ChatEntropy by T.C. Eisele Free Excerpt

ChatEntropy is a spiritual noir tale that takes place during the COVID pandemic, when internet chat rooms were providing a valuable social outlet for a quarantined population. 

The story follows ‘Nameless’, who discovers a curious new online site called ChatEntropy, after which he mysteriously disappears following a series of bizarre metaphysical encounters. His disappearance arouses the interest of the property managing agent, Marsh, who then tracks ChatEntropy to the dark web, where he attempts to investigate the circumstances around Nameless vanishing. 

Drawing on the EVP phenomenon from the 1970s that investigated spiritual activity in electro-magnetic waves, ChatEntropy is part-detective story/part-grimoire, and a wild ride into the notion of the Dark Web being a portal into multiple dimensions. 

PART I:

Friday Night

1

Like the blink of an eye or a sigh, another week of his life had passed without much to distinguish it from the others.

Halfway through a bottle of wine, he sits at his laptop mulling over the depressing irony of preparing to surf on the internet after 8 hours of teleworking at home.

“What else is there to do?” he thinks. “This fucking pandemic has us all trapped.”

Following a sip of wine, he stares at the waiting keypad. “So, which virtual reality do I want to run away to this weekend?”

After routinely typing out “online chat sites” in the search bar, he scrolls down the list until an unfamiliar one catches his eye. 

“ChatEntropy,” he mutters to himself, “What kind of a name is that?”

Upon doing a quick search for the definition of “entropy,” the explanation of randomness seems a welcome alternative to the isolation of being quarantined in his apartment all day, so he clicks the link and waits for a surprise.

The homepage of ChatEntropy is unexpectedly non-descript. In fact, all that’s on the screen is the word “ChatEntropy” in a large, stylized font with “sign up” in a smaller typeface underneath. 

At first, this minimal imagery causes him to assume he might’ve stumbled upon a new porn site. Do I want to roll that way tonight? he thinks to himself.  He’s certainly not adverse to taking the stick shift out for an occasional spin, in fact, he considers it an integral part of his wellness program. Yet there’s something about this site that seems different, darker. 

In the middle of trying to decide what to do, curiosity manages to get the upper hand and he compulsively clicks ‘Sign Up.”

2

“Nothing new so far,” he thinks, after a pop-up window appears on the screen showing fields to type in an email address, username, and password.

He immediately enters one of his emails, yet the username field causes him to pause. 

He considers for a moment what would insinuate entropy, and then, with a giggle, types in the nickname, Nameless.”

After clicking ‘Yes’ on the disclaimer asking if he’s over 18 years of age, the next prompt that appears is a request to connect with the camera in his computer. After he agrees, the screen goes black again until a new screen appears with a button marked ‘Start’ down in the lower right corner.

Sometimes, clicking the cursor on a computer can be as easy as making an impulse buy on Amazon. Other times, it can be as hard as standing on the high board for the first time and looking down at the swimming pool below. Nameless’ mind is hovering somewhere between the two when he whispers, “Fuck it,” and decisively clicks ‘Start’. 

3

Once he’s connected to live chat, Nameless notices the ‘Start’ button suddenly change to ‘Next’.

“Don’t forget, that’s your escape hatch,” he quietly reminds himself. “If there’s anything you don’t want to deal with, just ‘Next’ it.

A moment later, he’s facing a Gen Z e-boy double thumbing their phone. 

“Hey,” says the young man, without looking up from texting. 

“How’s it going?” replies Nameless.

“Sorry,” says the e-boy, as he continues typing like a fiend. “I’m checking to see if any Sheesh influencers are currently on site. That’s where all the snacks would be.”

When he’s done, the e-boy looks at Nameless with a knowing grin. “That’s why we’re here, right? To follow the river of likes to the source.”

“Like Stanley and Livingstone,” replies Nameless.

Apparently not a history buff, the e-boy mutters, “Yeah, whatever,” as he’s distracted by another text. 

After reading the new message, he suddenly announces, “, I gotta bounce. A spot just opened up in a chat with “GenZerious.” 

