A few days later, Honu knocked on my door.
“Flower Child, someone’s here to see you.”
My heart leapt. For one wild moment, I thought it might be Bodhi, but when I opened the door and saw Wheat, I wasn’t disappointed. He was the one who had glowed golden bright when I returned from the Buddha peyote trip at Magda’s house.
“I’m so glad to see you!” I said after throwing myself into his arms.
“How did you ¥nd me?”
“I went into the Conspiracy a few days ago and Taz told me you were at the Holokai Zendo,” he explained, clearly pleased he’d found me. I gestured for him to sit down, and he knelt on the tatami mat.
“How’s Bodhi and everyone?” I asked nervously, my voice shaky as the memories of my departure from the Soul Clan surfaced. Wheat wasn’t there when I left, but if he had been, I knew he would have been kind.
“He’s well. He sends his love,” Wheat said.
“And the Clan?”
“Everyone’s ¥ne. You know, the usual playful scene, except for Deva and Tree. They got pulled over and some dumb cop didn’t buy their love trip. Bastard searched their van and found their stash. The judge sent them up for ¥ve years,” he said bitterly. “We’re gathering funds for lawyers. We’re going to do everything we can to get them out. God, they even cut Deva’s hair,” Wheat moaned. “What’s prison going to do to the Never Come Down love angels?”
Stunned, feeling my heart explode with pain as I imagined Tree and Deva in prison, I could only murmur, “No, oh no.”
Wheat took my hand in his. Slowly my shock turned to tears, and I wept in his arms. Why was their ecstatic dance of life ending in a prison cell? What lesson was God giving them? How would Deva ‘Never Come Down’ in prison? Where was the love in that?
When I was still snif¥ng in his arms, Wheat whispered tenderly in my ear, “When I went back to Magda’s, you were gone. No one was willing to talk about anything real. So, what happened?”
Before I had time to answer, Wheat spoke again, “Bodhi and Magda are together now.”
The news hit me like cold water, washed over me, and left me clean. More quickly than I could have imagined, I shook off the ghosts from the past.
“That makes sense. They were so close. It’s cool,” I said, wondering why I didn’t feel angry or jealous.
“And Pedro? How’s he taking it?” “They worked it out somehow. Pedro’s been with Magda for ten years, and I guess they decided it was Bodhi’s turn. Pedro’s still going to live with them and, I guess they’re going to try to be one big happy drug dealing family.”
When he saw the look on my face, he added, “You never knew about that, did you? You came in like an angel, like one of Christ’s true disciples, believing the mirage. You never had a chance, but let me tell you, they’re acid and peyote pushers and dope dealers. Sure they’re fun, but you need to know what’s really happening in Magda’s home.”
“Do I?” I said. “I believed my own reality. I was so in love. I thought Bodhi was a god. I thought they were together because they loved each other, but there were so many undercurrents, so much going on that I never knew about. I thought they wanted me to be with Bodhi, but after the ¥rst few high weeks that kept them grooving in their drug fantasy, they were just waiting to get me out of the way so they could get back to normal. They were bugged I stayed so long. They got tired of hiding what they were doing. I don’t know why they didn’t tell me. I probably could have accepted it, but on second thought, I think I would have been too afraid to stay.”
“I’m not like Tree and Deva, I continued. “They acted like they were invincible. They believed that love would open all the doors, and look what happened to them. I could never take a chance that I’d be separated from my children. Nothing would be worth that,” I said.
I took a breath and kept talking. “When we were in San Francisco for the Fillmore Concert, Lola let me know that she had prior claims on Bodhi. She turned from a twin sister into competition. She told me that they were all his old girlfriends. Seems like he had a regular inªux of enchanted ladies, so he could keep himself up. ‘Never Come Down’ had more meaning than I had imagined in my blissed-out state.”
“And you’re probably wondering why I hang out with them, knowing how they pull people in and take them on their trip,” he said defensively. “The truth is, I bring them high acid and the best peyote going. I work with their heads and occasionally rescue some innocent from their clutches. You were too far gone to take off with me, though,” he joked.
“Yeah, I was, wasn’t I?” I laughed, wondering how it was that I could have been so blind. Considering the depth of my infatuation with Bodhi, it seemed incredible to be talking about him this way. More relaxed now that Wheat knew I’d cut loose from the Bodhi fantasy, he chatted about what was happening in the Summer of Love on the mainland. Suddenly he stopped talking and his eyes opened wide with surprise. He’d just noticed my swelling abdomen.
“Yes, I’m pregnant with my ex’s child. That’s why Bodhi and I split up, or at least that was his excuse,” I explained.
“How could he drop you like that? I wouldn’t have,” he said ¥ercely. “Having kids with you would be totally cool.” Heat ªamed on my cheeks. I turned away from the intensity of his gaze.
“How long will you stay on Maui?” I asked, changing the subject.
“A few days. I brought some high medicine for the island people from the Laguna Brotherhood of Eternal Love. It’s the best, the highest sacrament. I’ll pass it around, then head back to Laguna,” he said, watching Love play happily with her shells and stones. “It looks as if Hawaii agrees with you.”
