Death Trance Read Free Page A

down on top of him. His mind began to burst apart like an endless succession of opening flowers, each one richer and more florid than the last.
    The kendang drums pounded harder and harder; the cymbals shrilled mercilessly; the gongs reverberated until they set up a continuous ringing of almost intolerable sound.
    Michael swayed furiously now, his hands pressed hard against his face. The voice of the pedanda reached him through the soundless music, repeating over and over, 'Sanghyang Widi, guide us; Sanghyang Widi, guide us; Sanghyang Widi, guide us.’
    It was now - at the very crescendo of his trance - that Michael would usually have stood up to dance, following the steps untaught by priests or parents, or by anybody mortal, yet known by all who can enter into the sanghyang.
    But tonight he was suddenly, and unexpectedly, met by silence and stillness. He continued to sway for a short time, but then he became motionless as the silence and the stillness persisted and the imaginary music utterly ceased.
    He took his hands from his face and there was the pedanda, watching him; and there was the inner courtyard of the temple, with its dead leaves and its abandoned shrines; and there was the incense smoke, drifting thickly into the darkness.
    'What has happened?’ he asked. His voice sounded strange to himself, as if he were speaking from beneath a blanket.
    The old man raised one skeletal arm and indicated the courtyard. 'Can you not understand what has happened?’
    Michael frowned and lifted his head. The smell of burned coriander leaves was stronger than ever. Somewhere a whistle blew, loud and long.
    The pedanda said, 'You know already that your one body consists of three bodies: your mortal body, your stulasarira; your emotional body, your suksmasarira; and your spiritual body, your antakaransarira. Well, your stulasarira and your suksmasarira have fallen into a sleeping trance, not like the wild and frenzied trance of the sanghyang, but more like a dream. Your antakaransarira, however, has remained awake. Your spirit can perceive everything now, unhindered by physical or emotional considerations. You will not be concerned by the prospect of hurting yourself. You will not be concerned by anger, or love, or resentment. In this state, you will be able to see the dead.’
    Michael raised his hands and examined them, then looked back at the pedanda. 'If I am asleep, how can I move?’
    'You forget that your stulasarira and your antakaransarira are inseparable, even after death. That is why we cremate our dead, so that the antakaransarira may at last fly free from its ashes. Your spirit wishes to move your mortal body and so it has, just as your mortal body, when it is awake, can move your spirit.’
    Michael sat silent; the pedanda watched him with a patient smile. Although essentially the temple seemed to be the same, now it possessed a curious dreamlike quality, a subdued luminosity, and the clouds above the meru towers appeared to be moving at unnatural speed.
    'You have so many questions and yet you cannot ask them,’ the pedanda said.
    Michael shook his head. 'I feel that the answers will come by themselves.’
    'Nonetheless, you must try to put into words everything that you fail to understand.’
    'Can I feel pain in this trance?’ Michael asked. 'Can I walk on fire, or stab myself with knives?’
    'Try for yourself,’ smiled the pedanda, and from the folds of his plain white robes he produced a wavy-bladed kris, the traditional Balinese dagger. Michael could see by the way the blade shone that it had recently been sharpened. He accepted the weapon cautiously, testing the weight of its decorative handle. For a moment, as the pedanda handed it to him, their eyes met and there was a strange, secretive look in the old man's expression that Michael could not remember having noticed before; it was almost a look of resignation.
    In the sanghyang trance, young boys seven or eight years old could stab their chests with these