Imaginary Endings

"You're dead, you know," Zhou said to Daniel White.

"I am?" Daniel nearly jumped out of his reverie, and his shadow cast by the yak lamp glow jumped with him.

"This yurt, this night, these thoughts you've been having, are all memories." Zhou, as usual, kept his eyes mostly straight ahead while talking.

Daniel had never known Zhou to joke about anything, so he considered this comment thoughtfully. It dawned on him that Zhou was speaking English. Zhou didn't know English. It must be true, then, or else they were both in some new altered state in which they could communicate telepathically.

 "You will want to retrace your steps now, to see about Ivy," Zhou said kindly. "It will all come back to you, and then you'll be free to move on."

Like hunters following tracks, pausing at each recognizable sign along the way, the two friends from different worlds went together back through time to Daniel's last prayer on his rug.

While Daniel had relived ninety-three years, only sixty-four days had passed in Ivy’s turbulent life. Reporters were camped outside the gates of Heron Cove. She reluctantly closed enrollment to her yoga classes to block the press from entering and disrupting her work. Tabloids were running old photos of the Whites leading tantra classes, with lurid headlines. Recent photos showed Ivy pitched forward, making her way through reporters outside her classroom at Asclepion Springs. Nervous residents of Heron Cove clustered around the mailboxes, muttering and shaking their heads.

Daniel found Ivy at home, meditating on the rug her beloved teacher gave her.

 “Ivy,” he said as he lowered himself to the floor and sat facing her.

Her eyes flew open. She looked him up and down, noted that he was sitting comfortably on the floor with his legs crossed.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded. Then she laughed.

“Hey, love, this bardo business is no joke,” he began. “It’s all very confusing. I was back then, back there. I didn’t remember anything until I went through it all again. Zhou, I don’t suppose you can see him? No, well, he’s here with me. He led me back to you. Otherwise, I might never have found you again.”

“I thought you were gone forever,” she said, her voice cracking. “I thought it was all a mistake.”

He wrapped his arms around her and held her while she cried a long time. Then she sat upright again and glared at him.

“You lied to me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. You were so strong, I couldn’t believe you would forgive my weakness. You never felt it, the craving, the way I did.”

“All I asked of you, from the beginning, was veracity, Daniel.”

He hung his head. They sat in silence.

“But,” she said, “I guess I needed the lesson. Not to trust so blithely. You know, I never ever doubted you, once you’d given me your promise. But I never saw your chakras so clearly again after that first time we were together.”

“I wondered why you didn’t know, the way you could see all the old connections at first.”

“Because when my chakras linked into yours, it obscured the vision. The beauty and the terror of love, it turns out, is that you go blindly or not at all.” She no longer looked fierce.

“How did you find out?” he asked.

“Remember the girl in the garden, Philadelphia, the honeysuckle, a kiss?”

He shook his head.

“The young woman at Sarah Lawrence, the student of Joseph Campbell?”

He began to nod slowly, closed his eyes. “Professor Turow’s daughter. Deirdre? No, Dulcie. Dulcie. Dulcie? The busybody?”

Ivy nodded. “The seeds of desire bear fruit.”

“She’s so old.”

“Yeah, well, you’re dead, you’re a fine one to talk. And you died old, mister.”

“You’re not going to like this, Ivy, love. Zhou says you need to go to church to hear that woman’s talk. I don’t know why, but Zhou’s a lot clearer about things, past and future.”