“You will float through space, seeing the planets from a distance. The people and places you know will appear as tiny specks, but you will be able to recognize and communicate with them about your experience.” The tantric is in a deep conversation with my father.
“You don’t look like you work for NASA.” I am cynical as ever.
“No,” the tantric flashes a sarcastic smile, “we do it with lesser effort than that. Wisdom through the ages has been passed down by a shamanic guru. We don’t believe in reinventing the wheel, or building spaceships.”
I advised Dad against taking an unknown spiritual adventure, but he was hell bent on it.
“I will be able to communicate with you. Keep writing what I say, and the blog might break the internet.” Dad insisted.
I am at his bedside. He is in deep slumber, as the drumbeats fill the air. The faint voice I hear is disturbing.
“Son, Damn the Tantric! He did not tell me I will have to die to achieve this. Can you see me floating through the sky in a bubble?”
I checked his heartbeat, and dialled the doctor’s number. Do I need a psychiatrist too?