I am in a roof top garden, there is some sort of party going on with loads of people sat around and at tables. There are people of many ethnicities from all over the world. They are dressed in brightly coloured “hippie” style clothes. As the party carries on they draw a curtain around one part of the garden and gather around some Buddhist icons. A south American man there starts to do some chanting. I butt in with Tibetan deep voice chanting. They do not recognise me and are annoyed at my interruption. I point out to them that it is my garden which they are in. I strike up again and do White Tara. I need a drink of water before I can find my voice. After several cups I strike the right note and do some White Tara. Everyone joins in and after a while the party resumes happily.
The wife and I are in one segment of the garden when A.L. and a friend turn up. They have been travelling in India. She has remained pale but her friend has gone brown. She talks of her travels and I say that we will in time need to have a proper talk. She has something for me. At which point she shoots straight up into the air and then lands. She has brought many “ethnic”, clothes and trinkets.
Next I am on a mountain train. I arrive at a terminus in a hillside town way up in the mountains. It is very much like Nepal / Tibet / Bhutan. I get out of the train and wander along the high street. Turning instinctively to the right I go up a hill to “my” palace. Again there is a vibrant garden with peacocks. It is “my” garden.
Later I make another journey on the mountain train and end up at another terminus. Here the streets are filled with market traders selling saffron and magenta clothes, together with gold trinkets and jewellery. I have time to explore. Everyone is trying to barter with the merchants trying to buy goods in various currencies. The merchants will not trade unless the currency matches the passport of the person trying to buy.
I am not interested in bartering and look on watching. Somehow I am “in tune” with the locals. I wander back to the main street and notice various pins sticking in my back. Somehow I am now in an off the shoulder robe. One by one I pull the pins out of my back. They are made of a very fine gold pin topped with a tiny ivory chess figure. There is a castle, a knight, a king and a queen. I have also been adorned with much golden jewellery.
I go into an emporium as I am pulling out these pins and sit down. I ask the shopkeeper about what has been happening. She says that they have done this to me so as to make me unattractive to the locals so that they won’t fall for me and want to have sex with me.
A.L. comes into the shop and sits next to me. We start talking about my palace. An old Indian man with very short hair suddenly starts to talk in a very proper English accent. He says that she holds for me a key and that we must find it. It relates back to 1773. He says that I must get back to Bakula.
We leave the shops and seek out the train station. “All trains go through Bakula”, says the station announcer. We look at the map and it is configured like this.
From Rigpa Wiki
Bakula (Skt.; Tib. བ་ཀུ་ལ་, Bakula; Wyl. ba ku la) — one of the Sixteen Arhats. Born 70 years before the Buddha, Bakula was first an accomplished scholar and then lived as a wandering ascetic. One day, seated high on a mountain he saw the Buddha passing on the road below. Afraid he would not be able to catch up with him by following the road he jumped directly from the mountain-side, but was spared from injury by the power of the Buddha. He requested ordination and joined the Sangha. After studying and practising he became an arhat.
Together with 900 arhats, Bakula dwells on the northern continent (Uttarakuru) in a mountain cave. He holds a wealth-bestowing mongoose that has the power to grant the requisites for understanding all of the Buddha’s teachings—refinement of the five senses, the ability to attain the six paramitas, understand shunyata and manifest love and compassion for all beings.