Save for one, the monks considered me an ordinary boy. And I should tell you that these were not your stereotypical Buddhist monks. The White Lotus monastery centered upon the Great Middle Way, a moderate, slightly underground Buddhist sect. Neither ascetic nor decadent, they existed like the Hegelian dialectic -- synthesis triangulating thesis and antithesis. The monastery pursued a wide variety of interests. They produced and distributed their own rice wine, but rarely drank to excess. They were allowed to have sex. Encouraged by the head monk Fa-shun, a robust Malaysian soul, they studied the pragmatisms of western Aristotelian Method, in order to avoid the pratfalls of reductionist tendencies towards dogma. Intelligent, compassionate human beings, they cared more for the cosmos and mind expansion than the confines of the mundane. Balanced and bold, they lived like the Mayans: fully beset upon their ascension. They lived the life of both master and servant, prophet and disciple, harboring a cosmology built by the sheer compilation of method, math and mysticism. These pursuits became manifest in the construction of the physical temple proper. And this commitment to Perfect Balance made them misfits in society, of course. _ _ _ Built twelve kilometers outside the city of Tanakpur, the monastery was vast and austere and functional, yet accommodating. Crafted from the surrounding native pine, built into the base of a sheer cliffside, the temple jutted out like the thumb of a gargantuan hand reaching up from the earth. "We are a Thumb of God," Fa-shun would say with a grin as we returned from our daily meditative strolls through the forest. "Without thumbs, what would we be? Our heads would be filled with the knowledge to construct the methods of our survival and ultimate release, yet we would perish. We could bring nothing from the world of our mind to this plane, for the lack of opposition to the fingers. Jacobís Ladder rests at our fingertips, but without thumbs, we could neither build it nor climb it with decent probabilities of success. Behold! Before you spans the means of our ascension -- the product of opposable thumbs!" And then he would laugh like hell. Inside the structure, a large, open pinewood day room led back into a labyrinth of natural caverns running deep into the mountainside. The wooden exterior could be closed off from the caverns within for the winter months, or in case of imminent invasion, with a set of massive circular stones rolled into place at the entrance. Once sealed, we could survive for months with the stores tucked away, kept fresh from the cool, dry air of the cave. The open room looked out over the forests in the lowland hills of the Himalayas, far from the beaten path leading to Tanakpur. I felt safe and secure in sanctum sanctourum provided by the monastery throughout my infantile and formative years, despite the absence of my mother. Of course, if I had been with my mother, I would have been killed off in the sudden snow storm just a few months after birth. Again, I feel things worked out for the best; or, rather, worked towards that which is the tendency of harnessed energy to seek that which breaks inertia, increases velocity, and converts the entity to a single, unified band of light whistling through time towards the ultimate future. To begat perfection, manifesting in the End of Time, or die trying. I can't help it, really. It's what I live for. _ _ _ As I said, save for Fa-shun, the monks considered me an average burbling baby boy. Average, that is, until the moment I touched the Indian Head penny. Introspective, yet attentive; more interested in bodily functions than the tantric chants, more attune to gurgles and giggles than the Tao, they considered me just another orphan, just another refugee wound about the mortal coil of Samsara. Fa-shun, however, told me that he saw Vajrasattva or 'Diamond Being' shining in my eyes, and that my future held much in relation to the development of Man. I think this made the other monks jealous. Yet at that point I was much more enthralled with bowel movements, with making poo-poo, than I was with altering the Course of Mankind. I was three years old, a quintessential prime time for toddlers, a kiddy coming-of-age. The weight of the world seemed just a bit too much for me Now, however, it spins on the tip of my little finger, as Fa-shun said it would. A brawny bear of a human, Fa-shun, with copper-colored skin, shaved head, a long thin goatee accentuating his rigid jawline, eyes dark and bright with worldly wisdom, he resembled a bald, ruddy reincarnation Ghengis Khan. This is primarily because he was a reincarnation of Ghengis Khan, the leader of the Mongol Horde that raped and ransacked the Far East for decades. "He is with me always, Vajra," he once told me as I sat at his feet by the fire one night. I'd just turned three years of age. Dividing my attention carefully between my mentor and the irresistible crackling of the fire before me, I listened to him speak, making sense of what I could. "The Horde, Vajra, I can see their faces, recall battles . . . recall the rage. Such is the Fate of any great warrior: to be cursed, saddled with the knowledge of the Art of War, yet indentured to a life of pacifism in the lives following that life in which he took the lives of others for pleasure and profit. The more intense his penchants, the more ruthless the warrior, the more severe his payment . . . reflexive karma call it," he said, poking the fire, pausing for a moment for a message from the embers. "Little Diamond in the Rough," he said suddenly, as though yanked back from a great distance with sudden force, "I have paid with six lives since the manifestation of Khan incarnate. I believe my debt is fulfilled with this life. I believe I will make Nirvana this time around. You, my son, and you are my son, have many roads in front of you, many crucial paths ahead, I see them in my dreams, these paths alter the Course of History. It lies dormant within you as of yet, but it awakes soon, and rises, as sure as the attraction of the Earth to Sun. Remember this, Vajra, violence fails against the wrathful deities. Struggling against the flow increases the entropy, which ultimately results in eternal reoccurrence and rebirth. Purgatory is not the ultimate destiny of humanity, Vajra," he said, still prodding the embers with slow measured stabs, his eyes open wide, mesmerized by release matter to energy. "Immortality, this is the ultimate destiny. We need only listen to the triharmonic resonance of the spheres to know this is the Truth. Yet in the course of reaching this understanding we face many foes. It is easy to lose focus and direction, to abuse power, to maliciously manipulate other spirits to further one's personal pleasures, this creates entropy; thus depleting the useful energy in a system. Remain free of attachment to these dark spirits abusive of the Yin. They manifest as necessary and unfortunate entities of the evolutionary process. They live to be relinquished and repelled. Give nothing of the purity of your being to them, and you will attain that which your spirit seeks. " I looked at him with my big blue eyes full of innocence, radiating purity, and wondered what on Earth he was talking about, and what it was I sought. "I'll remember," I said. The fire hissed, applauding like deities from the distant pantheon. _ _ _
In the shadowed alcoves of creativity, where the hum of technology meets the whisper of a forgotten melody, Kevin M. Cowan weaves his tapestry. His words, like smoke curling from a noir detective's cigarette, linger in the mind, painting tales of mystery and introspection. As a musician, his notes dance like specters in the moonlight, haunting and ethereal, a symphony of the soul's echoes. In the realm of technology, he is the alchemist, transforming code into digital poetry, crafting realms where the future and the past entwine in an eternal embrace. Here, in this chiaroscuro of art and innovation, Cowan's work stands as a testament to the beauty found in the shadows.
Kevin M. Cowan is a writer, technologist, and artist whose work spans novels, AI development, drumming, and filmmaking. From his fiction roots in Nebraska to experimental media projects and cutting-edge AI, Kevin blends storytelling, sound, and code into one creative continuum. Explore his world — one story, rhythm, and idea at a time.
Music. Video. Visuals arts. All composed or curated by Kevin.
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