Guest blog by Michael Finberg: Harvest of Gems, Prague 1993

I am honored for my friend Michael Finberg (Twitter: Michael_Finberg) to do a guest blog:


Harvest of Gems –

Chapter 2


The train had Russian markings. My companion was a scared former East German kid dressed uncomfortably and staring at the pages of a cheap paperback. My companion did not utter a single word and skipped out near Dresden. An ugly town even at night. The Czech border appeared suddenly and the uniforms changed. The ugly industrial blight did not however. “The Czech Republic,” I murmured to myself. “Sounds like some kind of breakfast cereal.” It was dark and lonely outside the moving window. I wasn’t sure what to expect in Prague. All I knew for sure was that it was IMPORTANT. The train dumped me off at Hole….ovic station, a miserable dump by any measurable standard. Freshly washed, permanently dirty floors greeted me and I refused all taxi offers. I was determined not to get ripped off this early on my trip. I waited for the subway to open and eventually it did. Bleary-eyed, I trudged onward, the home-stretch was near. In this early morning bardo, I found my little angel.
When German Yuppies die they go to Potsdam, but where do Czech yuppies go? Prague was beautiful, but also filthy for most kinds of yuppies. The smell of burning rubber attacked my nostrils in the early and dank hours of the morning. I was lost …. Apple’s confusing instructions had screwed me up. I left my luggage at a hotel and wandered through the Karlin section of Prague. I kept a journal of each day in my mind:

Day One:
I found her at last. Summer is a perfect goddess. Perfect features and perfect skin. An exotic mix of Swedish and French. Summer’s boyfriend, who helped me haul my luggage up the stairs, seemed like a basket-case. But Summer, oh, she cares about everything in principle; she belongs to the world and there is nothing she can do about it. The karma is very heavy between us. We were like magnets zeroing in on one another. I set up my altar and fell asleep after puja. When I awoke, I found myself alone with Summer.
Summer had put a white shirt over her black bra and stood next to the window smoking a cigarette. She looked very thin and sick. Summer’s skin was ivory pale. She was also nervous. “What do you think about the Czechs?” I asked, sitting on the floor. “Oh, one third are saints, one third are OK, and the rest are utterly hopeless,” she uttered with an air of insecure authority. I can’t recall the rest of the conversation in detail, other than this little angel lived wildly and had multiple health problems. A miscarriage and an eleventh-hour abortion had hurt her more than she cared to admit. Asthma as a child, heart and circulatory problems, and fibroids in her reproductive plumbing tested my attraction to her for only a few seconds. I was not slobbering and drooling, however. There was something holy here. Our bond was ancient. We felt comfortable as we slowly began to recognize each other for the first time in these particular bodies.
Summer’s frame was long and sleek, the word athletic came to mind, but also the word dancer could have applied. I examined her long and tapering fingers. Summer’s arms were long as well. Her breasts were small. Her feet dainty and erotic. I kept getting this image of a benign spider. Summer had protruding collar bones that screamed to be steered like handle-bars on a bicycle. I then asked her if her red hair, which hung slightly above her shoulders was her natural hair. “No, I dye it,” she confessed with a little guilt. Summer wore contacts, which concealed her bookish nature and exposed her pale and translucent blue eyes. If looks could kill, Summer would be in the slammer for life.

Summer was only eighteen, but seemed emotionally advanced for her tender years. She came from a broken home. She was a complete creature of the Third Wave. Summer had basically only herself. Somehow, around the fourth grade, she had dropped out of school and been tutored at home like a spoiled princess. There was also a certain savoir faire to my little angel. She had a ready knowledge of what to say and how to say it. Summer had also studied acting at a very young age. This could have had something to do with it. Modeling seemed to bore her, though.
“Would you like to go out later?” she inquired. I decided not to care. What was important now was to be with her every possible second. The signal from San Francisco she had sent had brought me to Prague; finally I had carefully and slowly pulled it like a thread. It was time to explore our past. I also sensed danger, but not to myself.

