. I’ve got to act. Tired of deciding to decide.

The mountain called out, “I am Watco, I am Watco”. It breathed spoke it’s name over and over. It had been asleep for a long, long time.

The objects in her hand were only scribbles or doodles from her imagination. They appeared to have substance, solidity but they didn’t make any cognitive sense.

Alia was a fun-loving five-year-old girl. She was always ready to play, no matter how tired she was. One bright sunny morning, Alia's mother (whose name was Elraya) asked Alia, "Want to go to the park today? We can swing on the swings. Maybe we can visit our favorite tortoise, Friend, in the petting zoo, too."

Gordon put down his pen. He was weary. He had never felt this kind of tired before. Not only was his body exhausted, his mind was too tired to even wander and he felt nothing—nothing but a deep, dark impulse to disappear altogether.

Yakataboof got up every day for the last week and noticed the scrawny looking coyote resting on the dirt behind a mesquite bush. He wondered why the coyote had settled into that spot not more than a hundred feet past his swelling

Hi, who am I? Hi, who are you? We seem to want to ask those questions but are we really interested in the answers? What answers, what questions... What is a question mark?

She wanted to write a story about sex for fun—not romance, not for anything, no exposé on intimacy or struggling for understanding. Simple sex—not missionary sex, but sex uncomplicated by spiritual bullshit or guilt-ridden lust.

"Could he make such a mistake? No! No! It can't be! He is God!!!" all the women whispered. "Please don't say anything. How can you do this? You must submit to him. He alone has wisdom.

There was a little girl named Starry Shine. She was a simple girl, uncomplicated, a little shy. Most of the time she felt happy and loved to play ball, run, draw, and ride her bike as fast as the wind.

She liked to notice him when he was unaware of her presence, when he doodled around with his computer or had his headphones on tapping out a beat or a chord onto the tape.

Watco, the mountain was breathing hard; panting and blowing out the dust from its internal walls. When a mountain is breathing this hard, the vibration can be felt within and all around. All the creatures living on and in the mountain stopped their scurrying and paused, they waited. They were frightened and they felt a strange sensation - one that they had never felt before. They felt visible and naked – seen, and this made them feel self-conscious. Something strange was happening to the mountain and they didn’t know what to do. The mountain was their home. They always took for granted that their home would be as it always is – here – a place to burrow in and a place to find delicious weeds and bugs and rodents to eat. The presence of the mountain was always with them and they loved their home but didn’t realize that the mountain they lived on had an urge all its own. It was in a struggle of self remembering. Something or someone was calling it to remember a promise – a promise that it made a long, long time ago.

The dancing flower with star in hand had a universe to run, or should I say to play in. Her work was to show happiness to all living beings so they could dance as primordial joy with her.

Bonnie tapped Beloved's big toe. This was her affectionate sign that the massage was over. She closed the cap on the oil bottle. Beloved's eyes were closed, and he did not open them to acknowledge her as he usually did. She waited for a few seconds to see if his customary sign of a wink was to be given. He laid still and Bonnie noticed that he seemed to be distant and somewhat depressed. She wanted to call out to him, to cheer him in some way, but she didn't know what to say or do, so she said nothing and gathered up the massage supplies and left the room.

A couple of years after the death of Yakaboobis's body, Yakataboof still missed his dear master and friend. They still talked via heart transmission, even engaged in philosophical debate which always ended in a nod of, "love you, man." But Yakataboof so missed keeping up and following his beloved master as he served him on all of his missions of utmost importance. His own exploits lacked the enjoyment of their mutual hilarity. Being with Yakaboobis had always given him an intimacy with the heart of life that he just didn't feel on his own. No one loved life and lived that love so fully as his dearest friend, Yakaboobis. He missed those days of wandering around with his master/friend. Yakaboobis was probably living it up (or whatever the non-living do) with his goddess friend. Still, Yakataboof looked for the signs that his friend might be here again and though he didn't believe in reincarnation, he had heard that in the Tibetan Buddhist tradition there were stories of spiritually advanced—even enlightened—masters taking on yet another body to further the work and play of enlightenment. If he could look for the signs like the Tibetan Buddhists did, he might be able to find Yakaboobis again—of course, in another, newly acquired birth—and they could continue on with their exploits.

