Hendricks Gay - The fifth rule of Ten: a Tenzing Norbu mystery

ALSO BY GAY HENDRICKS AND TINKER LINDSAY

The First Rule of Ten

The Second Rule of Ten

The Broken Rules of Ten

The Third Rule of Ten

The Fourth Rule of Ten

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Copyright 2016 by Gay Hendricks and Tinker Lindsay

Published and distributed in the United States by: Hay House, Inc.: www.hayhouse.com Published and distributed in Australia by: Hay House Australia Pty. Ltd.: www.hayhouse.com.au Published and distributed in the United Kingdom by: Hay House UK, Ltd.: www.hayhouse.co.uk Published and distributed in the Republic of South Africa by: Hay House SA (Pty), Ltd.: info@hayhouse.co.za Distributed in Canada by: Raincoast Books: www.raincoast.com Published in India by: Hay House Publishers India: www.hayhouse.co.in

Cover design: Charles McStravick Interior design: Pamela Homan

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or deceased, is strictly coincidental.

Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress.

Tradepaper ISBN: 978-1-4019-4867-2

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
1st edition, August 2016

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

My heart was a fist, pounding against its cage of ribs.

Let me out, let me out, let me out.

Easy, Ten. Theres enough oxygen, especially out here on the deck. All those trees? Thats their only job, to make oxygen.

I would never take breathing for granted again. Id always assumed it was automatic. And it was.

Until the day came when it wasnt.

I fumbled for the only weapon that made sense, given the circumstances.

A pen.

I pulled the yellow legal pad close, a flickering candle my only source of light, unless you counted the sickle of moon. My hand glided across the paper.

Topanga Canyon, Calif.
June 2, Year of the Wooden Horse

Geshe Lobsang and Geshe Yeshe

Dorje Yidam Monastery

Dharamshala, India

Venerable brothers,

I will never mail this letter.

You will never read it.

But my mind has become my enemy. Once again, I turn to you for clarity.

I am alone on my deck overlooking the gloomy canyon and you are somewhere far above, hurtling closer with every hour. You come to offer wisdom, to affirm your lifelong commitment to the Buddhas teachings.

And so, of course, my pen brings me to the subject I most want to avoid. Commitment.

Commitment has always seemed risky to me, a notion that can serve right action, but also its reverse. Here they call such a thing a double-edged sword. But to me, commitment is more like our ceremonial phurba, the dagger with its three blades. Triple-edged, like the Buddhas teachings on the three potential responses of the mind: Attraction. Aversion. Neutrality.

I am once again pinned between the first two.

Yeshe and Lobsang, you know this about me. You saw me plunge into our Gelugpa tradition as a child, when we were novices at Dorje Yidam. I was so fervent, so sure. We all were, remember? We took refuge in the Three Jewels and vowed to keep the Five Precepts.

A decade later you watched the teenage me flee from the monastery as if my life depended on it.

I did the same with the Los Angeles Police Department. At my academy graduation I made a solemn commitment to protect and serve. No LAPD rookie was more dedicated. No homicide detective put in longer hours. And then, one day, I was done. I had to get out. I was suffocating.

You have always accepted this contradiction in me: How deeply Im drawn to the idea of commitment. How fiercely I push against it.

And of course I know, at least intellectually, that somewhere in between the pull and push is a third choice. Equanimity. The middle way. I long for it, for the supple strength of the willow; roots grounded in the Buddhas teaching, trunk sturdy yet flexible, branches bending and swaying through sunshine and storm. A man like that feels compassion for all, touches and tastes spacious liberation while staying true to his commitments. A man like that is worthy of trust.

I feel so very far from that man, as I sit here in the darkness.

Be specific, Ten.

Okay. The truth: I am suffering from a painful case of commitment backlash.

Julie is amazing. Smart. Funny. Strong. Vulnerable. Shes creative, and self-reliant, and her lovemaking is passionate and inventive. (I would apologize for that detail, Lobsang, but as I said before, you will never read this.) There are moments I feel like the most fortunate man in the world, when I am awash in gratitude.

And then there are times like tonight, when I didnt so much wake up as claw my way to the surface of consciousness. When her warm body, usually a source of comfort, smothered me to the point of suffocation. I had to practice great restraint not to shove her away as I leapt out of bed, gasping.

How can I tell her this? That at times my skin burns with unease, as if she were toxic? How could she possibly understand such a thing when I dont understand it myself? And yet I must tell her, because I also know how secrets destroy.

The thought of losing her forever stops my heart. The thought of staying with her forever stops my breath.

I can hear you, Yeshe: Tenzing, this is not about Julie. This is an ancient karmic resistance, the bitter fruit of many lifetimes of suffering and ignorance...

Maybe so. But Id very much like to be done with this particular hindrance in this particular lifetime. My friend Jean likes to say the first step toward solution is admitting the problem. It worked for her with drugs and alcohol. Maybe it will work for me with love.

I admit it. Im terrified of making this commitment. And Im equally terrified of being a man who cannot commit, of living and dying alone, not to mention coming back for another maddening round of this particular struggle.

There is more to admit: this particular turmoil is like an emotional vise, squeezing out other pockets of darkness. Blank places where memories should be. The gnawing sense that I am both chasing and being chased by a ghost. I dont want to bolt again.