“We’re happy here. My brothers and sister are loving and kind, and they’re real. I can talk to them, and they tell me who they are. As far as I know, there are no secrets here. Seems like the Zendo attracts a different kind of traveler.”
Wheat switched to a more intense energy as he leaned forward and looked deeply in my eyes before saying, “I dug what happened to you on your peyote trip, so I brought some orange sunshine for you. Let’s trip tomorrow.”
“Wow,” I said, taking a minute to get used to the idea. Orange sunshine was the best acid going. I wanted to trip with Wheat and see how high I could go, so I said, “Yes, let’s go for it.”
“How early can you be ready?” Wheat asked. “Let’s go at dawn. It’s so beautiful then. Ono can take care of Love. There’s a glorious place on the Hana Highway that’s perfect for a high trip.”

***

Early next morning, as nature’s dawn symphony wove its magic around us, we walked down Holokai Road. Soft, warm breezes tossed the grasses, leaves, and blossoms in a whispering, fragrant dance. Birds trilled their morning songs above us, and dogs barked their territorial warnings from the farmhouses as we passed by. Turning right at the highway, we hiked toward Hana for a short distance, then hopped over a fence into a lush pasture.
Wheat touched my arm and said solemnly, “Let’s take the sacrament now.” With slow, gentle respect, he unfolded the white paper, promising, “It’s going to be a beautiful trip.”
With a graceful gesture he put the acid tab on my tongue. “Here’s to a beautiful trip!” I said, raising my arms to the sky and circling in a joyous dance.
A few minutes later, saliva surged in my mouth. Undulating, cellular sensations pulsed through my mind and body as we walked through an ancient kukui grove onto a cliff-top meadow. Rings of foaming white waves broke on the shore below, releasing swirling sea mist into the air. Enchanted by the view, I let my feet sink comfortably into the warm moist earth. As the magic of the place wove its spell around me, I instinctively reached outward with my right hand to touch the transparent breezes. A moment later, I cupped my left hand at waist height as if to receive them. As my body formed this divine mudra hand position, an incredible thrill shivered through me. There was no reason to move from this exquisite state of balance. Giving and receiving had become equal. This was perfection.
Listening, feeling, seeing, I absorbed the living energies with all of my being. Each buffeting gust bore visionary messages. Nature played through me as though I were an instrument. Each fresh cloud formation offered delightful variations of graceful ecstasy. With imperceptible slowness, my sunªower face followed the sun’s passage across the sky. As my interior stillness opened into receptivity, the universe melted on my shore. The eternal present expanded into in¥nity.
As the sun lowered in the west, I became aware of the rough, red earth and the coarse grasses holding my feet in their moist grasp. Like the silversword, I was both heaven and earth. Wheat whistled from the branch of a kukui tree. As I slowly turned toward him, our eyes ªew into each other with total knowing. Ecstasy lingered as chords of loss played through my heart. As my hands fell from the mudra, I took my ¥rst reluctant steps. As one foot slipped out of the earth’s grasp, and then the other, I remembered words.
“Let’s go to the waterfall on the way home,” I called to Wheat, as he jumped down from the tree and strode toward me.
Attuned, vibrating with each other and everything around us, we walked through waist-high grass until we stood on a ledge of mossy rocks that overlooked a waterfall grotto. Unable to resist the water’s invitation, I dove into the cool depths, remaining immersed for a moment in its liquid embrace before surfacing. Then, suspended like a bubble between the elements of air and water, I swam through ªoating guavas and damp blossoms. Wheat jumped in with a great splash. Soon we were throwing guavas at each other. Some of them squished in our hands or burst on the rocks, freeing the ripe scent into the air.
Finally, breathless and weary, I pulled myself out of the water and lay down on the sun-warmed stones around the pool. Seeking rest, I adjusted my body to the shape of the stones, gasping as the captured heat radiated through my bones. As my body absorbed the heat, I moved onto fresh hot stones, luxuriating in the burst of ¥re on my ªesh and the deep inner baking. Wheat sunned naked, silent and still, draped on a large, round boulder, facing the sky as it moved toward sunset glory.
Resisting drowsiness, aware of the oncoming dusk, we climbed out of the waterfall grotto and walked along the luxuriant grassy path beside the stream.
Back on the road, rusty trucks and ªashy tourist convertibles painted in bright colors ªoated by like foreign, dead-metal spaceships. Neighbors picked us up and dropped us at the farm. When Love came running toward me, her face as bright as the sun, I lifted her into my arms and swung her around. Her squeals of delight and the sweetness of her chubby perfection felt like honey. I couldn’t get enough of her.
The cane spider’s cobweb glistened an intricate, indecipherable calligraphy over the entrance. When I stepped inside the old wooden house, it seemed dim, worn, and shabby. Every ªaw, odor and rusty nail intruded on my heightened sensitivity, so I returned to the garden with Khalil Gibran’s book, The Prophet.
