Prologue
Preface
“The one who has conquered himself is a far greater hero than he who has defeated a thousand times a thousand men.”—Dhammapada 103
Chapter 0
Prologue
“As a great cloud with thunder and lightning pours down rain, so does the Buddha pour down the rain of the Dharma.” — Lotus Sutra
It was the first Mets game Mike Weldon had attended since his uncle took him to Opening Day fifteen years ago. Mike had been looking forward to this for weeks, watching from his luxury box. With him was Ellen Thomas, his best friend and executive assistant. The Phillies were in town, facing the Mets at Citi Field.
But before the first pitch, an announcement came: there would be a weather delay. Although the forecast called for perfect baseball weather, the flags stood stiff in a rising wind. The sky, clear and sunny only fifteen minutes ago, was now dark and threatening, but Mike didn’t notice because he was checking his email, mercifully reduced to a mere handful courtesy of the breakthrough AI information management system, FELIX, which had made him a newly minted billionaire.
“Mike!” Ellen turned to him, gripping his forearm so hard it hurt. “Have you ever seen anything like that?” She released her grip and pointed.
Finally, he looked up. “It’s—a thunderstorm! What’s the big deal, Ellen?”
“No, Mike, take a closer look!” she said, dragging him to the glass window and pointing.
Then he saw it. Less than a quarter mile away, at the edge of the field, a greenish-brown, roiling cloud curved around Citi Field, spinning. A blinding flash of lightning followed, with a simultaneous crash of thunder. As if God had opened a giant faucet, blinding rain and hail poured down, driven by a howling gale. A second later, the lights went out.
In that moment, the maelstrom of rain, wind, and darkness coalesced into a shape. Under the roiling green-brown sky, a funnel had formed.
In the middle of the infield danced a sinuous funnel, streaked with red and black, and buzzing like a million bees. An inexplicable terror gripped Mike, like every nightmare he had ever had, all at once. It crept slowly toward their luxury box—then stopped, as if it had hit an invisible wall.
A moment later, the unearthly whirlwind was gone. The rain dwindled to mist, the clouds parted, and the sun shone again. Mike looked at Ellen, who was checking her phone—as if nothing unusual had happened.
“Didn’t you see that tornado?” he asked.
“Mike, you look like you’ve seen a ghost—you’re white as a sheet.”
“It was just a thunderstorm.” She kissed him on the cheek and handed him a beer. “You’ve been working too hard, Mike. Sit back and enjoy the game; you’ve earned it.”
Mike took the beer, took a sip, and put it down. He stared out over Citi Field and into the stands. It was as if he were the only person in the stadium who had seen the tornado. The hollow feeling in his stomach lingered long after the game ended.
