Perfect Peace [part 6]

Paul loved books and prided himself in his growing collection of them, mostly for the air of sophistication they lent him when inviting people into his home.

He did love to read about various topics ranging from do-it-yourself and investments to more esoteric stuff like paranormal research but often noted that he would probably never get the time to read them all.

He had always dreamed of writing books for himself and so viewed the book as a crowning human achievement, but his collection was like his life: having sufficient resources to gather but not enough time to actually enjoy.

Anne took in a yoga class under the golden sun and a clear blue sky on the grass in the middle of the park.

It was an idyllic scene to behold, and Paul felt pretty lucky watching her from a distance while he and the kids ate lunch at a picnic table.

A bookseller nearby had tables full of books, which caught Paul’s eye.

While the kids ate, he wandered over and began to browse the wares. With the day’s experiences running through his mind, he was on a mission to find answers, and what better place than in a book?

What was great about books, in Paul’s opinion, was that they were noncommittal. He could buy some books and read them when he felt like it. Not like joining a club or group, where people would expect him to participate and attend more gatherings like these, where he really had to think about who he was and where he was going.

He found books that caught his curiosity about meditation, mysticism, and transcendental yogic practices. After what he had witnessed earlier, his sense of wonder had been rekindled.

Within a few minutes of shopping, he held an armful of new and used books that he just had to have. The bookseller offered him a cardboard box to help carry the new acquisitions. He thanked them and joined the kids at the picnic table.

Once the three were finished, they heard an announcement that a performance was about to begin at the bandstand, so they proceeded toward it.

They sat on the bench as a Sufi Qawwali group began a transfixing performance of tabla drums, sitars, and what looked like a horizontal accordion. The music was accompanied by vocals that they didn’t understand but hypnotized them regardless.

The Qawwali music was so fitting with the otherworldly nature of the day and impressed Paul so deeply that he walked away at the end of the set feeling like he was walking on air. In the process, he forgot the box of books under his seat.

Anne joined them, and they all looked and felt happy with themselves and being together. Paul was really glad she had dragged him here today.

“I had a great yoga class! I learned some new poses, and oh my God, I feel so good after…” Anne said.

“That’s great, honey. The kids and I had lunch and saw an amazing band; you probably heard them from where you were. They were fantastic! And I got some new books… Shit! I forgot the books at the bandstand.”

“Well, let’s see if they’re still there,” Anne suggested.

“Good idea,” Paul replied.

They went to the seating area, where a trio played classical Chinese instruments. The box of books was gone.

Paul was pissed off now, his elated bubble burst out of frustration at his own carelessness. He approached one of the robed monks and asked if there was a lost and found area at this event.

The monk replied, “Yes, of course! Come with me, and I will show you the way.”

And so they did.

They moved away from the throng of people into a nearby temple set into the mountain, were shown down a corridor, and sat in an office.

The monk told Paul that he had to go and collect his box of books. Despite taking pride in his sense of direction, he began to notice that this structure seemed to defy normal spatial rules as he tried to navigate the hallways.

It was unlike any building he had ever been in before. The more times he turned a corner, it seemed the less orientation he was able to grasp.

There weren’t any discernible landmarks, as the corridors became increasingly similarly bland and featureless.

Was this some kind of joke? Paul wondered.

He increased his pace as if hurrying would help him find his way back.

But every hallway seemed to lead nowhere in particular. All the doors were locked, and the décor seemed more like an office than an Eastern temple.

Each corridor seemed the same as the last, and every turn seemed an exact duplicate of the one before. Just as Paul was beginning to despair, he found a stairway leading down.

The stairway also seemed to go an unnaturally long way, and at the bottom, Paul found himself in the mountain’s bowels. The walls were a damp, rough-hewn rock that gave the impression of ancient origins.

“Where am I?” Paul said to himself.

He felt as if he’d been thrust into a nightmare.