“Who?” thinks Nameless, as he suddenly finds himself once again looking at a blank screen.

4

Nameless’ next chat buddy is a smiling young man with brown tousled hair.

“How’s it going mate?” he asks, in a crisp British accent.

“It’s going,” answers Nameless.

“Have you been on here long?” 

“Long enough to be ‘next’ed for not being a snack,” replies Nameless, as he takes in the young Jude Law clone in front of him.

“I don’t know,” says the Brit with a smirk. “You look snacky enough for me.”

“I think my previous chat buddy was looking for a she/her.” 

“I wouldn’t penalize you for not being a she/her,” says the young Brit jokingly, “Maybe for not putting a condom over the NJOY wand if we were sharing, but never for not being a woman.”

Not knowing what an “NJOY wand” is, Nameless figures he’d be better off not asking.

“Are you on this site often?” asks the Brit.

“Nope, this is my first time,” 

They both stare at each other.

“So, what are you looking for?” he asks Nameless.

“Not the meaning of life, but not an excuse for it either.”

“Cheers to that” says the Brit. After hesitating, he bluntly adds, “I’m not into the rough stuff. Just about anything else is okay.” 

Before Nameless can reply, the Brit continues. “I’m sorry if I’m being too cheeky, but it’s just so tiring beating around the bush. I usually do Dirty Roulette on Friday night, and those blokes cut right to the chase.”

“No worries,” says Nameless. 

Smiling now like he’s suddenly hit the jackpot; the Brit confidently forges ahead. “The problem with Dirty Roulette is that there’s always the same type of trade on it. Been there, done that, you know?”

When Nameless doesn’t respond, the Brit just keeps going.

Since this site is new, I decided to see what was going on here tonight?”

“Whatever satisfies,” says Nameless.

“And what satisfies you?”

“Well, for starters I’m on team hetero.”

“Are you sure?” says the Brit, with a playful smile. “If there isn’t a bi-curious urge lurking around in you somewhere, then why are we still talking?”

“I talk with men all the time,” replies Nameless. “It’s a human thing.”

“Why don’t we take a look at each other’s junk and then decide if you’d like to do more than just talk?”

After noticing Nameless glance toward the lower right where the ‘Next’ button is, the Brit’s cock-sure expression suddenly changes into a look of mock apology.

“It’s been super cool chit-chatting with you,” he says quickly, “but I really think it would be best if I carried on elsewhere.”

Before Nameless can react, he once again finds himself ‘next’ed.

 5

Nameless’s next chat buddy is a broad-faced, smiling young Mexican dude.

Hola. Uh, no…Hay-lo,” he says.

“How’s it going?” asks Nameless.

“I sorry. My Ing-lish no good.

“Okay,” replies Nameless, not knowing what else to say.

“You pratica, uh, no…prac-tis with me?”

Before Nameless can respond, the back of a little head with long black hair appears on the screen right in front of the young man’s chest. Looking down at the head of hair, the young man asks, “Que?” and then assists a cute little Mexican girl onto his lap.

Yo tengo hambre,” she says to the man.

The little girl then turns and looks at Nameless on the screen. “Quien es?” she asks.

Nameless is now looking at two brown smiling faces.

Mi hija,” explains the young man to Nameless. “Uh, no. My dow-ter,” he says, trying to correct himself in English.

I can be an ugly American or an awkward one, thinks Nameless.

He opts for awkward, which for him means abruptly ‘next’ing someone else for a change. 

“Oh well, adios is adios,” he thinks to himself, as he says the same to the now empty screen in front of him. 

6

Next up is a young black man with corn-rowed hair, expensive shades, and the aplomb of a hit man.

“Whaddup?” he says grimly.

Before Nameless can reply, a raucous voice from somewhere behind the young man shouts, “Y’all come across a honey yet?”

The Dude in shades turns to the voice and shouts back, “Nah.”

“Then move on, blood,” urges the voice, “we need to be partying. No time for nothin else.”

