text: The First Line of Defence By DannyG “Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” Mary Oliver I was convinced that my all of my future reincarnations were nullified by the enlightenment I had just attained. But something was wrong. The cycle of Samsara wasn’t broken -- not as broken as my family, as broken as my community, or as broken as the middle finger I had snapped getting up from my cross-legged pose under the shading Ficus. Also, after forty-nine days without movement, my legs were numb. Bodh Gaya was tranquil at this time of early morning, every breeze carrying whispers of centuries old chants and prayers. Monsoon was still a distance away. Lush, verdant landscapes seemed to pulsate with life, their emerald hues a stark contrast to the earthen tones of the ancient temples and monasteries that dot the area. The Ficus I sat under smelled woody and slightly sweet from the ripened figs, its branches, heavy with history, stretch out like wise old arms offering a shaded solace to those who seek answers. At night, the sounds of gongs and prayers fill the air, a lullaby speaking of peace and liberation. I grimaced and gripped my left hand, disappointed. Why, when all of my efforts to finally release myself from dukkha, from life’s perpetual dissatisfaction, did everything around me collapse into disorder? The cycle was driven by karma, past actions, and by clinging to that which was temporary so could only be effectively terminated by achieving nirvana. But I was only one man, and so all of Bodh Gaya had to be convinced to follow my path, else I would being a single success amongst a sea of failures. Not the best odds. Not exactly the ideal template for society's salvation. I stared at my middle finger, breathing deep and mindfully drifted into another focused reverie. Mara, the temptress, tried a number of things to distract me from staying the path, preying on my desires, fears, and doubts, her timely tools testing me. 1. The Filtered Mirror of the Future: A surreal tapestry of my future unfolded - an aged reflection of my tired face with absurdly bright red dog ears and an elongated, flapping pale tongue. It was a vision so bizarre, so vividly detailed, it seemed to dance on the fine line between a fevered dream and an alternate reality. 'How can such a future be?' I wondered, my voice a mere whisper in the dense air of incredulity. In a moment of disbelief and defiance, I hurled the mirror to the ground, only to be drawn back by an inexorable curiosity; I picked it up again, my fingers trembling. 'Damn her,' I cursed under my breath, Mara's trickery weaving a spell both confounding and captivating. 2. The Funky Melody of Forgotten Dreams: Instead of being entrapped by the seductive music, I chose to respond with a dance. I stand up, my movements at first awkward from stiff legs gradually become more fluid. This dance isn't one of grace or skill; it's a dance of mindfulness and presence. With each step and movement, I focus on the current moment, on the sensations in his body, the air around him, the ground beneath his feet. He transforms the temptation into a practice of mindfulness, reminding himself that true contentment and fulfillment are found in the present, not in the echoes of past dreams or the allure of an imagined future. 3. The Infinite Shape-Shifting Buffet: In the labyrinthine expanse of my daily contemplation, there emerged the vision of a boundless feast transcending time and form. Here, an array of dishes, each a universe unto itself, shape-shifted ceaselessly: now offering morsels of such exquisite delicacy that they seemed to encapsulate entire epochs of culinary mastery or, without warning transforming into the most ephemeral of sustenance, as fleeting and transient as the thoughts that flit through a mind lost in reverie. Faster Food, so to speak. This eternal banquet, ever-changing yet constant in its limitlessness, stood as a paradox, a tantalizing mirage at the edge of my pensive world, challenging the very notions of reality and illusion. 4. The Selfie with Celestial Beings -- if you could converse with anyone -dead or alive - blah, blah, blah. I opened my eyes amidst what must have been a once-in-a-lifetime snowstorm in Bodh Gaya. Mara was not the immediate threat. The usually serene Bodh Gaya was caught in the grip of an unusual tempest, the once vibrant landscapes blanketed under a pristine layer of white. The cycle of Samsara, of reincarnation, obviously still remained intact. Here I was again. Everything else around me was still shattered, like my middle-finger, which i snapped while rising from my icy meditation beneath the snow-laden Ficus, its branches heavy with the weight of this unexpected winter. The chill had seeped into my bones and my legs were numb. Standing alone in the snowstorm I realized the magnitude of my task. To construct a foundation for society’s salvation I needed to convince the entire community to embrace the path I’d trodden. I looked down. Light flashed about my feet, then my torso, then my eyes, as if someone were whirling the sun around on a rope over their head. Flakes of snow darted at my eyelashes. Ahead, gleaming objects with lights instead of eyes moved quickly along wide silver trails. It was if the air carried scents so complex and alien. Nothing like the earthy, fresh aroma of my forest -- it seemed to be emanating from a multitude of carts of food. The people were like a swarm of ants, each moving with purpose, their voices a constant, unintelligible hum, so different from the harmonious whispers and chants of the forest. Every touch of my foot on the hard, unyielding ground was a reminder that I was no longer at home, the sheer scale of the temples, towering like cliffs of stone and clear glass, made me feel smaller than I had ever felt under the tallest trees. The first line of defense is not you, not me, not the two of us, not the street we live on, not most of us after you take away the very old and the very young, not all of us minus 1. The first line of defense is all of us. Period. How do I know that? Cars......that’s what they were called. Cars. A huge car, with a long piece of metal in front of it pushed all the snow to the side of the road, just moving it really. There wea snow being moved from one place to another in a well-coordinated group effort. We should get to work. There is shoveling to be done.