Day Two:
Prague is beautiful, but stagnant. It’s denser and more compact than Berlin. It’s in the middle of a European cauldron. Summer had come back to heal, and possibly to die in her old ancestral home. For she was a sorceress who understood alchemy and was not afraid of it. Summer’s boyfriend was a crazed concubine. Somewhere in the past, someone had taken everything away from him; he was browbeaten and angry. He was out to get back everything he had lost; and there was no end to this loss; and I knew this would drag on forever. Summer knew this and tolerated it. She also knew she deserved more than this, but was too sick to live alone. Summer had dragged this poor man-child all the way from San Francisco. They were officially a couple, but Summer was biding her time now, waiting for her salvation in a patient and disciplined manner.
It was during this time that I started shooting off rolls of film with my cheap and collapsing Olympus camera. Summer’s photogenic pull was irresistible. These photo sessions were our first puja. Summer was well-sculpted by nature. Our new alignment had now started to move. Every act was an act of love. Prague’s timeless cobblestone alleys were our private garden path. The countless spires and steeples hung like backdrops to an unknown play. Summer and I posed for a photo on the Charles Bridge. I felt as if we were already married.

Day Three:
Prague from outer space:
There are six vortices of psychic energy around the world. They are found only at geographical crossroads. It is here that cultural and psychic whirling masses form a vacuum whose center captures anything caught in its motion, stressfully sucking it in and generating new forms of instability. These Earth creatures still have little understanding of these dangerous and dynamic forms. It is these forms that create WHITE STRESS and its typical BLACK STRESS response. Two strange Earth creatures are falling in love, but they are not typical BLACK HAT types. The computer has printed out a WHITE HAT profile for both of them and is having trouble calculating their karma. It is a deep one. And it is now ripening with unforeseeable consequences. The race of WHITE HATS are an endangered species. The BLACK HATS rule the world. Damping complexity is easier than embracing it. There is less danger of identity loss, but the cost is a destruction of the vortex variety so needed for creation. A crucial redundancy is lost. We will continue to send further reports when needed.

The facts on the ground in Prague:
Summer introduced me to a Czech girl she had met in San Francisco. This girl had blue eyes and red cheeks and big protruding teeth. I found this little cherub a convenient symbol of the current Czech confusion. The Commies are gone now, but tough economics have hit the Czechs HARD. The Slovaks are gone and are now considered foreigners. The Germans are taking over and the new freedoms are producing a hangover. “There is all this economic news on the television which I don’t understand,” the Czech girl complained. Summer was not even looking at her. She was looking at me with a mixture of amusement, curiosity, and calculated attraction. “Are you Jewish?” the Czech girl asked. “Yes,” I answered with slight interest. “May I come back and talk to you again?” she persisted. “We can make an appointment,” I reassured her. Summer sat cross-legged on her bed barefoot. She was always barefoot. This endeared her to me. I loved her so much and she understood this.
“I didn’t want to come here. This was her idea.” the boyfriend bitterly whined. “She’s nothing but an egotist. She’s spoiled rotten. Her mother sends her money every month. I want to go to Italy and just leave her here. But I told her she can’t have sex with anyone.” The boyfriend’s chatter reminded me of radio static, a kind of background noise and radiation, inevitable in its sheer presence, yet ignorable, almost forgettable. It wasn’t even a struggle. It was too lop-sided. The boyfriend knew he was beaten. His heavy emotional armor hid a deep despair. I understood him and felt sorry for him; but I was on a mission and could not be distracted for too long. Prague looked sinister in the late evening. We both got off the tram and walked around aimlessly. Young couples reeled and gabbled out of the new MacDonald’s.

Day Four:
“Oh, you know, I can have any man, I want. He doesn’t really know why I want him,” Summer stated with a queer smile. She took a long drag from her cigarette. Summer was wearing her trademark blue jeans and green turtleneck sweater. She was barefoot as usual and squeezing her toes on the faded carpet. “He’s very insecure, you know …. ” Summer added, almost as an afterthought.

Prague from inner space:
These beings are old souls. Both have known each other for countless lives. They have not always been human. The female angel is dying. Her illness is deep. It is in her subtle body and time is running out. The male angel can save her, but he lacks sufficient experience, even though he has the necessary knowledge. Their higher centers are blending well. They are both natural Tantrics and deserve each other. We will send blessings.

Prague from the outside:
I walked alone in dirty Prague. The Czechs looked tired. They never seemed to have been masters of their own fate. First the Germans and then the Russians, and now the Germans once again, have come and gone, plundering the Czechs. It’s a tough karma. Who will be next? The acrid smell of burning rubber is never far away in Prague. The American embassy is popular. Russians are not. I haggled with the Indians for a visa all day and they are not only greedy and inefficient, but also terribly sadistic people. It could take awhile to procure that coveted stamp. Fuck them!

