A COURSE IN MIRACLES PART II of II

Heide sat down on a chair that I had borrowed from my neighbours. Sounds of crickets and bats entered the dim room through the glassless window. The ceiling fan was wafting warm air onto my body. I was lying down on my bed with my eyes closed, my tape-recorder switched on.

(The following text is a brief summary of an original 20-page transcript).

“I would like you to breathe in and out deeply a few time,” Heide said with her soft, gentle voice. “You feel totally relaxed. When I count from three to one, you sink into an even deeper form of relaxation. Your mind is empty of thoughts. “Three. You feel relaxed. Two. You are now fully relaxed. One. In your mind you are looking down at your feet. What do you see?”
“I see boots. Leather boots. Big boots.”
“What colour?”
“Brown. Brown leather boots.”
“And where are you standing?”
“I’m standing on grass. It’s swampy.”
“Swampy?”
“Yes. The grass is wet.”
“Look around you. What do you see?”
“Grass. Swampy grass. I am standing on a grass field. There is a rivulet close by. Its water is very clear. I want to drink from it.”
“Then drink from it.”
“Don’t worry, I am already drinking from it. Its beautiful water. Cristal clear water.”
“Where is this grass field?”
“It’s some sort of meadow. It’s an alpine meadow. I am rather high up a mountain.”
“Turn round. What do you see behind you?”
“High mountains. Snow mountains with sharp peaks.”
“And what is in front of you?”
“Also mountains, but these are lower and their tops are round and smooth, easier to cross than the mountains behind me.”
“What do you see on your right?”
“O! There is a big horse. A black one.”
“And on your left?”
“In the distance I see a valley with a lake. There’s a white horse.”
“Can you have a look at yourself?”
“How?”
“Step outside yourself and have a look. What do you look like?”
“O fuck! I am ugly and old! I am an old man. My face is dark and my skin looks like leather.”
“You don’t have to cry. It’s all in the past. What kind of clothes are you wearing?”
“I am wearing a Mongolian hat. It’s old. My clothes look dirty. It’s a thick black coat.”
“Are you Mongolian?”
“Yes. A nomad. I am old. I am about to die, but I don’t know that yet.”
“How do you die?”
“Just like that. I stop breathing. I die of old age.”
“What year is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s not important where we live. But it’s very long ago.”
“What happened after you death?”
“Nothing.”
“And after nothing. What happens?”
“I am alive again.”
“Who are you.”
“I am a boy.”
“How old are you?”
“About sixteen.”
“Where do you live?”
“I live in a tent. A white one. I hate my parents. They’re not nice to me. My father beats me. He hates me.”
“What do you do?”
“I run away.”
“Where to?”
“I take two horses and travel to China.”
“Do you arrive in China?”
“Yes. I am doing well.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I am a business man. I am not sure whether my business is legal, but it brings in a lot of money. I live in a big city. The houses are made of wood and stone. There is electricity. I see cars. They look like cars the way they made them in the 1920s and 30s. I am rich. I drink a lot. I live in a hotel on the second floor. There’s music coming from a bar further down the street. A piano. I never heard the sounds of a piano before. I like it. It’s a bit out of tune. I sleep with many women. I pay them. And I drink a lot. I am always drunk and have a good time with many women, sometimes more than one at the same time.”
“What do these women look like?”
“They look like hookers but they’re pretty because I have some cash to spend. I am rich.”
“What kind of business do you have?”
“I engage in transactions. I traffic stuff.”
“People?”
“No. Opium.”
“How old are you?”
“I am twenty six. At least that is what I tell people. I am a little younger.”
“And which city do you live in?”
“Let me see. Strange. It looks British to me. No. It’s not British. It’s colonial. I think I am in Shanghai.”
“Shanghai?”
“Yes. I engage in business with some people over there.”
“Tell me more about that.”
“I spend much time talking with older men in some sort of gentlemen’s club. It has a big clock above the entrance. It has a very high ceiling and old British furniture. There's a lot of smoke in the room. I have some sort of prominent status over there. Because I am rich and I help those old men overthere.”
“Are you Chinese?”
“No. I am Mongolian. I ran away from my parents because my father beat me. I travelled to China. I like China. I relate well to Chinese. My business in Shanghai is going fine. I am selling stuff to these old men in the gentlemen’s club. They look like westerners to me.”
“From which country?”
“I don’t know. They look like British to me. They speak English. I also hear some people speaking French.”
“And what do you sell them?”
“I don’t know, but whatever I do, it’s not stuff I could say out loud. But I make people happy.”
“What do you look like?”
“Oh, I am very handsome. I have just changed my appearance. In my early years in China I had long hair in a pigtail and I would dress in traditional Chinese robes, but in Shanghai I went to a tailor who made some fine western suits for me. I look very dandy. My hair has a western style and I am wearing glasses. I look like a gentleman. My skin is white. I speak Mandarin. The Chinese accept me as one of their own. The western men think I am Chinese.”
“So what happens after that?”
“The country is in trouble. There are rumours that we’re going to be occupied by the Japs. I don’t like it. It disturbs my business and I fear getting killed by these bloody Nipponese. My contacts with the government tell me I should get out of the city.”
“What do you do?”
“I flee the country. It makes me feel sad. I like China. I was happy.”
“Where do you go?”
“I go to Lhasa?”
“Lhasa? Where is Lhasa?”
“Lhasa is in Tibet. It takes me two years to get there. It’s a hell of a journey.”
“I see. What do you do in Lhasa?”
“Fight with some drunk Tibetans because they think I am Chinese and they don’t like me.”

