Chapter sixteen: the lesson of the luggage.

   Tanzan and Ekido were once traveling together down a muddy road. A
   heavy rain was still falling. Coming around a bend, they met a
   lovely girl in a silk kimono and sash, unable to cross the
   intersection.

   "Come on, girl" said Tanzan at once. Lifting her in his arms, he
   carried her over the mud.

   Ekido did not speak again until that night when they reached a
   lodging temple. Then he no longer could restrain himself. "We monks
   do not go near females," he tom Tanzan, "especially not young and
   lovely ones. It is dangerous. Why did you do that?"

   "I left the girl there, " said Tanzan. "Are you still carrying
   her?" (56)

Still sitting in reverie under the tree in that open field, I felt as if time was standing still. Images flashed before me of some of my recent adventures, of Raven and Dolphin, of Sun and Moon. I felt warm, and satisfied. An image came upon me, dimly outlined yet vividly detailed, of the vision quest with Owl. I easily entered into the fourth night's dreams in which I was on the security staff at an airport, watching people file past with their luggage, on the way to boarding a plane. They all seemed uncertain and confused. And then a realization hit me with the impact of a falling brick: there was a profound connection between their confusion and their luggage! Preoccupation with the baggage seemed to eclipse their ability to attend to their immediate experience. How different it might be for each of these people if they were free of the burden of packing and repacking it, carrying it, watching and guarding it, keeping track of it. Wherever you go, there you are. Your luggage is another story. (57)

What luggage was I carrying that slowed me down or kept me preoccupied? The probing question seemed to demand exploration, yet I continued to feel calm and unhurried. Certainly I could see how possessions often fit that description. And I could see how certain burdensome memories might as well. Then a remarkable sight came into view, in the center of the brain: a "smoke detector" to alert us when the heat of negative emotion becomes hazardous.(58) That smoke detector operates instinctually. It bypasses thinking and speaking altogether. It is vigilant for the comings and goings of intense negative emotion, alert to what lies beyond-the-horizon, to what is under-the-ground, or to what might be, and especially to what was. This smoke detector goes off even when it is reminded of a once threatening fire, or when it anticipates the possibility of smoldering embers to come. Such is the nature of luggage. Preoccupation with the baggage can eclipse our ability to attend to our immediate experience.

Have you ever tried to think clearly, or communicate coherently, with a smoke detector blasting away in your ear, shattering any hope of concentration, let alone tranquility? What a huge challenge that presents. Yet even greater is the difficulty of allowing the heat and fire to flare up without leaving a trace of smoke to set off the alarm. Is it possible to separate fire from smoke? Raven's lesson came to mind: we cannot separate the fieriness of fire from the warmth of fire. But fieriness is fire's essential nature; smoke is its baggage. I was getting confused, and needed guidance. I felt like reaching out to unknown resources, asking for help in understanding this confusing maze.

Recognizing their absolute nature makes it possible to free thoughts' as they emerge at the source, in such a way that they leave no traces. (59) Fire is fiery, and it is warm. It only produces smoke when it is left to smolder. Manage to embrace the essence of every experience, without becoming preoccupied, without baggage, without a trace.

Once again I became aware of sitting under the tree in that open field, accompanied by Raven and Dolphin, Sun and Moon, Bear and Butterfly. My mind was quiet, my soul was still. The tide was in.