The Czech girl came back with her sister. Both wanted to know if the Jews considered Jesus the Messiah. I told them with considerable embarrassment that he wasn’t. The Czech girl and her sister had found religion. Both were into Jesus. The boyfriend stalked out and left me alone to handle this mess. Both girls were rather friendly, but considered Buddhism potential devil worship. I talked about the Mind Ocean and the elder sister was intrigued. She seemed to be the thinker of the family and had pulled them all in the direction of Christ. 
The girls left and I found myself alone with Summer. I rubbed her bony feet. She liked it. Summer was fascinated by her body and enjoyed it whenever people fondled her body parts, gently and with sensitivity. Her free foot clawed my knee; Summer smiled. She recounted how the nurses massaged her butt before poking in the blunt needles of some syringe. Summer needed the vitamin shots. She was that weak. I checked out her tongue. It had no teeth marks. Summer chewed her food slowly. A phenomena quite rare in America. Summer also wrote long and beautiful letters. Was she really eighteen?
We gazed into each other’s eyes. All kinds of karmic forms from our mutual past appeared and dissolved before us. I was now searching for the sorceress. I saw torture and abuse. I sensed indiscriminate teachers. Our old and powerful karma was finally waking up from a long sleep. “I’m very fertile, you know,” Summer declared. “I got pregnant on the pill and with a diaphragm,” I stared at her oval face and her elf-like ears. I saw an image of the earth. Summer’s lips were full and meaty. Her nose was highly masculine. It was round and putty-like in appearance with slightly upturned nostrils. Indeed, it was her nose more than anything else that made Summer’s face truly unique. It was her bulldog nose that gave her away. That and her second hairline. Summer was a witch. She was also a high priestess. And like myself she was now a fallen angel.

Day Five:
It was the full moon. I struggled with my Berlin flu. Summer had to call her Mom. Money was running out. I called Poland. The boyfriend vanished. Summer and I were left alone once more. I did the Mahakala puja while Summer sat quietly nearby. I could see images of black magic misfiring in Summer’s past. She had been wild, transient, and ambitious. I could see Summer’s long and gangling frame from the corner of my eye. Her strong neck and broad shoulders attested to the fact that she was a fierce swimmer. So fierce she had broken her fingers after colliding with the tiled walls of the pool. Summer’s fingers were healed now. She was a loner like me and was proud of it. I loved her so much; and she knew this. Ours was an old love that never seemed to fall on barren soil. We were very proud of this.
I turned around and Summer walked over. She slowly sat down next to me. Her beautiful toes curled and dug deeply into her legs. They were also now completely healed. Summer was an enthusiastic horse-rider and countless times had had her toes broken by horses’ hooves. I gave a throaty sigh and we embraced. I touched Summer’s forehead with my own and the mixing of the subtle energies began. It was time to prepare my little angel for surgery. I asked the protectors for help. I could not do this alone. I was taking huge risks and was now responsible for the two of us. Summer gulped me up. I drew a deep and secret breath. Our minds and bodies were now fusing. Our separateness had to temporarily die, in order for us to heal. A motorcycle rattled off, suddenly, in the distance, almost like a strange herald. A secret and celestial wedding was now in progress. “Oh …. such joy,” Summer gasped.

