Ayub al Suqami should mark her of the beat

[Russell U. Scaiano]

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--
smoke.
For a time I hovered above the headland, gazing down at
the moonlit countryside. Ireland's Eye, the island just off
the coast, farther out the Island of Lambay. Behind glowed
the bright lights of Dublin, a modern, well-lit city indeed.
As I rose higher, slowly, I could see the magnificent curve
of Killenye Bay, so reminiscent of Naples, and beyond-
Greystones and Wicklow. Off I drifted, out of this world,
out of this space and time. On, to a plane of existence which
cannot be described in the languages of this three-dimen-
sional world.
It was like going from darkness into the sunlight. My
Guide, the Lama Mingyar Dondup, was awaiting me. "You

210

have done so well, Lobsang, and have suffered so much,"
he said. "In a short time you will be returning here not to
leave again. The struggle has been worthwhile." We moved
together through the glorious countryside, moved to the
Hall of Memories where there was much yet to learn.
For some time we sat and talked, my Guide, an august
group, and I. "Soon," said one, "you will go to the Land
of the Red Indians and there we have another task for you.
For a few short hours refresh yourself here, for your ordeals
of late have sorely taxed your strength."
"Yes," remarked another, "and be not upset by those
who would criticize you, for they know not whereof they
speak, being blinded by the self imposed ignorance of the
West. When Death shall close their eyes, and they become
born to the Greater Life, then indeed will they regret the
sorrows and troubles they have so needlessly caused."
As I returned to Ireland the land was yet in darkness,
with just a few faint streaks shooting across the morning
sky.