Phantom Buddha by Alvaro Cardona-Hine

Author:Alvaro Cardona-Hine [Cardona-Hine, Alvaro]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-06-09T22:00:00+00:00

Fred likes to cater to anyone in the poetry world with a big reputation visiting L.A. He can entertain now that he has a handsome apartment and a bright new wife. One night it’s Ginsberg, after he has read at USC and mentioned candidly, to the chagrin of several statuesque coeds, his appetite for boys. Ginsberg brings Orlowsky, his lover, a guy on the make for whatever road kill he can find. He’s ugly as a Chicago gangster. It is Orlowsky who steers the conversation to sex and its ramifications. Specifically masturbation, his favorite pastime. Ginsberg finds anything the guy says worth a giggle.

--In Israel we visited Martin Buber,-- Ginsberg says. --I tried to control him,-- pointing to Orlowsky with a mixture of pride and boyish shame, --but he asks anyway, -Do you jack off?-Of course, Buber doesn’t understand, so Peter uses his hand to show him what he means. --

--How did the old man react?-- someone asks.

--You should have seen his face!--

--He admitted doing it! Hell, everyone in the world does it!--Orlowsky puts in.

--But if you know that’s the case,-- I say, --why ask him?

--Just for the hell of it.--

A fresh acquaintance, Lawrence, who writes rhythmically exciting poems, adds his two bits, how his Lutheran upbringing in Minnesota taught you would go to hell and burn forever if you touched your penis for other purposes than to pee. He learned how to lie in bed with an erection, imagining his teacher or some girl so vividly that he could come without grabbing his dick.

The laughter tells Orlowsky that he’s been bested.

I am with a group of people and must choose a person to accompany me on an important errand. Rather than pick one from the group, I pick a young girl, about sixteen, standing a little ways off. She calls me a boomerang because I approach her tangentially. The group laughs. The girl and I walk away.

On the way, we stop without hesitation and kiss. We kiss with our lips open, but strangely empty of desire. Such vacancy. It is simply a kiss between kindred souls. We start walking again.

--I want you to be aware of your beauty,-- I tell her. --If you do that, you will have the confidence to face anything, do anything.--

--But I don’t feel beautiful…--

--Hush! Don’t be negative.-- I take the little finger of her left hand and show it to her, as if she had never paid any attention to it. --Look at this; can’t you see how delicate it is, how exquisite? And that goes for the rest of you, with a mind perfectly equipped to achieve anything you wish.--

--A tall order.--

--We program ourselves to be nothing, but if you acknowledge your own beauty to yourself, the entire universe and its energies align themselves with you.--

She looks at me disbelievingly. We are passing by a handsome stone wall with an apple tree about to bloom gracing the sidewalk with its shade. Its buds are already white and pink, with that extraordinary grace they possess.

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