Day Six:
Summer and her boyfriend shared their apartment with a tall and snide Irishman who bounced around and hustled for a living in an advertising firm. The Irishman was named Minnie and his room was usually deserted. It was a Saturday and a proper day for delinquent abandon. Summer, her boyfriend, and I took off for the Stare Mesto with Minnie. The Stare Mesto is Prague’s old quarter. Everything in Prague reeks of oldness. In fact, the city is one giant and musty attic, seemingly passed by and left to squirm in dreadful isolation. Summer seemed to love it. There was a subtle fatalism in her innermost being, that acted as an anchor and a rudder for Summer, and all those around her. Unlike her boyfriend, however, Summer NEVER played the victim. What she preferred was this sweet loneliness that warmed and nurtured her at every moment.
At the boyfriend’s suggestion, we visited the Globe, a hangout for American expatriates exploring with fear the very absurd notion that they actually could be writers. I was bored by it all and asked Minnie about his life in Dublin. “Well, ya see man. I had these friends and we got together in gangs, ya know, just to have a little foon and piss around.” Minnie was stirring his cup and enjoying himself. “And, ya see man, there was dis friend of mine, who we like to make foon of.” Minnie paused for a moment. A nervous look engulfed him. “Are you all right?” I asked. “I’m fine, man …. it’s just that I’m a little scared right now,” he declared. “About what?” I further probed. “Well, ya see man, my friend was read’n oop on Freud and told me I was possibly a homosexual.” I smiled. “Do you really think you’re a homosexual?” There was a silence. “Well, I’m just not sure, man.” Minnie moaned worriedly. Summer watched the exchange with deep absorption. “It seems to me like your friend was getting back at you.” Minnie looked stunned and began to cry. Heat poured down his hands. “Hey, man I dunno what’s happening …. I feel so ….,” he stuttered hurriedly. “Free?” I asked. “Yeah, man,” Minnie croaked. Summer laughed. So did I. The Guides had come through, yet again. Summer’s boyfriend was nowhere to be seen.
Back at the apartment Jonathan and Summer attended the Mahakala puja. Minnie began drinking from the water bowl, unexpectedly turning the puja into a strange Eucharist. Summer sat motionlessly nearby. After Minnie left, Summer put on her white T-shirt and shorts and jumped into bed; but she was restless and we both knew that our energies wanted to fuse and start moving. It was time now for the next phase. I took Summer into the bathroom and drew the secret breath slowly up my spine, and then forcefully blew it into Summer’s mouth. This was the point of NO RETURN. Our lungs were furiously mixing our subtle energies now. I was drawing the vital force from the cosmos and repairing Summer’s etheric body, while sucking in her poisons and spitting them out into infinity. Summer was almost over-powered by the sheer force of the new air inside her and gasped wildly. She clung to me tightly like a small child. “More, please,” she begged, “more.”

Day Seven:
It had been a stunning night. Even Summer’s boyfriend had noticed the change. We had turned on the karmic TV and gone to our past life in India. Summer, her boyfriend, and I walked out into the cold and dark Prague evening. Summer had constant circulatory problems and her hands and feet would often turn ice cold. Her boyfriend had seen this all before and walked hurriedly with a smug and confused air of indifference. I rubbed Summer’s polar bony fingers in public. My affection could no longer be hidden. Summer’s boyfriend looked the other way. It was becoming a dreadful pain to deal with him. He was a nuisance and a pest. My passion for Summer kept mysteriously dissolving. Like smoke escaping from a fire. Both Summer and I lived in our minds. We enjoyed our brain orgasms and constantly offered up our affection to the Universe. I pushed the button on my camera and discovered it was stuck. My old recording tool had died. It had captured Jim, the Old Guy, and countless Lamas and nameless beings. It had even captured Summer. But now I was in mourning.
We attended a nauseating talent show at a local American hangout beneath a vegetarian restaurant. Summer openly held her arms around me; and nuzzled her forehead against mine. It was finally at this moment that I experienced Summer’s latent powers. I SAW NOTHING but white flashes and almost blacked out. The sorceress was finally claiming me. Summer’s boyfriend tried to grab some attention by breathing hard and deeply, but only managed to get sick and start coughing into his nicotine-laced lungs, choking madly in a funny and delirious way. “EE-YAH, EE-YAH! EE-YAH!” He was bellowing. It was all a very serious, yet silly sideshow. I was at a loss for words as I held Summer’s hand outside the restaurant. “Oh, you know, they’re all bisexual and I rarely come here,” Summer started to confess. Was my little angel saying a prayer?