Thinny put the book down and closed her eyes. She was stopped; not another moment could occur; only this one over and over. She wasn't thinking anything, she wasn't feeling anything.

Alia felt especially happy today. Her heart felt so joyful she couldn't stop twirling and clapping her hands. She almost fell over about five times.

Summer was almost over, and Alia had a few more days left before 5th grade would call her to attend. I wish summer would never end, she thought. Even though her mother bought her a really fun new outfit (with a matching shirt and sneakers) she wasn't looking forward to the end of her freedom.

She had hiked this trail many times before and it had always energized her, freed her, lifted her above any problems or difficulties she was facing in her life. On this day—a cool, cloudy spring day—Marta could only feel heaviness.

"Jimmy, get down here—breakfast's ready. Do you want your eggs scrambled?

Queenie, who was in charge of chaos, could never tell if she was doing her job well or not. Was the world more chaotic than it’s ever been? Or just as chaotic?

Another story wants to be born. Always my inclination is to starve it off. Fruit fast? Water fast with squeezes of lemon?

Looking back, she couldn't figure how the shift in her happened—what brought it about. Its meaning to her was momentous, as auspicious as the crumbling of the Berlin Wall.

I’m not looking back, she thought. All he wants me for is to cook his dinner and wash his clothes. I’ve had it.

He is the man of understanding. She is the ordinary woman. There is only understanding of the ordinary.

The place of happiness was always waiting for the person of happiness to arrive. This beautiful place located at the beginning of time was here from the very beginning, and no one can remember when that is.

Alia fumbled with her double knots on her new orange and purple sneakers. “Mom, I can’t undo the knots, help me!”

I met my master in this moment. She has always known me and so my moment of meeting her—she says—is not the truth. She only talks in the moment of truth. I don’t understand her.

Alia felt especially happy today. Her heart felt so joyful she couldn't stop twirling and clapping her hands. She almost fell over about five times.

Early morning, a.m., seven o’clock. I’m up—not my normal pattern. Jet-lagged. Hungry at strange times, like two in the morning, wanting to sleep all afternoon . . .

Loving the unknown; loving the unknowable, a perfect love affair? No disappointment?

He drew her form every night. Magic, mystery, charcoal, pen, paper. He searched his memory for the line, the curve of her most attracting beauty.

Darshani breathed in the mountains and licked the skies of puffy white clouds. She had had a full breakfast of siddhas and was ready for the long journey—a journey without compass, map or destination.

The most prized possession of the village was the screen. It stood fifteen feet tall and was twenty feet wide. No one could remember the screen's origin. Some people argued that it had always existed.

The link, it's still there. She wouldn't deny it, nor would I. I traveled beyond the world of perception and when I returned everything remained like it was before. I was different and that difference held a threat for her.

Biology - that's all it ever is. Period - that's all everything means. Is that the great fulfillment everyone is yacking about?

She was seventy years old and she was getting married (again). And to a much younger man; a man half her age. Theirs was a most peculiar arrangement and relationship.

A man floated on the back of a giant sea turtle. The sea turtle paddled towards the shore. The sea turtle breathed in with a big gasp and breathed out a big swoosh sound.

You and your mate may gain greater understanding and insight into the nature of male/female power games if you and your partner play the Celibacy Stress Contest.

Emoto sat on the ledge, his feet dangling over the precipice. He hadn’t seen her for a long, long time and wondered if he would ever see her again.

He loved God. I'm in love with God! There was no hiding it, there was no reason for it. He was not insane. He was not normal with normal desires, normal needs.

He loved God. I'm in love with God! There was no hiding it, there was no reason for it. He was not insane. He was not normal with normal desires, normal needs

The Understanding of only God – no separate doer, changes nothing in experience, but stack the whole world; even my life against it, the only real choice or true treasure is this Understanding.

Zenith was dancing on a cloud. Not on an atmospheric cloud but on a cloud of her own outrageous, righteous ambition. She had done it.

It’s all a scam, can’t you see?

Is anybody actually alive? Existing in dream worlds of physical myths. More I experience life, the more I am mystified by it.

Very dark living in a rain cloud. I watch all perceptions, not interested today. Bodily life continues with its comforts and discipline.