"Why not?"

"I am popular with some girls and I have taken a girl who belonged to one Tibetan."
“So what happens?”
“These bastards kill me.”
“How?”
“I am walking in an alley at night, minding my own business and these bastards, three of them, ambush me. One has a dagger and he cuts off my head. The fucking idiot. If he had known that I was a Mongolian he would not have done that.”
“So what happens after that?”
“I am small.”
“I see. How small?”
“I am a baby.”
“Where were you born?”
“In Amdo.”
“Amdo? Where is that country?”
“It’s not a country. It’s a province of Phoyul.”
“Where is Phoyul?”
“Phoyul is a very big country north of Bhutan, India and Nepal, and South-West of China.”
“Phoyul?”
“Yes.”
“What is the capital of Phoyul?”
“Hlassae.”
“Hlassae?”
“Yes. Hlassae.”
“I don’t know that country. North of India and Nepal? Are you talking about Tibet?”
“Yes. It’s called Phoyul in Tibetan.”
“And Hlassae is Lhasa?”
“Yes, it’s the capital. But I was born in Amdo. I’ve never been to Hlassae. I've been to Shigatse, but never to Hlassae. I am from a rich family, a noble family. We live in a very nice house. We have many people working for us in the house and on the land, but we treat them well. I am their Master.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m a young man, but I am the oldest son and I took over our estate after my father died.”
“So you’re a nobleman, a master. Are you married?”
“No. I don’t like women. I like them as friends, but I don’t like to get married to a woman.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love my boyfriend.”
“Do the two of you live together?”
“No. He’s from Ladakh in Western Phoyul. It’s a small kingdom. I met him when I travelled to Leh. I met his parents.”
“What is his name?”
“His name is Lde. He’s a son of the King and Queen of Leh. He’s very handsome.”
“I see. And what is your name?”
“My name is Tenzin Pantau.”
“Oh. Isn’t that the name you mentioned when we met at the restaurant earlier this evening? Pantau?”
“I never met you. Did you meet me in Amdo?”
“Okay, I understand. So you had a relationship with the son of the King and the Queen of Leh? What was his name again?”
“Was? Not was! His name is Lde. He’s handsome and he can speak my language.”
“And what about you? What do you look like?”
“I am always wearing nice chupas and I love my hat. It’s a top hat with four flaps of fox fur. My chupa has leopard skin. It’s beautiful. I like my boots. My father gave them to me. I have a handsome face. My hands are beautiful.”
“Does your father know about your relationship with Lde?”
“My father is dead. My family knows that we’re friends. I love my mother. I have three sisters. They don’t know we love each other like husband and wife. My oldest sister knows. I told her.”
“You said you spent time with his family?”
“In Ladakh, yes. They live outside HLeh in a small Palace called Schtock. They like me. Lde and I travel to Hlassae.”
“What year is that?”
“1957 or 1958. I am not sure. We don't care about time.”
“What is your life like in Lhasa?”
“There are problems with the Chinese. Lde and I travel back to Amdo to meet with my mother and siblings. I tell them I am going back to Hlassae and I want their approval and blessing of the lamas in our monastery. On our way to Hlassae I rescue a small boy that can’t speak. Lde and I adopt him as our son. We go back to the capital and speak with Kundun.”
“Kundun?”
“Yes. He’s the King of Phoyul. He lives in the Potala Podrang.”
“The King of Tibet? Who’s that? Kundun?”
“His Holiness the Dalai Lama. He tells me not to provoke the Chinese. I am very angry and want to kick them out of our country. But Kundun says not to provoke them.”
“I see. What happens after that?”
“The Chinese receive word of my plans to organise an uprising. They want to kill me."
“What do you do?”