Day Eight: 
I dreamed a bug dream. Strange colored forms were hatching eggs under my skin. Summer was asleep on the other bed. She rarely got up before ten. The Indians were still fucking with me and I was getting pissed off. They wanted money for a telex to Washington. They wanted money for a visa. They said it would take a week. They said they weren’t sure their embassy in Washington would OK a visa. In short, the Indians were behaving like their typical asinine selves. The mind swarms with gracious welcoming speeches — but the Indians just want MONEY.
In Moscow, “The White House” was being bombed. Central Europe was nervous and quaking from this undiscountable fact. I walked the town of Prague alone. I desperately wanted to get away from Summer’s boyfriend. His vibes were bad and he was trashing Summer daily behind her back. Ugly and uncomfortable thoughts stalked me as I wandered into the Jewish quarter of Prague. The Josefov reeked with dense and suffocating energy. I was coming home to my roots and I was yearning to talk, to be interrogated, to be politely asked about all the dead people in the cemetery. I missed an appointment with Summer’s boyfriend on purpose and shuttled back to the apartment in an anxious and confused mood. Summer opened the door and was surprised to see me. She was alone and yet happy to be in my presence. There was a knowing look in Summer’s face that said: I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL. We sat down and stared at one another. Summer had dark half-circles under her eyes; they made her look modest and wise. Summer wore no jewelry of any kind on her bare thin arms. She wore no watch. Nail polish was alien to her. The only concession to fashion she made was facial make-up when going out and occasional earrings. Summer took multiple baths daily to help ease her poor circulation.
“I’m confused,” I moaned. “I can’t live this double life.” Summer said nothing. She simply gazed right into my eyes with an amused and expectant look. “I can’t stand your smoking,” I continued in a belabored tone. Summer remained silent. She was waiting for something. I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but somehow Summer found her way into my arms. We puffed holy breath into one another and slowly smacked each other on the lips. Summer’s icy blue eyes were drilling deep into my brain. Summer always got what she wanted and then SOME.
“Let’s go out,” Summer said as she laced up her tall brown boots. “Let’s just walk around,” she added. I meekly obeyed. Who could resist this angel? Prague was untypically dark and cold on this particular night. Summer and I embraced each other as we walked to ward off the cold and to signal a new phase in our relationship. Old, old energies were coming up. We found a park bench and started our chatter puja. “I saw a blue-man in a dream just before you came,” Summer announced. “I was waiting for you.” I wanted to keep quiet. Summer’s energy was so addictive. “Do you know that you’re sick?” I worriedly asked. “Yes, I know this,” Summer barked. “The doctors say I have a very good womb. They poked around in there and were pretty fascinated.” She began leaning against me with all her weight; her head shot up into the sky with deep and secure satisfaction. I kissed Summer’s hand. Her eyes were shut, but she smiled. Summer looked like a goddess in her dark green overcoat. Her head was wrapped in a scarf concealing all but a trickle of her red and thin young hair. I kissed her on the lips. “Don’t, are you sure we should do this?” Summer hesitantly asked. “I want the experience,” I confirmed. Summer’s mouth pounced suddenly onto mine. Her entire body heaved in my direction. Summer had now made another partial surrender. We went out for Chinese and talked late into the night.

Day Nine:
The Indians continued to play around. I took Summer to see the Josefov. We savored the intense energies of the Jewish black and white magicians. Summer peered into the cold rooms and heaved silently. She understood the energies, but felt they were unfamiliar. “They’re unhealthy, I don’t like them.” She proclaimed. Sadness and fear clung to the old ghetto as Summer hunched her muscular neck. This was not her place. We both knew this. I sketched the tombstones onto paper with pastel butts and ripped up my work into shreds as an offering to the hungry locals. Summer sat nearby watching it all intently, but with an air of detachment. We looked at the hawkers milking the old Jewish past for all it was worth. And then we left.
Summer took my hand and said: “Let’s go to the Hrad.” The Hrad, the seat of Czech government and the possible inspiration for Kafka’s castle. Havel was now enthroned and the Golem was on vacation. It was in front of St. Vitus cathedral that I almost collapsed. Summer touched my forehead with her own in an almost wild impulse and our energies began to fuse like an angry electric shock. I felt boundary loss as the Hrad’s spirits laughed at me and my dilemma. I was finally discovering SUMMER. We sat down and started to neck. I kissed Summer’s shoulder and licked her long and sturdy neck. Summer swooned and shut her eyes. “No, don’t,” she pushed away. “Not right now. I want to, but not right now.” I stopped in disappointment. “I don’t want to get confused,” she firmly said, “and I don’t want you to get confused.” Her long bony and beautiful hands clasped my face. “Let’s go home.” The freeze had begun. Day Ten:
Earth from outer space inside a dream:
The earth will cease to exist when the sun swells out in its dying phase and vaporizes this insignificant planet (we guess) about four or five billion years from now, long before the Universe ends (or begins again) Our little planet is turning jewel-like and vulnerable in its transparent skin. It is releasing tiny seeds into its own near space as a huddled figure with thumb stuck out flutters and flirts somewhere near Alabama.