“Chill and let me see what’s shakin’, Aw-ite?” Shades then turns back to Nameless and sullenly asks, “You know where the bitches be on this site?

“Not really,” says Nameless, after which he finds himself once again looking at a blank screen.

7

Not being a stranger to anonymous online chat rooms, Nameless continues to patiently slog through a few more dull, meaningless encounters as he works on the bottle of wine.

After a while, he finally admits to himself out loud, “If I don’t have at least one semi-interesting exchange within the next three turns, I’m outta here. Maybe there’s a good movie on the cable?”

After hitting ‘Start’ again, Nameless finally encounters his first woman. 

With a user name of “Betty,” the 20-something, nubile young beauty in front of him has long, blonde hair, full lips, and a generically pretty face reminiscent of the Betty character from the Archie comics.

Wow, she’s a real cutie, he thinks, as he tries to say hello as nonchalantly as possible.

“Hi” she replies, with a smile like a cheesy tooth whitening advert. “What are you up to tonight?”

“Just enjoying some wine after another week of teleworking,” explains Nameless, raising his glass.

The young lady reaches off screen and brings back a mug that’s holding something steaming. “I’m enjoying a spot of herbal tea,” she says, and giggles.

“To the weekend!” toasts Nameless.

As they each take a sip of their beverage, Nameless tries to check out his new chat partner on the sly.

Very girl-next-door sexy, he thinks to himself. A little ditsy too, but I can work with that.

“So, do you do much online chatting?” she asks.

“From time to time.”

“This is my first time on this site,” she says, “so I wasn’t sure what to expect. It didn’t say very much about what kind of people are on here.”

“I think that’s the point,” replies Nameless. “Each chat is supposed to be a surprise, isn’t it? For better or worse.”

“Well, you’re my very first person and you seem nice. Where are you from?”

“New York.”

“I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard it’s dangerous. Is that true?”

“That depends. Statistically it’s not as dangerous as say, Cincinnati, Ohio.

“Really? I’m from Dayton and I’ve never heard that.”

“I guess it just goes to show how you can’t believe anything the media says.”

“Amen to that,” she replies with a warm smile.

“What brings you here on a Friday night?” asks Nameless.

“I’m not sure. I just felt guided here,” she looks away with an embarrassed smile, “I can’t believe I just said that. Ignore me, I’m a crazy person.”

“That’s okay. What do you mean by guided?”

She looks at him with the suspicion of a little girl. “You’re not making fun of me, are you?”

“Oh no,” replies Nameless. “There’s been plenty of times I’ve done things because of a feeling, or whatever.”

“Really?” she says, with a relieved smile.

“Sure. Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

“I can’t always explain exactly how it works,” she says, with a serious expression, “but deep down inside I always feel like spirit is directing me to wherever I’m supposed to go,” 

“I can believe that,” says Nameless. “In fact, I’m sensing there’s a reason why we’ve met tonight.” 

“Really? That’s great! Maybe our angels were talking together before this?” 

“I must admit, I’m not really very in touch with that kind of stuff,” he says. “Not that I don’t believe in it, I’m just not as sensitive, or attuned, as someone like you.” 

“Thank you,” she replies. I get it from my grandma. She’s had the Archangel Michael appear to hear several times. She’s really amazing. So spiritual.”

“I bet she is.”

After a few more minutes of conversation, the beatific smile that had been plastered across the face of this apparently pleasant young woman unexpectedly changes into something more serious as Nameless breaks for a sip of wine.

“Do you really believe there’s a reason why we’ve met,” she asks.  

“Absolutely,” he replies, “there’s most definitely something at work tonight that’s brought us together.” 

“That’s what my angel is telling me. But they’re also saying there’s something else I need to ask you that’s very important.”

She now stares at him with a set, determined expression.

“Of course,” says Nameless, as he puts down his wine glass and sits back to hear what her angel has on its mind.  

In a voice now suddenly filled with unexpected spiritual fervor, the young blonde challenges Nameless and demands, “Are you willing to accept the Lord Jesus Christ as your personal savior?” 

