The Talking Teacup – Phil Morimitsu
I flicked on the light in my study and flopped down in my chair. I had just walked in the door, having spent the evening with some friends talking about world affairs, what we had seen on TV, what good movies were showing, and numerous other inconsequential subjects. For some reason, the whole thing left me exhausted. Ironically, I had gone out intending to relax. I noticed there was a dry soreness in my throat and decided to boil some water to make some herb tea to soothe it.
As I watched the pan of water on the stove, I became aware of the silence and the tranquil effect it was having on me. Every sound in the solitude of my small kitchen received my focused attention; there were no other distractions in the house. The pan of water was starting to make soft hissing noises, prelude to boiling. In a slow crescendo, the hisses gave way to a full rolling boil. I turned the stove off, and as I poured the steaming water into my cup, it sizzled and popped on the sides of the pan. Thinking of nothing in particular, while observing the pale colors seep from the tea bag into the water, I heard the ECK as a hissing in the back of my head, barely audible at first, but becoming stronger by the moment.
I started to take the steeping tea bag out, but froze for an instant. I became aware of the presence of Wah Z with me in the kitchen. Slowly turning around, I saw him leaning casually against the kitchen counter, watching me as I had been watching the tea bag steeping in the cup. I waited for him to say something, but he just stood there. Except for a slight smile on his face, he was totally noncommittal in his purpose. It wasn't an unpleasant situation, but half-curious and half-soothing, like the silence of the kitchen. The steam from my cup of tea was wafting in smoke-like fingers, disappearing into the air after fleetingly showing itself.
Momentarily, Wah Z began to speak. "If you're interested, I've something to show you that may help you."
Whenever he said anything of this nature, I knew it was really going to be good; so of course, I jumped at the chance, "Sure!" I said.
Still leaning against the counter, he spoke, "Are you familiar with the geography of Italy?"
"Uh, not the terrain, but i know it's in the shape of a boot," I said a little unsure of myself and what he was getting at.
"That's good enough," he said. "On the sole of the boot is a small, ancient town on the coast of the Mediterranean — Croton, or Crotona as it was known then. It's a night many years ago, back in the times of the ancient Greeks and Romans, almost two and a half millennia, to the year 518 B.C."
His voice blended with the silence of the kitchen and the soundless steam rising from my cup. I closed my eyes so that I could see the place he was describing in more detail. As he gently spoke of the little town of twenty-five hundred years ago, his voice became one with the visual scenery I was placing myself in. I heard the easy waves of the sea and the shushing sounds of the wind in the trees lining the beach. It had been dark for awhile, and the stars burned white in the blue-black night sky. It was summer, and the saline breeze from the Mediterranean caressed me through my shirt. Wah Z and I were on a narrow cobbled street, a back street of the small village. It must have been quite late, as there were few, if any, candles lighting the whitewashed houses, but there was a bluish gleam from the moon, which stood in the middle of that street for a few moments, taking in the surroundings. It had been a long journey into the far past, a journey that took only the closing of one's eyes, and now being here took some getting used to.
Then something ever so startling, but not jarring, skipped and tapped across my feet, echoing off the walls of the houses, making a clicking noise. It was a pebble tossed into the street from one of the doorways, blackened and hidden by the night's cloak. Wah Z and I looked across the street, and after a moment, a hand — a palm facing us — slowly poked out of the black shadows. It just rested in the air gracefully, then withdrew into the doorway. Wah Z looked at me and nodded that we should go to the doorway. Slightly apprehensive, I walked beside him in silence. When we came within a yard of the doorway where the mysterious hand had appeared out and withdrew, Wah Z put out his hand in the same manner — palm facing outwards. Again, slowly, the other hand appeared, palm out. Only this time, I was close enough to see better. When it was fully extended, I noticed there was something on the palm. It was a blue, six-pointed star, imprinted there with ink or chalk.
The hand withdrew, and out of the shadows appeared a man of about twenty-five years or so. He was dressed in a white toga like the Greeks or Romans of those days, and he was wearing sandals. He had fair features and light-colored hair. As he came out of the doorway, he motioned for us to follow. We walked silently through the streets, in and out of the shadows of the buildings. Winding through mazelike alleyways and cobbled streets, we came to a plain white house in a row of similar houses. The young man motioned for us to stand to the side of the doorway, so no one could see us. He approached the doorway alone and knocked deliberately three times. A wooden slat slid open, and a pair of eyes peered out. The young man held the hand with the blue star, so the eyes inside could see it. Then the slat shut, and the door opened cautiously. The young man then beckoned for us to come. We walked through the doorway, stooping over a bit, as it was quite low. However, when we entered there was no sign of anyone else inside. Lit with a single candle, the room we were in was sparsely furnished, with just a rough-hewn wooden table and a stool. The candle was in an alcove carved out of the wall of the house. As I looked about, I noticed the young man had slipped away, leaving us alone. I started to say something, but Wah Z put his finger to his lips, as if to say, Let's just wait a second in silence.
I held my words checked in midbreath and, realizing that I wouldn't be saying anything after all, exhaled the unused anxiety. Wah Z left his finger poised in the air, as if he were listening for something and wouldn't put it down until he had identified the sound.