I bought a new Olympus camera and contacted the Jordanians in Vienna. They said a visa could be had within twenty-four hours and it would cost nothing. The Indians were still stalling. How I despised them! I stayed away from Summer all day. A strange distance was growing and I was at a complete loss. Time was running out in Prague. I had to keep to my schedule. The Poles were waiting and my mission in Karlin was unfinished. I wondered aloud if Summer was a tulku. I walked around the Stare Mesto gulping in Czech misery. Bohemia had been a battle-ground for Germans and Czechs, Protestants and Catholics with “the poor Jews” caught in the middle. I felt DISSONANCE. The white Stress was seeping in from Berlin. The violent energies were moving again. Where would the black demons slither out from this time? I felt CONFUSION. My mind and body ached with pains of withdrawal. Summer’s energy was in me now. I had to release her poison and retain her nectar. Summer’s boyfriend was manipulating the pause and creating a most terrible misunderstanding. We were rapidly sinking into a tension spiral. I felt exhausted and miserable.

Day Eleven:
I dreamed of an intruder breaking into a hotel and woke up in a cold sweat. The second day of COLD WAR sputtered on endlessly. I was beginning to have an aversion for Summer. I went to visit Kafka’s grave, but got to the cemetery too late. I had to content myself with a peek from a distance through some iron railings. I asked Summer if she wanted to go out of Prague for a day. A castle called Konopiste seemed inviting. Summer refused and retreated in confusion. I disappeared into the night. The space had now become too small for the energies being released. A perturbation was needed to get Summer moving.
Day Twelve:
Two in the morning: 
Summer’s boyfriend started coughing in his sleep. Soon he was up; and started dragging Summer into the bathroom for one of their “night sessions.” I asked Summer what was the matter. She seized the moment and jumped onto my bed. Her bare feet clung to the bedsheets as she squatted almost on top of me, taking my hand and grinning a wide Cheshire Cat smile. “Oh, it’s just him you know. His father issues are coming up.” Summer was wearing a white silk bathrobe underneath her partially bare bony chest. Her long white silk pants rested on my lap. Summer’s face was covered in darkness, a faint light from the street silhouetted her beautifully sculpted face. It was a strange face. One that could look long and thin or round and compact, depending on the angle of vision. “Go talk to him and come back when you’re done. Tell him to stay in the bathroom. It’s important.” I ordered. Summer scampered off and eventually came back after what seemed like eons. 
“What’s the matter with you?” I barked. “My asking you to go to Konopiste was not an invitation, it was a summons. Do you really think we can go back to business as usual after what we’ve been doing?” I was impatient and exhausted. “Yes, yes,” chirped Summer. “We can never go back, we can never go back, I’ll gladly go to Konopiste with you tomorrow.” The fault-lines were shifting and groaning again for the final push. “Why did you refuse to go earlier?” I impatiently asked. Summer’s face clouded up into a pressured haze. She weighed her thoughts carefully. “I don’t know, I got confused. I thought I was being snubbed.” I began to address my little angel quietly, but firmly. “You sometimes annoy me, no you annoy me a lot, but I care so much about you, I look the other way.” I barely finished my sentence, before Summer blurted out: “I FEEL THE SAME ABOUT YOU!” She clutched my arm tightly. I cleared my throat. “Tomorrow, you will be initiated into the secret breath. Our time is coming to an end here. Give me tomorrow,” I paused. “I promise you that we will meet again. It kills me to leave you.” Summer adjusted her legs and drew me closer. “Let’s do the breath now,” I commanded. Summer drew even closer and sat cross-legged across me. I blew into her mouth and she began to gasp and heave violently, losing her balance and flipping backward. I grabbed her arms as she landed on her back, her head almost touching the floor. Summer’s eyes were closed and her mouth gapped wide open exhibiting her flawless white teeth. “Are you all right?” I anxiously asked. “What are you experiencing?” Summer opened her eyes and said one word: “TIMELESSNESS!” 
The Indians finally surrendered. I got the visa. Summer waited in the lobby of the embassy as I haggled with the Indians for one last hour. The protectors of the inner mandala had opened the doors at last. I was going to India! Summer and I took a train to Benesov from the main station, Hlavni Nadrazi. We walked a mile through the forest to get to Konopiste. It was early autumn and a riot of oranges and yellows greeted us. The trees were shedding their coats. It was an awesome sight and a spectacular day for PUJA. There was power in the air, there was beauty, and there was joy. Summer and I were free at last. It was time to explore a little selfless love; while living in a very stressed out world. There really was no time to lose.
Summer was dressed in her usual green overcoat. She wore green pants and was booted and scarved. Summer looked like the queen of the forest. Her every movement bore an unqualified and instant mark of gracefulness. Summer’s heart began to race. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Oh, don’t you know?” she impatiently retorted. “I have a heart problem. The muscles of my rib block my heart. I have to snap my ribs twice a day to stay alive. The doctors can’t help me.”