Feeling both surprised and a bit deflated at the same time, Nameless instinctively maneuvers the cursor toward NEXT and immediately removes her from his screen. 

“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” he grumbles to himself, as the site reloads a new chat window.

8

Nameless’ next chat is a balding, round-face, businessman type that looks like he could be the father of the previous blonde. Yet at the same time there is something lurking in the expression behind his wire rim glasses that suggests his thoughts about her would be more lascivious than paternal.

“What are you into?” he asks quietly.

“What do you mean?”

The man leans in a little closer, “You know, what are you into?”

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,” says Nameless glibly.

A humorless laugh dribbles out of the man’s mouth.

“C’mon, why are you on this site?” he asks.

“To meet interesting new friends,” replies Nameless.

“Exactly. What sort of friends? Women? Men? Something else?”

“What if I said something else?”

“Is there an age range you’re looking for?”  asks the Man.

“Well, when you sign up here it says you have to be 18, right?”

“Maybe,” says the Man, grinning like Nameless imagines a rat would.

“Maybe?” replies Nameless, as his face recoils in disgust. “Wow, either this is entrapment, or you’re a fucking pervert.”

“Hey, be cool,” says the Man.

“I don’t think I will,” replies Nameless. “These fingers of mine are itching to make the vice squad my next chat buddy.”

9

As he takes a time out to down what’s left in his wine glass, the idea of watching a movie on Netflix is starting to seem very appealing to Nameless. 

However, after pouring some more vino, he instead moves the cursor on the screen back to ‘Start’. 

Once he’s connected to another chat, Nameless finds that he’s now looking into an empty room. 

“What the fuck is this?” he mutters.

It takes a second for him to realize what he’s looking at, but when he does, Nameless quietly exclaims, “Holy shit!” 

He now starts to look back and forth between what’s on the screen and what’s behind him in his space. 

“That’s my fucking apartment!” he blurts out. “The only thing that’s missing is me!”

For a few confusing moments, Nameless tries to wrap his mind around what’s happening. Yet before he can make sense of anything, the image on his computer screen is suddenly replaced by a Google 404 service message stating, “the site you are looking for cannot be found.”

10

On waking the next morning, Nameless turns over in bed and looks nervously at his computer on the other side of the room.

When the memory of seeing his apartment on the screen the night before pops into his head, he slowly rolls on his back and stares up at the ceiling. 

“That shit was like something out of the horror flick Oculus,” he says quietly to himself. 

After a few more moments of anxious and paranoid reflection, Nameless opts to put the matter out of his head and instead gets up and starts to get ready to go out into the covid world for some essential items. 

“Maybe it was just a combination of the wine and cabin fever,” he thinks, as he stands over the toilet and listens to the water works. 

Once he’s washed and dressed, Nameless heads out for a few hours to wait in the street with his masked neighbors and pick up what he needs from the market and liquor store.

The nearest Trader Joe’s is across town, and as Nameless walks along the deserted Manhattan streets he can’t help but think of the movie “I Am Legend.” 

At least Robert Neville had a dog, he thinks, while noting the absence of anyone else in the immediate vicinity.  

It isn’t until 10 blocks later when he arrives at Trader Joe’s that Nameless finally encounters other humans. The line of masked and socially distanced people waiting outside the store wraps around the block, and it takes over an hour before he gets in.

Once inside the store, it’s like having your own private market. There’s no more than one person in any aisle, no waiting at the checkout, and no idle small talk at the register. As he watches the masked young clerk pack the groceries in silence, Nameless finds himself almost missing the mindless platitudes he would have exchanged with this young fellow in the past

By contrast, the liquor store is a much faster errand. The line is far shorter, and when it’s Nameless’ turn an employee asks what he wants, takes his credit card, and returns a couple of minutes later with the bottles of wine and a receipt.

The remainder of his walk home through the deserted streets passes like a daydream, and as Nameless enters his apartment building he reflects on the journey. Minus the people that were waiting outside of Trader Joe’s and the liquor store, he calculates that he only passed about 5 people during the whole trip. 

