Mekong River

It happened on the bank of the Mekong River, somewhere along the stretch where it forms the border between Thailand and Laos. Swollen from the recent rain, the current was strong, the water the color of cat poop. Clusters of fisherman’s huts on stilts lined the banks.

The monsoon had rinsed Oscar’s robes saffron-bright when he arrived at the water’s edge. A group of children was listening open-mouthed to an old man with what looked like only one functional tooth, telling them a terrifying story of a river carp so large it could swallow a small child whole.

Oscar joined them, but was not recognized as Catguru, not even by any of the children. They saw an ordinary though rather large cat lie down beside them and proceed to knead the mud while purring softly. That this same cat was an enlightened master, and that those same paws had already written verses of timeless nondual wisdom — this they would never know.

Oscar briefly got up to chase after a fly, but quickly lost interest and settled back down. The old man continued his tale of the monster fish.

“This carp, it’s the size of a tuk-tuk! No fisherman would ever dare throw his net for it. If it were ever caught, it would drag the poor man into the river and he would surely drown!”

“Fish exactly my size,” Oscar purred, to no one.

Later that night, when all were asleep inside their huts, Oscar stole a small boat. Soon, he was out on the river, staring intently into its depths as though expecting something.

And then, the monster fish rose from the depths. It wore scales like rusted armor, its eyes cold twin voids. It was indeed the size of a tuk-tuk. It circled Oscar’s mango-wood boat, creating whirlpools that defied physics.

“You’re late,” Oscar yawned, feline incisors flashing white in the night. “I’ve been no-thing waiting for no-thing.”

In response, the carp leaned over the boat, opened its jaws, and revealed not teeth but something that made Oscar lean forward in turn. And in a strange inversion of the laws of nature, the cat put its head inside the fish.

Moments later, Catguru pulled back, the fish closed its jaws and sank back into the mysterious brown depths from which it had risen. There was not a soul around to notice.

Many months later, when he was once again holding nightly sessions at the Bangkok temple compound, Oscar told his followers this tale. He offered no explanation of his behavior, no reason for taking the boat, or for putting his head inside a fish.

The obvious question arose: “What did you see in there, great Master?”

“The end of all illusion.”

“How will I see that too?” The typical question from the typical seeker — always desperate to get, unaware of the fact that getting is useless.

“When mind is lost in big empty fish of life. Until then, chase reflection, see only mirage.”

And it is said that on the bank of the Mekong River, somewhere along the stretch where it forms the border between Thailand and Laos, there was a young fisherman who claimed he’d caught a gigantic carp that purred like a cat.