Konopiste castle had some strange karma. It had been the happy hunting ground of the guy who got blown away at Sarajevo. The guy whose death touched off World War I. Hundreds of animal heads were on display inside the castle. We arrived late and couldn’t get in because of the haggling with the Indians. We didn’t mind though, it was a great day for pictures. It really was. WE watched a lone peacock strut by. I was exhausted. I lay my head on Summer’s lap and she stroked my sweaty hair. We were almost saying good-bye in case the day ended in disaster. It didn’t. Summer passed with flying colors. Without permission from my teacher, I initiated her into the secret breath. I asked the guides for protection and they delivered. The most dangerous of the choking sludge clogging Summer’s subtle centers was released and transformed. After the surgery, we lay on a blanket in the rapidly darkening forest. “You’re very special, my dear,” Summer cooed. “You give me such immense joy.” I was falling asleep from fatigue.

Day Thirteen:
The energy has drastically shifted with Konopiste. It was the turning point for Summer and I. We were now spiritual lovers. Hints of marriage floated subtly in the air. “I believe so!” Summer bleated to something I had said in the train on the way back. I no longer remembered my end of the conversation, but Summer’s bleat was unforgettable. Her cold calculating blue eyes stared out into space; and glittered like lost jewels in the pale light of the train compartment. Summer’s angel ivory skin seemed to radiate. The promise of life was hers for the asking. She had plans. I could feel them bubbling up in her head. Summer’s kisses were tender. She hated conflict and enjoyed our easy give and take.