“I Am Legend, the prequel,” he thinks, as he unlocks the door to his apartment and enters.

Later, after dinner and a few drinks, he starts looking online for a movie. As he scrolls over the picks on Netflix, Nameless’ mind instead returns to what he saw the night before on ChatEntropy.

“That could not have been my apartment,” he thinks, yet another part of him insists on playing devil’s advocate and counters, “You know that fucking place looked exactly like your apartment.” 

Some of the mysteries we become obsessed with are paths to self-destruction, yet others, no matter how frightening or uncomfortable, are the pathways that lead us to our destiny. As Nameless turns off the TV and decides to fire up his laptop, he’s not only compulsively hoping to find that room again from last night, he’s also looking to reclaim a sense of normalcy that lately has become conspicuous in its absence. 

  11

If Nameless had thought that going back into ChatEntropy was going to be like Neo taking the red pill in the Matrix, his first chat puts an end to that notion.

“Are you a patriot?” demands a white dude in a MAGA hat who has a thick beard, menacing eyes, and a neck like a linebacker. 

“Are you Q?” asks Nameless.

With a fierce look, the man suddenly holds up a Ruger SR9 automatic pistol and points it at the screen. 

“You better run now you fucking woke, lib-tard, child-molesting cocksucker! The Revolution is coming and traitors like you are gonna suffer the wrath of real Americans!”

12

While wondering if that MAGA dude actually thought he could shoot through the screen, Nameless is suddenly confronted with a new chat buddy in the form of a strange looking yet fetching young Asian woman.

“Hello,” she breathes, with her eyes communicating a mixture of raw sex and cabaret comedy.

“Hi,” replies Nameless.

“I’ve been waiting to encounter a handsome young man like you” she says, gently biting her voluptuous bottom lip with some very pearly white teeth.

“Aren’t you a sweet talker?” counters Nameless.

“I’m sweet in a lot of ways.”

“I bet. The darker the berry, the sweeter the juice.”

“Aren’t you a funny one! You know intelligent people really turn me on. I’m what you would call a sapiosexual. Do you know what that is?”

After hesitating a moment, Nameless smiles broadly at her and then says very slowly and deliberately, “Fib-o-na-cci sequence.”

“Ooh, I love it,” she giggles.

Despite his initial intention to only focus on finding that mystery room from last night, Nameless can’t help but be turned on by this young lady’s Lorna Lust routine.

“I have a question,” she says, with a sly smile.

“And what would that be?” asks Nameless.

“Could you please empty your pockets for me?”

“I’d love to, but right now my pockets are already empty.”

“Could you please check and make sure? 

At first, he hesitates, but when she says, “Feel around in there for a little bit, maybe you’ll find something unexpected?” he decides to go all in.

At that point, the Woman tilts her screen down to reveal her slightly open bathrobe that offers a glimpse of her firm, golden skin between its folds. Inspired, Nameless starts to search in his pockets and neighboring anatomy with a deepening enthusiasm.

“I don’t see your hands,” she says. “Does that mean you’re feeling around those pockets?”

“Perhaps.”

“Per-haps?” She giggles. “I bet you’ve discovered you have a roll of quarters down there, don’t you?”

“I think I could change a few bills for you.”

“I bet you could. But before you do, I’d like to show you something that might just send those quarters rolling all over the floor.”

She now stands up so that the width of her hips fills the screen. 

“Are you shaved down there?” asks Nameless.

“Why don’t you see for yourself,” she says, fully parting her robe to reveal a totally manscaped and very erect cock.

As the shock of what he’s looking at scorches his retina, Nameless desperately scrambles with the cursor to try and click ‘Next’.

“Hey baby boy,” taunts the person on the other side of the screen, “take a walk on the wild side. You know you want to.” 

*** To read more, go to the Books page, select “ChatEntropy”, and follow the links for either Hidden Hand Press or Amazon.

