“This is a dream.”
“Do you wish to stay here in Pure Land, sinner?”
“Of course I don’t wish to stay here in Pure Land.”
“I, Amithaba, hold the sole key to existence. Behold me, sinner, bow down before me and be saved.”
“I will not.”
“Bow down in humility and I will save you.”
“This is a nightmare …”
Amithaba’s eyes popped open and he stared directly into my eyes. “All the goodness of the universe is gathered in my name,” he said. “Speak my name now, sinner.”
“I will not.”
“Speak my name and surrender to me, sinner, surrender to me NOW.”
“NO.”
“Say ‘Amithaba … Amithaba … Amithaba …’”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO!”
I woke up in a cold sweat. “In hindsight, I really shouldn’t have eaten that pig’s delight,” I remember thinking.
27
“When you are gone, master, what will become of us, who will lead us?” Ananda asked two nights before my death.
“My ideas will continue to lead you, Ananda.”
“Some of the monks have been asking questions, master. ‘Why did the Tathagata not appoint a successor?’ they say.”
“What do you tell them, Ananda?”
“‘How could anyone replace such a supremely enlightened being? The Perfect One’s gaze is penetrating, his ideas are unprecedented and his beauty is indescribable. How dare you ask such a question?’”
“That is good.”
“‘The Tathagata is the flower of all mankind, a beautiful gem of many facets who cannot possibly be replaced, that is why he left us no successor.’”
“Exactly right, Ananda. Well done.”
“‘But why should not the Tathagata’s son lead us?’ some of the monks have asked.”
“What’s that?”
“‘Rahula is not his father, monks,’” I tell them.
“Not even close.”
“‘But what about you, Ananda?’ some of the monks have said. ‘Why don’t you lead us? After all, you have been with the Tathagata for over forty years now.’”
“You cannot possibly be the leader, Ananda.”
“That is what I told them, master.”
“Good … Good.” (MPB 4)
Near bedtime, I glanced over at Ananda, who was staring back at me with a troubled look on his face. “You have something else you need to speak to me about, old friend?” I inquired gently.
“I need your guidance, master.”
“I am listening, my friend.”
Ananda crossed and sat at my feet. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke in a hectic rush. “As I have been begging in the nearby village, master, I have seen a woman numerous times and this woman has been quite generous with me, she has invited me into her home, even offered me tea, she is very kind and soft-spoken, master, and curious too, she has asked me about the sangha, about dharma and nirvana, and I have answered her and that is alright, isn’t it, master, isn’t it alright?”
Tears welled in Ananda’s eyes. He was obviously desperately in need of spiritual guidance. “You have fallen under this woman’s spell, I think, haven’t you, old friend?” I said softly, patting his hand.
“I think I have, master, yes.”
“And that is because she is a witch.”
“A witch … ?”
“You have been weak, Ananda, but that is not your fault, because this witch has been weakening you.”
“So … may I not continue visiting with her, master?”
“No, Ananda, you must avoid this witch completely.”
“But what if I do see her?”
“Ignore her completely. Do not even acknowledge her.”
“What if she speaks to me ?”
“Walk past her like you do not even hear her, treat her like she does not even exist, like she is invisible.” (MPB 5:9)
“But master—”
“I have told you this again and again, Ananda: Women are crocodiles in the river of life, do you still not grasp that?”
“I have come to know this woman, master, and I don’t believe she is a witch, or a crocodile either. I cannot help but feel that she and I are both human beings, master, that we are somehow alike, that we might even in some sense help each other.”
I stared at Ananda in silence for a long moment until he suddenly cracked. “Oh, I am so weak, master! In spite of all your magnificent teachings, this harlot has bewitched me.”
“Everything will be alright now, Ananda.”
“Women are so horribly evil, aren’t they, master?”
“Yes, Ananda, they certainly are.”
“I feel so defiled by this witch, so corrupted. Will I ever achieve nirvana, master?”
“It may take an extremely long time, Ananda, hundreds of billions of years, possibly even trillions, but eventually, yes, I think you will.”
I heard Ananda weeping softly as I drifted off to sleep.
The next day we were on the move again. While I was near death, understand that I still maintained many of my “magical abilities.” That day, for example, because I felt quite thirsty, I asked Ananda to get me some water. (I was extremely dehydrated by this time, as you might imagine, due to my violent, bloody diarrhea.) As the only water nearby was a stagnant little pool that had collected along the side of the road, Ananda shook his head. “This water is dirty, master. If you can wait a bit longer, we will be at the river.”
“Bring me water NOW, Ananda,” I insisted. Ananda turned back to the muddy little pool and gasped in shock when he saw that it had turned perfectly clear and bright. (MPB 4:24) Not long after that, more magic: We were standing on the edge of the river, wanting to cross it but with no way of doing so. I waved my arms around and suddenly—we were on the other side! (UD 8:5–6; MV 6:29) Ananda looked at me, stunned. I felt so pleased about this moment that I broke into song:
I am the Perfect One
Vibrant as a perfect sun
I am the Perfect One
Very soon my life is done!
“Master?” Ananda whispered to me later that night.
“Hm?”
“I have been wondering—have you and I shared previous lifetimes together?”
I smiled warmly over at him. “Of course we have, Ananda.”
“And have I aided you, master?”
“Indeed you have, old friend.” With an effort, I went up one elbow and looked at him.
“Once I was a sprite who lived in a forest, Ananda. Near where I lived