It was a new day. Summer slept in and I took off with her boyfriend to look for a luggage rack. None could be found in all of Prague. So I bought a baby carriage. I ate a late lunch with Summer’s boyfriend, the odd-man out throughout the whole drama, and learned that he had a completely FUCKED-UP childhood. He didn’t trust life; and he had “Heart disease.” His emotional armor was so thick that Summer’s spell couldn’t weave its way into him. All his energy was spent resisting her. Surrender was an alien concept to this angry survivor. This lower-chakra lover. I hated him. His higher centers were completely blocked. This asshole lived off all kinds of paranoid fantasies. He munched off Summer like a puppy chewing on a stale biscuit. He was convinced I was planning to gouge his eyes out while he was sleeping. “Yes, yes, yes,” I said, paying no attention to him. I was worried about Summer. I was leaving her and I knew this would be hard on her, on me. How could we dampen the pain of attachment? The clatter of plates on the table banged me to distraction. The Czech waitress smiled at me. She had a gold tooth.
I returned to the apartment and Summer ordered her boyfriend to leave. It was time to do one last puja. I covered Summer with a blanket and told her to breathe gently. I stroked her perfumed hair and played a classical Indian raga tape. Summer burst into tears. “It’s alright,” she said. “I was in India long ago and it was all taken away from me. I’m letting go now.” We honored Mahakala with wine and thanked him for his assistance. Summer was now coming back to her Tantric roots. She blew the secret breath into me for the first time. We turned on the karmic TV and watched our former marriages in Germany and Poland in living color. The secret breath was now opening up our subtle memory banks. As well as unplugging our clogged and swollen subtle channels. Summer took off her green sweater and I saw that she wore a black leotard under her jeans. I took off my shirt. It was getting hot and steamy in the room. Summer got into the Yabyum position with me. It was all coming back furiously to her. Summer was in her old element. We were joining our subtle circuits and circulating our energies. Our two minds were fusing into a single thought and creating a powerful force. A force that needed careful harnessing. Summer affectionately kissed my hand and looked into my eyes. Our auric egg was pulsing and throbbing with new vibrations. Summer was excited. Our hearts were melting and expanding like a slow fugue. The apartment had turned into a temple. All our words were now prayers. Summer’s terribly abused womb was now being reconsecrated. She felt like a goddess. Her menstrual flow was a holy river. The tender nipples of her still young and growing breasts nourished the world. This was the TANTRIC VISION. A vision forgotten by the west. Summer was now free and she was a sacred consort. Could anyone possibly understand this?
I sucked Summer’s finger and pointed it towards a map. I told her to close her eyes and follow the energies. We traced our karma throughout the world on my atlas. We dived into India. We traveled to Jordan. We relaxed in Poland. Summer pursed her lips in satisfaction. We kissed deeply in a muted celebration. Summer would not, could not stop now. Her long and velvet arms clutched me tightly. Summer enjoyed and worshipped physical pressure. I noticed that her tall and lanky legs had coiled around my waist and had been securely locked by her claw-like bare feet. Summer would not be denied. “I’m double-jointed you know,” she declared with confidence. “I can twist into all kinds of things.” Summer was triumphant. Her cat, Ophelia, was cowering in one of the corners of the room. I could see cat food strewn all over the carpet. 
Day Fourteen:
Summer was excited as she got dressed for our final day together. I had bought a train ticket to Krakow and was leaving late in the evening. We took off for the Hrad again. Summer had insisted on this. She radiated and her happiness was addictive. Summer knew what she wanted now. She wanted me, and only me, and promised to quit smoking. We sat on some steps leading up to the Hrad and gently embraced. I gave Summer a mala, a kind of Tibetan rosary. “This will be our signaling device. Do the mantra every day for ten rounds.” Summer was ecstatic. “Oh, such joy!” I also gave Summer a picture of the Tibetan heavy Summer had taken a liking to, the one at the front of my altar. Indeed, he had been watching over us all along.
Summer was wearing earrings in honor of our last day. She also wore brown designer slacks with a matching tan vest. Her shirt underneath was orange and her bare white shoulders were slightly exposed. I was going out in style with an actress. Summer clutched her black purse as I took some last photos of her next to the Valtava river. She was a natural poser. It was an ingrained instinct Summer had cultivated somewhere. The autumn sun warmed our backs as we sat down on a bench near the Hrad. Summer’s arms were wrapped around me. “It’s so much like a drug, this thing, this passion.” she warned. “I’ve been looking for a spiritual man for quite some time,” Summer further declared. “You don’t mind that I’m eighteen?” she cautiously probed. “No!” I decisively exclaimed, hoping to quell her doubts. “You know, Jim Morrison was such a lousy poet,” Summer muttered. “I mean he didn’t know anything about love.” I sat quietly, fully content with the moment. The tourist hordes trampled past us. “More peacocks,” Summer announced, alluding to our voyeur friend from Konopiste. “Look at them. They’re afraid something terrible might happen.” What terrible thing could possibly happen on a day like this? I wondered to myself.
Day turned into night, Summer and I had inspected the underground crypts inside St. Vitus cathedral. The rooms were dank and musty. This was our dense little home. Havel was nowhere to be seen. He was probably too busy cleaning up all the psychic sludge left by the Commies and the Nazis “You know, it’s like Prague’s got some kind of mono,” Summer quietly revealed. “It’s gonna take awhile for this place to heal.” She was right. The Brown and Red demons had copulated and violated this beautiful and stagnant city. The vortex was now open again, and Summer and I were like orphans in the storm. We embraced and kissed quietly on Kampa island. Summer had let go of all her inhibitions. Her tight embrace signaled to me her anxiety and excitement. Our union was forever. We both knew this now. The separation that was upon us was just that, a physical separation. Our hearts and minds would always be together regardless of space and time. We had been tested in Prague and more tests were coming. This was what marriage was all about. Summer and I were pioneering something very old, and something very new. “Never forget me,” Summer quietly whispered into my freezing ear. The loud din of traffic distracted me and enveloped us. This was IT. The mysterious IT of saints and mystics. Our tongues caressed softly and quietly in the dark. Summer was in love. This extraordinary little angel who had mastered Japanese and German at an early age and was now plowing through Finnegan’s Wake was now most certainly in love.
We returned to the apartment. I was rubbing Summer’s ice cold feet, when her boyfriend barged back in. I packed and left for the train station. I was catching the vortex train to Poland and beyond. I was on a mission. I nestled back into my seat inside the pitch darkness. I could see in my mind’s eye Summer kissing me one last time at the door of her apartment. The one she paid the rent for. Her boyfriend was broke. The train groaned and heaved its way towards a seemingly and completely unknown destination. That’s when I felt her. Summer was saying one last good-bye. Her face appeared suddenly in the compartment. It smiled and grew larger and larger. Yeah, Summer had her ways and she was determined to show them to me. I felt a gentle warmth filling me and the entire train compartment. Summer’s boyfriend had taken me to the train station and declared: “If she has sex with anyone, I’LL LEAVE HER!” I pressed my face against the cold glass of the train window and began to cry.


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