The Manifest: Buddhist Taxicab Confessions

NO DRIVER

Buddhist Taxicab
Confessions

PART 1: MAGIC MOUNTAIN
SEX ADVENTURE

By Dave Purus

Everything in this lurid tale is true-- only the names have been changed to protect the innocent, the drunk, and the horny.

FRIDAY NIGHT, DRIVING A CAB. It’s 4 am, and I’m getting tired. The night has slowed down: a heavy snowfall just ended. I’m at the gas station -ready to fill up the car and call it a night- when I get a call from dispatch: someone needs me on “The Hill”- a second downtown of sorts by the university campus.

Probably a drunk college kid, says my inner chatter.

“Alright, one more and I’M DONE!”

Driving all night will have you exclaiming things aloud in an empty car.

I head to a familiar corner in the town where I drive my mobile office and rented motor coach. No one around, just big houses. It’s real quiet after the snowfall; the sounds of night absorbed in snowflake pockets of silence. I drive down the block a bit until I hear a whistle. Turning, I look back to the source: an attractive female is waving me down-- a pleasant surprise after a long night. As I pull up, it’s obvious that she is in fact very pretty- and very drunk. And she’s blonde.

“Hi,” she smiles. I greet her back with cheer. “Can I sit up front?”

Of course, my dear, of course….

The road is icy.

“Are you sure we’re gonna make it?” She laughs as the tires spin out and we slide down the road.

“Oh, yeah. No worries. I learned to drive in weather like this!”

She was at an old friend’s and had too much to drink. She’s going to Mapleton, and she needs a light for her cigarette. We search our pockets- no lighter between us.

No need to exercise professional boundaries here, Dave: you’ve got a hottie in the front seat!

“I’ll tell you what. My house is on the way. I’ll grab you a lighter. I need to stop there anyway.”

I get the “Oh how sweet of you” bit. We get on the subject of school and I tell her I’m studying consciousness. It takes a couple of tries to explain, as it often does. I stop by my house and grab the lighter. It’s a ploy to impress her –I live in a rich neighborhood where everyone has mansions. It works: she comments on the size of the house.

That’s right, my dear, associate me with big things…

Off to Mapleton.

“My car is at the bottom of the canyon,” she says.

“Do you live up there?”

“Yeah, that’s where I need to go. Can this cab make it?”

The yellow chariots do not have 4-wheel drive: a useless circumstance on snowy mountain roads. This is a deathtrap, but I am greedy for a bigger fare.

“Of course, let’s do it!”

My taxi continues to slip on the neighborhood streets.

After some debate, we agree her 4-wheel drive is a better way up, given the condition of the roads. We arrive at a mountain park by the trails of Mt. Sanitas, where sure enough we find her Jeep. I tell her the fare, and she takes out her wallet. What to do? This drunken beauty can’t even find a credit card to pay me and is barely able to write out a check, yet insists on driving her car up the Canyon.

“You’re ok to drive, right?” I ask.

“Yeah, no problem. I’ve been driving up and down this road my whole life,” she declares nonchalantly and with confidence. “It’s only a few miles.”

She is radiant—full of playfulness and cheery fun—but the vodka on her breath is strong. I can almost buy that bit about her living here, driving a familiar route... but it seems I am faced with an ethical decision.

Do I let her drive? What does one do in this situation? What are my options?

I am exhausted and ready for bed. Home is but a few blocks away… beckoning… I am very tired and glad this fare is ending…

Maybe she isn’t that drunk. I mean- her speech isn’t slurred, and she’s not completely out of sorts.

I tell her of the time I drove home drunk from a club in Minneapolis- also during a snowstorm.

“I don’t condone what you’re doing,” said my date.

“Neither do I,” was my only reply. And that was also only a few miles on familiar terrain... and we were ok- nobody hurt…

So I let the girl out and bid her goodnight, and she gets in her Jeep. I watch as she begins to pull out, not bothering to scrape the windows of the snow and ice covering the entire car. She is surrounded by the night and the white glow of snow. I laugh at the Great Perfection pervading the moment, and the sheer absurdity of her driving home. She rolls down the window and waves.

“Goodbye!” She exclaims, happily driving to her death.

“Goodnite!” I shout over the motors.

I jump out and run to her Jeep, thrusting open her car door--pausing for dramatic effect. Then, firmly:

“You know, if you were my friend, and we were at a party, there is no way you’d have your keys at this point.”

Her head bows and she stares up at me out of the corner of her eye.

“Really?”

She is irresistible.

“Really.” I am planted there, unwavering.

“I’m fine, really I am. I’ve been driving this road my whole-“

“Nope, move over. You’re not driving anywhere. You didn’t even bother clearing your windows, and you’re oblivious to the fact that the tail end of your car is backed into the middle of a windy road.”

She looks out the open door—a sheepish “You’re right” escapes her lips.

She moves over. I shift the car forward and grab the ice scraper. She seems steeped in disbelief at this act of kindness. We laugh at the funny faces she makes from inside the car while I scrape the windows. The situation is hilarious.

“You’re a very smart man. I’m so impressed with you,” she says over and over.

Oh yeah.

I feel confident I am doing the right thing.

“I’m amazed by you-- honestly,” she says.

I hide the glow under my skin, pretending not to hear.

10 points for Big Daddy Dave!

Sitting in the driver’s seat, I turn to her, matter of factly: “Right now, I’m a friend driving a friend home. By the way, I’m Dave.”

I offer my hand.

She shakes it with a drunken grin.

“Bari.”

We pull out of the park, and talk on the way up. The snow is really falling again, but the mountain yields to the drive of four wheels.

“My tires are bad,” she giggles.

Indeed, we find this out as I take a sharp corner. The drops off the side are deep, and I am growing excited and nervous at what could lie ahead.