The Buddha Of East 85th Street

by T.C. Eisele

                                                                1

I first started reading about Buddhism to pass the time whenever I had to sit in the car to do alternate side of the street parking. If you’re not familiar with alternate side parking, it refers to the days and times when car owners in New York City are required to move their vehicles so the street sweepers can clean. It’s basically something every New Yorker detests, because even if the sweeper doesn’t show up (and sometimes they don’t) you’re still required to sit there for 90 minutes or risk getting a ticket.

But getting back to Buddhism, I began my involvement with that after I started chatting online with this hot Asian chick. It’s all she ever wanted to talk about, because according to her, she was sick and tired of dating ignorant, unenlightened men who just wanted to keep her stuck on the wheel of samsara with them.

While her and I ultimately never clicked, the psychological elegance of Buddhist thought (especially Zen) stuck with me. In fact, though I never joined a temple (or even a study group) for a long time I contemplated the 4 Noble Truths whenever I could and was even known to sit in full lotus position, burn incense, and meditate from time to time.

One thing that has always impressed me about Buddhism, is that the thoughtfulness it nurtures can help to expand your overall awareness of life. The Buddhist’s would call this mindfulness, and it eventually ended up helping me to discover a real Buddha in my own life.

Oddly enough, it all began with alternate side of the street parking.

                                                              2

For several years I have resided on east 85th street between First and Second Avenue. It’s generally a nice block, containing mostly walk-up apartments along with a couple of small restaurants and a neighborhood Irish bar. It also happens to be a direct crosstown artery leading into Central Park, so even though where I lived was generally quiet, there was also a steady stream of traffic day and night heading over to the Westside.

Being a car owner in New York City helps you to notice a lot of things that non-drivers don’t. The most obvious being empty parking spaces. Even when I’m just walking around, I always make a mental note of any empty parking space I happened to see. That’s because if you’ve ever had to park in Manhattan on a regular basis, you learn to quickly see that some parking spots are much better than others. I also take special notice of how cars are parked, especially the ones that are in front of or behind my car. It mostly has to do with how much room they’ve left me to get out, though I’m also a connoisseur of the ability to get into a tight space.

 I don’t recall exactly when it was, but at one point I started to consistently notice a particular car on the block.

It was a classic Oldsmobile, so it kind of stood out among the newer cars. I don’t know very much about cars, but I would guess this one was from the 1970’s with its prominent hood ornament, oversized square lines, and plush, faux-leather seating. It was also a sort of hunter green color that you don’t see much anymore. The most important thing I noticed about this car though was that it was always perfectly parked. It was never more than a few inches away from the curb, and it was always absolutely equidistant from the car in front and the one in back. I’m not exaggerating. This damn car was always impeccably parked.

Another thing that piqued my interest about it was that I had no idea who the owner was. It seemed the only times I ever saw this car was when it was parked, and it was always in a great spot.

Yet despite the unusual fascination this vehicle seemed to hold for me, there was one thing about it that I was absolutely sure of. Whoever owned this car was an adept when it came to parking in New York City.  

                                                                3

The day I finally got to see the owner of this mythic vehicle was when I went out one morning to do alternate side of the street parking and that Olds was sitting right in front of my car.

I was particularly surprised to see it because I had gone out the previous night at about 9p.m to get a bottle of wine and there was a different car parked in that spot. People in this neighborhood don’t usually move their cars that late, so I couldn’t help but be curious as to how the Oldsmobile got in front of me.

On alternate side parking days, I always tried to get out there a little before the 9a.m start time. That’s because a lot of people usually move their cars just before 9, thus making it a lot easier to upgrade to a better spot.

I was already in a pretty good spot that morning, so there was nothing else to do except warm up the engine and wait for the sweeper to arrive. It was at precisely the stroke of 9 when a rather portly fellow dressed in a faded gray baseball cap, lightweight fatigue jacket, green khakis, and beige hiking shoes sauntered up to the Olds in front of me and unlocked the door.

