Across town, Yachi is on his own quest. He usually searches for other classes. It’s a dynamic that has always fascinated him. It’s why he loves to teach. It allows him to truly get inside the mind like nothing else can. Little else unravels a personality like the frustration of something new. Of course it’s not all frustrations, just as often he taps into people’s natural enthusiasm for the unknown or aids them learning a new skill. These moments of satisfaction can’t be replicated anywhere.
The enthusiasm of his students is still infectious to Yachi. Why else, after all these years does he still return? Without company the world of the astra soon dulls. It is the human interaction that keeps him coming back.
Who knew how different his life might have been without teaching?
On so many occasions it has been the ice-breaker, pushing through beyond his strange accent and foreign ways. In time it became almost a novelty, a point of interest to his new friends and theirs. Mostly these people were a friendly lot, just a little wary of the unfamiliar.
Who knows how he would have handled the alternative, as a loner. Despite the contemplative nature of his work his ongoing chatter proved to be an asset as most of his time was spent with beginners of yoga. Whether he speaks of the tasks at hand, the weather, last week’s class, it matters little. The edge is dulled on the painful new exercises for the group and he is never happier than when speaking.
Today, however, he is looking elsewhere. He has been troubled recently by a strange power among the astra. It seems to surround, even engulf him, making its transparency all the more puzzling. Such occurrences are not uncommon in this world and usually hours of meditation clear the mind of distraction, allowing the problem to be seen clearly, for what it truly is. However he has been puzzling over this enigma for weeks and while it’s grown stronger he is still unaware. This force seems greater than anything he has previously encountered, almost beyond the actual astra itself.
He has searched extensively throughout the realms of the astra but to no avail. As he continues now he doesn’t hold much hope. Some things can’t be forced. If he is meant to discover the disturbance it will be revealed. His curiosity, however, persists and he continues the search.
His astral sense projects through the plane looking for something strange, anything out of place. Again there is nothing in particular he can detect yet he feels surrounded. But there is no mistaking other signals he feels. Fatigue is setting in among his handful of students. He has been absorbed in this puzzle and has forgotten that they can’t sustain their astral presence as long as he can. It is time to return.
So they make their way back to their physical bodies. They are losing their capability but still return comfortably. Back to the sparse, candle-lit room where their physical bodies have been lying on simple reed mats in a state of semi-consciousness while their astral profile roamed elsewhere. Another session is finished. Once back in the physical world, they take a few minutes of meditation and slowly rise, solemnly bowing their heads, signalling their appreciation to Yachi.
‘Rest well’ he advises the group as they leave but he sounds distant, his head is elsewhere contemplating this disturbance. As he watches the group leave he thinks they are all far younger than he was. A few were in their mid-twenties about the age he arrived in Australia.
This overwhelming, great melting pot of people is so far from the seclusion of his Himalayan home. The many different Asians of Chinatown, the whiteys, their language and their ways; all so alien, nothing familiar that he could trust. Soon after arriving he was horded off to a kitchen every day. Mountains of pots and pans and grease and trays and filth, how he would ache all over after a day in that kitchen. Every evening without fail. So far from the monastery of his childhood, from meditation, contemplation of the self, the soul, the universe. All so far away, here there seemed only dishes and food. Never had he enjoyed so much, fasting had been regular throughout his childhood and while the meals he did eat were hearty and filling they were far from the delights he found here. Delights he could never have imagined at home.
Different but the same, young. He looks around the now empty room and sighs. He has been told countless times youth is wasted on the young, he thinks as he begins to tidy up, or perhaps wisdom is wasted on the wise. It matters little, for the long day has now ended and the disturbance, whatever and wherever it may be will have to wait until tomorrow. It’s time to leave, to walk from his studio and leave any and all troubles of the day behind.