Out of the narrow hallway that connected the little room with the rest of the house, came — rather, glided — a figure of a man of about sixty or seventy years old, clad in the ancient Grecian toga: white material draped over one shoulder and belted at the waist. He had white hair and a beard , a lean face, weathered and tanned. He stood about five feet ten inches. Lean, but large boned, he looked strong, as if from manual labor. He stopped in front of Wah Z and raised his right hand, as the young man who had led us here had done, revealing a blue six-pointed star on his palm. Wah Z also raised his right hand, palm up, to the man. Then after a moment, they both broke into wide grins and clasped each other's arms with affection. Wah Z then turned to me, still grinning broadly.
"I'd like you to meet an old friend and teacher of mine, Sri Pythagoras of Samos."
The older man closed his eyes and bowed his head to me in reverence. Still saying nothing, he extended a sweeping hand, as if ushering and welcoming us into the inner rooms of the house. We groped our way into the darker recesses of the building through several winding hallways until we were able to see a light from one of the back rooms. Stopping at the doorway, we could see a brightly lit room with perhaps fifteen or twenty candles burning, casting their dancing yellow glows. There were eight or nine men reading. writing, and otherwise studying books and scrolls, all seated at one long table. Only two of them looked up at us, expressionless. and then only for a brief instant. Pythagoras came up behind us, observed for a moment, then motioned for us to follow him into another room. We entered a smaller room less brightly lit than the other. There were three rough wooden stools and one table inside. As we each took a seat, Pythagoras waited for us to get comfortable, then began to speak.
I'll never forget his voice. It was like a whisper, but you could've heard it above the noise of any crowd; it was that distinct. He chose his words carefully, but not pedantically. When he spoke, one wanted to listen — one couldn't help but listen carefully with full attention.
"Welcome to the school of the Blue Star," he said, pausing for a moment, all the while observing me. I still said nothing, but I did have questions. Somehow, I got the feeling that he was, while observing me, picking up the questions I'd wanted to ask him.
Presently, he began again. "When a student or neophyte comes to learn of the Blue Star, I talk with him once, in the beginning, to tell him what is expected of him. He then begins an apprenticeship of silence which lasts five years. During this period, he will have no words with anyone, the outer world, even himself. The twelve points he will learn are:
1. Discipline. To remain silent for five years, one must learn the self-discipline needed for the journey back to SUGMAD.
2. Wisdom. By learning from the words of others, as well as from their mistakes and virtues, when it is finally time for the neophyte to speak, he will have something worth saying.
3. The laws of karma. By offering no alibis, the neophyte can see the direct result of his actions. He will learn total responsibility.
4. Honesty. The neophyte quickly learns that honesty in his dealings in life is the most expedient manner of living. If he is totally honest with all, he will have to offer no explanations.
5. Concentration. By relying absolutely on the Inner Master, the Mahanta, the neophyte learns to concentrate, to have the presence of mind to surrender to the Mahanta under any conditions.
6. The drying up of the passions of the mind. Useless talking is a waste of energy. There is a chakra located at one's throat, and the indulgence of it causes the quickening of the passions. By gaining control of this faculty, the neophyte becomes the master of it.
7. Humility. By silence, one learns from all others, from all of life. When one is able to learn from all of life, he understands the meaning of humility — that no matter how small and insignificant a being or creature may seem, it is linked with the Divine Creator, the SUGMAD, and it can teach one the secrets of God. But one can only learn by presenting the golden coin of humility.
8. Answers to questions. By silence, one will be forced to find the answers to all his own questions. And rightly so, for if a man has a question, the answer must also lie within him.
9. Economy. By using no words, the ECK is demonstrated in action.
10. Strength. The ECK travels in the silent Sound, and thus, by taking on the characteristics of the ECK, that of the giving flow of the Creator, you gain the strength of truth.
11. Freedom. Words can lock one into a state of consciousness, by making its thought forms more concrete in the physical. By keeping silence, one learns the nature and the ways of the nonattached state of the ECK. One can have access to the free state through silence.
12. Love. This is the culmination and most important aspect of silence. Through silence, one observes the ways of love, and then can know the ways in which to give detached love. But the proper observation of love cannot be made until the inner self is stilled, through the purification of silence."
At this point, he stopped. He looked first at Wah Z, then at me. It was as if his gaze could communicate things on his mind and that he could understand what was on my mind. Just to make sure, he said, "Questions?"
Wah Z looked at me, and I shook my head no. Pythagoras eased off his stool and showed us the way out of the room. We repeated the ordeal of finding our way through the dark hallways until we came to the front room lit with a single candle. As we were leaving, Sri Pythagoras held his palm up to Wah Z one final time, and they smiled at each other affectionately. Then Pythagoras extended his hand to shake mine in the traditional Western manner, and we parted.
The streets seemed even more deserted than when we first entered the school, if that were possible, since there hadn't been anyone around earlier. I looked about, wondering which way we were going to go, and then looked to Wah Z, who was standing there, assessing our surroundings. I'm not sure what happened after that, except that I remember hearing him talk to me, but he wasn't moving his lips. He was describing something — a place, a series of events to me — but he wasn't using words. He was just looking at me. The whole situation was too much for me. I closed my eyes to get my bearings again, but when I opened them, I was back in my kitchen.
I was looking down at my teacup, and the steam was still wafting from it. Apparently it was still quite hot. I looked around, but Wah Z was gone. It was quiet in the little kitchen, quiet and still. For a moment, I thought I could hear the steam rising from my cup of tea. I listened closer, putting my ear nearer to the cup, but no, it wasn't the steam. I stood listening a little longer. As the Sound grew louder, I knew that, in the silence, it was the ECK talking to me.
From the book, In the Company of ECK Masters © 1987 Phil Morimitsu