Behind his silver, wire rimmed glasses that rode on the end of his nose were a pair of heavy -lidded eyes, along with a generally placid expression that was accented by a very subtle half smirk. Over the next few minutes, I watched him closely (though pretending not to) as he started the car, idled it for a bit, and then got out to begin methodically rearranging some things in the back seat.

It was about 9:15 when he squeezed back into the driver’s seat, but rather than beginning his vigil for the street sweeper like the rest of us, he instead slowly pulled out of the spot and drove away. 

                                                             4 

It must have been a week or so later when I saw him again. He was sitting on a bench in the small public area in front of a high-rise on the corner of 85th and 2nd . It was mid-afternoon, and as he sipped on a Starbucks, he appeared calm, still, and inscrutable.

As I walked by, my mind recalled how during that week I had noticed his car parked in a couple of different choice spots on the block. As usual, in every instance that Oldsmobile was perfectly positioned, with its wheels never more than a few inches from the curb.

Over the ensuing weeks I would see him from time to time, either in that sitting area on 85th and 2nd, or in the street café outside the Starbucks on 85th and 1st. He was always dressed in the same clothes and sipping a coffee with that calm, beatific smirk.

                                                             5

As the seasons changed and the fall slowly darkened into winter, I never failed to see that green Oldsmobile parked perfectly somewhere on the block.

One night after being out late, I was coming home from the train station when I unexpectedly spotted the green Oldsmobile parked in front of a fire hydrant in the middle of the block. The light was on inside the car, and I could see the driver reading a book.

Why is he sitting in his car in the middle of a cold winter night reading? Had something gone wrong in his life so that he was forced to live out of his car? There were people like that in this neighborhood. My interest was piqued, so when I arrived at the front door of my building, I lingered for a bit in the outer vestibule so I could spy on that green Olds and see what the driver was up to.

I didn’t have to wait long before something curious happened. Out of nowhere, a man came walking down the street and got in a car that was parked a couple of doors away. Within seconds, he started the car and immediately pulled out. Wow, I thought to myself, that’s unusual. People don’t often surrender their parking spots so late on a winter night unless it’s an emergency or something.

Almost immediately afterwards, the headlights of the Oldsmobile went on. I watched with great interest as it slowly pulled out and inched its way down the street, like some great meandering beast, until it came at last to a stop next to the car in front of the parking space that had just been vacated. Then, with luxurious and mindful slowness, that Olds backed its way methodically into the vacant space. It was a perfect parallel park, and I was mesmerized by it. To tell you the truth, I don’t know how long I stood there after the driver locked up and left, but it was more than a few minutes. The way he parked had been masterful. I had never seen anything so slow, so powerful, so precise.

After a while, I eventually exited my building and slowly crossed the street to where the Oldsmobile was parked. Upon walking through the space between the Olds and the car behind it, I looked down and marveled at how the wheels of that Hunter green chariot were no more than 3 inches from the damn curb.

It was then that I was struck by a very strong feeling. It wasn’t entirely clear, and I dared not give voice to it for fear of speaking a blasphemy, but a notion came upon me at that moment like the unexpected hoot of an owl on a winter night.

As if the voice of a spirit were whispering to me in that cold winter wind, I could clearly hear the word “Buddha” being softly enunciated in the darkness under the streetlights.

                                                               6

That spring I began to see the driver of the Oldsmobile more often, yet the circumstances I saw him in now where much different than in the past. Previously, he had always been alone and contemplative. Now, he was rarely alone. I would often see him in the outdoor seating area outside the Starbucks on the corner of 85th and 1st, where he would be talking with others. He would usually be the one speaking, though occasionally someone else would talk, like they were asking a question, but then he’d resume his lecture as the others gave him their full attention.

There was also the ongoing paradox of my never having seen this great master participate in alternate side of the street parking. At first, I thought this was unusual, but as of late, I instead began to see it as an added testament to his power. He parked late at night on the spiritual plane rather than in the daytime streets the rest of us toiled in. The proof of this was that he always had a great spot, and that Oldsmobile was never more than several inches away from the curb.