The goddess of the day still resonating within me, I turned the pages with elegant gestures. As I read the poetry aloud, my voice rippled divinity into the cosmos. Wheat and my Zendo brothers and sisters gathered around in a tableau of sacred devotion, and even after I ceased to read, we lingered silently in the scented darkness, absorbing the patterns of the constellations and the radiations of the planets and stars.
“Wheat, the house is so worn, so dead. I don’t want to go inside,” I whispered. Then I opened my arms to the bountiful, ever-replenishing, nurturing, nature around us. “I want to stay outside, where nature is clean and pure and ¥lled with life.”
“We’ll create our own energy in the room. You’ll see,” Wheat said. He took my hand and led me to my room. “You’ll be okay.” When I passed the mirror in the hall, I caught a glimpse of my sunburned face, burning eyes, and wild wind-tangled hair. I couldn’t bear the sight of myself.
Wheat laughed at my shocked expression and said, “Let’s put some aloe on that burn.” And then he teased me, chanting, “Bliss into blisters,” as we laughed together.
After tending to my sun burned face, we sat opposite each other on the futons while Love played between us with her shells and stones. Gradually, the candles, ªowers, and fabrics comforted me and I closed my eyes. Instantly, my attention gathered in my forehead. I shifted into the full-lotus yoga position and my internal world opened into a clear vision. Repeating the experience of the Buddha journey I’d had with the Soul Clan in Magda’s home, I tumbled from one life into another, only this time I knew where I was going. The spiraling went faster, as though surprise had been a weight that had slowed me down during the ¥rst journey. I was also less interested in the various personalities of male and female and their cultural expressions that had so captured me last time. There was no resistance. I opened more fully into the experience and when I reached the Buddha peace, the contentment was so deep, weighted, and complete, that I never wanted to move again. As when I had been in the mudra position in the meadow earlier in the day, I did not want to relinquish the truthful beauty of the perfect form in which I was resting. The form itself seemed to create a container for something much bigger than myself.
Resting in the center of the peace, past and future mirrored each other in the in¥nity of the present. I was awake, but my body had dissolved into a transparent envelope that opened inwardly and outwardly to many different dimensions. My consciousness grew from a tiny point deep within my forehead into the wholeness of my being, into the moment, into my body, and into my soul. From the Buddha perspective, everything was perfect, yet I also felt my human imperfections. I was seeing from two viewpoints simultaneously.
Just as I wondered if I was going to stay there forever, a pain pierced my left arm. I resisted for as long as I could, but the pain became unbearable. I slowly turned my head and saw a mosquito sucking my blood. I shook my arm and shook myself out of the Buddha place. I watched the mosquito ªy away, sadly accepting that it was the messenger sent to bring me back into my so-called normal self. This time, my return was natural and easy; I did not suffer the grief, loss, and strangeness that I had the last time.
When I looked around my room, I saw that it was beautiful. Candles glowed, radiating golden circles of light throughout, softening what had seemed worn and shabby before. Fresh ªowers brightened the altar at the foot of the window, where paisley silk curtains ªuttered in the breeze. Love was curled up on her futon, fast asleep in sweet, innocent bliss, her dimpled, plump arms and legs softly open in relaxed comfort and total trust. Wheat waited, respectfully tuned to my process, until I turned to him. Still radiant from our internal journey, we smiled our soul connection, waves of understanding and appreciation ªowing between us.
Suddenly aware of deep fatigue, I said, “I must sleep, Wheat. Please sleep on the other bed.”
I lay down next to Love and closed my eyes. Imprisoned again within my body, I felt the aches and fatigue from my long day in the meadow. But then my inner eye opened to vibrating, exquisitely colored, luminous mandala patterns that seemed to be ªoating through the entire universe, connecting everything and everyone.
“Sweet dreams,” Wheat said, as if he was blessing me.
I pulled Love close to my ripening belly, sheltering my unborn infant between us. I felt the presence of my new daughter and communicated heart-spirit welcomings to her infant soul. Snuggled with Love and Flame, I dreamed the night away. Together their names shaped the dream of my soul.
Things happened too fast the next morning. Wheat switched into his “I have to get going” mode and split for Lahaina, calling over his shoulder, “Here’s my number. Come. Call me. Got people to see. Got things to do.”
I didn’t want him to leave. When I threw my arms around him and hugged him, I felt myself holding on to him. He was all I had left of the Soul Clan.
“I’ll never forget our trip. It was so mystical,” I whispered, unable to describe my vast continent of visionary feelings.
He held my face in his hands and said, “You were the goddess Kwan Yin.” Surprised, I remembered my mother’s statue of Kwan Yin. Even though I had looked at it every day during the years I was growing up, I hadn’t been aware that I had embodied her spirit. Yes, I had stood like my mother’s statue for one full day, my long, draped dress caressing me, my right hand opened to give and my left hand to receive. I had been Kwan Yin for a day. She had ¥lled me with her grace and her peace. She would be a part of me forever.
Resting in bliss-¥lled dreams all day, absorbing the beauty of the trip, I savored each twinkle that my cells released, in awe at the mystery of it all.