“Lde and I and the boy travel to Nepal. We rent 4 rooms in Kathmandu and send the boy to school. I want him to study with the monks in a monastery. A few years later Lde and I go back to Hlassae but we get arrested. Lde can’t prove that he is a prince and a son of the royal family of Leh. They put us in a labour camp outside Hlassae. The Chinese are brutal. They hurt me. They take Lde away from me. It breaks my heart. I fear that they are going to kill him.”
“And what do the Chinese do to you?”
“They hit me on the head.”
“And what happens then?”
“I die.”
“What year is that?”
“1963.”
“What happens after that?”
“I have no body.”
“You’re alone?”
“No. I have no body. I am flying.”
“Okay. And what happens after your flight?”
“Don’t want to talk about that. I see a painting. An oil painting.”
“An oil painting?”
“Yes. It's made in Flanders, I think. It is a portrait of me.”
“You were reborn in Flanders?”
“No. I am talking about my being in France. Paris. The painting was made by a Flemisch painter.”
“So you were reborn in France after 1963?”
“No. After flying I was born in Nederland in 1965. Here I am talking about my life in the 17th century in Paris.”
“O. So you are going back in time?”
“What time? There is no such thing as time. I am well-dressed. I am wearing a strange white wig and a lilac suit jacket. A shirt with ruffles.”
“Are you a nobleman?”
“Far from it. I am a killer.”
“A killer?”
“I enjoy killing people. I execute people by chopping their heads off with a dagger in public. Bad people. Poor people, witches, thiefs, rapists, scumbags, children. And I kill them. I have the authority to kill. I don’t like this. Can I end this please? I want to stop.”
“Sure. I will count from three to one and you will slowly get out of your trance. Three. You are slowly waking up. Two. You open your eyes. Take in a deep breath. One. Don’t get up. Just remain like this for a few moments.”
(A few minutes of silence).
“Can I have some water please?”
“How are you feeling?”
“Flabbergasted.”
“Do you remember what you said?”
“Yes. Every word. I have no idea where all this information comes from.”
“Your tape ran out after an hour. I decided to make notes of the rest of the conversation as I thought it was highly interesting.”
“The tape ran out? It was a one-hour tape. What time is it?”
“It’s half past 2. You’ve been in your trance for four and a half hours.”
“Four and a half hours? It felt like only half an hour. This is crazy. I talked for 4,5 hours?”
“Yes. I have put many people in trance and made them travel back to previous lives but, o my, you are quite something. I have never met anyone who spoke in such detail. And you spoke about 4 different lives. And you remember every word?”
“Yes.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay. I need to contemplate on all this. It’s kind of new to me. I kind of knew a bit of history about Pantau and Lde, but I didn’t know about the Mongolians and the French killer. Very weird. Do you believe this is all true or do I just have a lively imagination? I am a novelist after all. This is how I write books you know. Fantasy. Imagination. Creative thinking. Getting yourself into some trance and make things up. You should see me writing after smoking a spliff. I come up with stuff that I didn’t even know I had in me.”
“Do you believe in reincarnation?”
“I am not sure. I am sceptical.”
“Don’t you believe in what you just told me? All those details about so many different lives? Four and a half hours of describing 4 lives? You can listen to your own voice on the tape and read my notes.”
“I am sceptical. Bring me some scientists and historians from the USA and let them confirm that what I said is true.”
“I see. It's a bit late right now but I would like to explain a few things to you about what you said...next time I see you.”