                                                             7

As the Summer began to slowly move into the Fall, the Buddha and his disciples were a daily fixture in the Starbucks outdoor café. I also began to feel that for some unknown reason he was beginning to notice me. Where before he had seemed completely oblivious to my existence, now he appeared to occasionally direct his calm blue eyes in my direction.

A slowdown at work was allowing me more spare time than ever before, so that now it was possible to immerse myself more deeply in my Buddhist studies. Earlier it had just been something I did to try and impress a chick or kill time when I had to sit in the car on alternate side parking days. Now though, I was meditating daily to cleanse my energy body and deepen my connection with the supreme life force.

I was also starting to delve more deeply into the Zen school of Buddhist thought. This was a profound shift for me. I was extremely impressed when I first read that Zen had originally been developed by the Samurai class in feudal Japan. It was because as warriors they didn’t have hours and days to spend in deep meditation and contemplative study. They needed a path to spirituality that took into consideration the fact that they potentially faced a violent death at any given moment. A Samurai was forced to live on the precipice. Theirs was not the way of begging or studying sutras, but the way of the sword.

That’s why I also began to study martial arts in my apartment. I bought videos and spent endless hours perfecting my forms and testing my endurance by fasting and going with as little sleep as possible. As a way of vigilance training, I would even locate the Buddha’s Oldsmobile and then observe him for hours as he practiced his parking Zen late at night.

Eventually, I became his guardian on the spiritual parking plane.

                                                             8

Then one day it all changed. Suddenly the Buddha’s small group was gone. Once again, I began to see him all alone sipping his coffee as if he were in a different dimension from everyone else.

At first, I didn’t know what to make of this. Then I started to think that maybe the time had come for him to transcend this mortal plane. Perhaps his teaching here was done, and it was time for him to become one with the Tao?

As his parking guardian, I wondered if I would be required to make the journey with him? Or was I merely supposed to help him transcend? I began to worry, both for his transition, and for whatever my subsequent responsibilities would be.

I struggled with this dilemma for many days until I finally came across something in my readings that showed me what I needed to do.

A 9th century Buddhist Sage named Linji Yixuan told his disciples, “If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.”

I knew instantly that I had lived a past life with Master Linji and through this omen he was telling me what I had to do. I would assist the Parking Buddha’s transcendence as an instrument of his divine mission. After that, I would then be free to follow my own path through the mysteries of the 10,000 things.

That night, I waited and let the Buddha park his Oldsmobile for the last time.

At the sacred moment, a raven sang out from a bare branch of the tree the car was parked under and, in response, I sent the Buddha of East 85th street to his rightful place in eternity.

                                                             9

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” said the Psychiatrist with a gentle smile on his face.

I bowed my head in acknowledgement. “No, thank you Doctor. It’s nice to be able to speak with someone who understands.”

With a faint smile of acknowledgement on his lips, the Doctor looked at me through his wire-rimmed glasses and calmly replied. “Our session is over for now, but for your next visit I would really like to try and get deeper into talking about the specific act you committed, and why you’re here.”

“We may speak of all sorts of causes,” I replied, “but we will never know the one ultimate cause.”

“Then we will try the best we can,” he said.

My legs and lower back were now starting to feel stiff, so I attempted to adjust myself in the chair, yet the usual samurai-like smoothness of my movements was being mocked by the tinkling of the shackles attached to my wrists and ankles.

“How long will I have to be restrained like this?” I asked.

“These sessions are designed to help you,” said the Doctor, “but you are here because you have committed a violent act. As a result, you are considered a risk to yourself and others. For as long as you are incarcerated in this facility you will have to wear those restraints every time you leave your cell.”

When the Guard arrives to transport me back to my cell, I smile at the Doctor and bid him a heartfelt, “Adieu.” When he smiles back and replies, “Until next time,” I can’t help but notice how his bespectacled face has the exact same half-smirk as that of my late Buddha.

It is then that a new destiny suddenly becomes clear to me. I now know my purpose for being in this place. I must guard another Buddha until it is time for his transition.  I will watch over this Doctor until the Ascended Master Linji shows me how to proceed.