Will it be dying? Will it be sexing?

She is still curious about my studies, so I tell her about energy work. She is genuinely interested, and asks some good questions.

“You mentioned meridians…so is it like acupuncture?”

“Well, yes, qigong uses the same meridian system as acupuncture and acupressure. It’s all a part of Chinese medicine, except qigong uses energy itself: ’chi ’ or life-energy (prana in the Hindu traditions) to work with blockages that form in the human body- which can be expressed physically, energetically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually…. There are techniques to do this yourself, and there are ’external chi healing’ techniques to apply this on other people. It comes out of Taoism, so as well as the medical applications, it is also a contemplative practice. Some have even have called it a Taoist yoga.”

She is fascinated and keeps asking questions. Even when the subject shifts, she brings us back to qigong. I am scoring major points…and we are driving up to her house. Nervousness explodes in my belly, but I remain calm.

What will happen once we get to her house? If we make ever make it up this damn mountain, that is.

“So all these forms have emerged in qigong: some based on healing applications, some emerging out of observing animal movements, some from the guidance of energy itself, and more from a blend of all three.”

“This is my driveway. It looks like you’re going off the side of a cliff, but you’re not--trust me.”

We stop at an incline.

Everything is sheer white: like my knuckles on the wheel. From the road, I can’t tell if this is a plummet to our death or the mouth of a drive.

She’s drunk-- what if she’s wrong?

There is a moment’s hesitation, but then I plow ahead. Over the side of the mountain we go….and down her driveway.

(Note to self: if I ever consider living in the mountains…seriously consider it….and reconsider for the sake of snowstorms like this….)

There are a few cars down the incline, and I park next to them.

“Looks like my dad’s not home,” she says. ”Do you want to come in?”
Uh huh. (Duh!)

“Sure,” I say cheerfully.

Why not follow this adventure through? I mean, I drove her all the way up here!

“You live with your dad?”

We enter one of those insanely beautiful mountain homes with an incredible view. She shows me around, and we go to her bedroom.

I stand outside her door as she goes about bedroom business. Is it any accident that she brought me here? I mean, she had been subtly communicating to me through posture and hints that she is interested… at one point calling herself a “little whore.” I mean, come on…I’m not a total dunce with these things. My skin is electric.

She totally wants me!

I step up to the doorway.

“So…this is your bedroom, huh?”

My arms drape from the top of the frame.

And then… something arises…something big.

It’s a thought; a sudden remembrance—the killer of pivotal moments like this one. A thought that just had to arise…the thought that will decide the remaining fate of this early winter morning in the mountains…

See, the previous afternoon, I took 3 of 5 Buddhist precepts-- which are active for 24 hours. No killing, no stealing …..and …….and…… and.......no sexual misconduct!

Oh my God! Of course! Goddamnit! You take this vow and the world tests you! This is the second time this has happened! Fuck! Can’t I just forget it…I mean…how often does this opportunity come? And my girlfriend’s out of the country…she’d never know….

“The point of practicing these precepts is to observe the play of the ego,” came the voice of my old Zen teacher.

SHUT UP! I scream at him silently.

But then I come to my senses. Within the desire, within the ensuing war inside my noggin…I find the Witness impartially aware of all this. I rest in the moment, and gaze with fresh eyes, like a camera lens just coming into focus. At this point, the Witness takes a timeless snapshot:

Dude, she’s drunk, and she looks quite young. She mentioned college, but…she still lives with her dad and brothers….

As far as one-nighter’s go, this’d be an easy one, but between the toxic smell of alcohol on her breath, her demonstration of poor judgement, the fact that I’m in a relationship with someone with whom I’m actually in LOVE…and that damn vow I took earlier that afternoon…

It’s not a good idea. I know plenty of guys that will do it-- easy. Their voices cruise through my brain:

Dude, you’re passing up an opportunity to get laid?

Are you a man or what?

You’ve got a babe right here and you’re blowing it off?

You pussy!

I walk away from her doorway and she joins me in the kitchen. The ethical choice is clear, but I am still nervous and sexually charged by the fact that it could happen. So we hang out for a while, and I keep toying with the possibility of (quite literally) riding this night out to its last.

“Now you’re not gonna feel weird about waking up tomorrow and knowing I drove your car back into town?” I ask.

“No, no. Of course not. Just take it down and leave the keys under the sheet…I mean…the seat [giggles]. “

Christ! Ok, man, get a grip on yourself! This girl’s coming onto you….

The voices of my old high school buddies return: What are you gonna do, just stand there like a shy little boy?

I get a glass of water, take some deep breaths, and make my way for the door. She hugs me three times, thanking me again and again. She doesn’t want me to leave: I can smell it.

Jesus! What is a vow, anyway? It’s just words…an intention…a way to plant seeds in your awareness and become mindful of what arises… like how you want to mislead people (lying) or how you’d like to seduce someone…or use them for your own gains or pleasure…. And what’s wrong with pleasure? Why, NOTHING! Sensuality is the greatest gift of God! The feminine in all her glory is pervaded by divine consciousness… in fact she longs for it. The play of masculine and feminine is the action and inaction of every moment. What’s wrong with enacting this divine dynamic of opposites?

Well… nothing, I guess. But she is still intoxicated, and I am still bound by a vow. So I leave that beauty in her mountain home, in the middle of a cold winter’s night- drunk and alone. I take a deep breath and begin the steep decent...over snow and ice....

Aaahhhhh, the blissful deeds of aspiring bodhisattvas…

Subtle energy superhero Dave Purus drives taxicabs, bulldozers, and ice cream trucks in various towns throughout the Mountain Standard Time (MST) zone. He was last seen stealing eggs from Mormon farmers in a small hamlet outside of Provo.

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