As many of you know, Karen and I are taking a World Religions course this summer at our local community college. As I was reading the chapter on Buddhism in the textbook, specifically reading about the concept of nirvana or spiritual liberation from suffering and desire, I was reminded of a story that a friend of mine told me several years ago. What follows is the story as he related it to me, filtered through my imperfect memory. I have lost touch with him, so can't verify the details. It is his story, one I've borrowed for your entertainment. To the best of my knowledge it is true. Though it is not an original creation, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
First, I have to give you a sketch of my friend Duncan. He's about average height and build with long, wavy, medium brown hair pulled into a ponytail that falls midway down his back, and has piercing jade green eyes. He has what might be a Sanskrit character tattooed on his arm. He is the very picture of a child of 60's hippie parents, ones who never moved away from the commune in the hills of northern California. He has that totally free and unencumbered attitude toward life that you might associate with that movement. He would have been in his early twenties at the time of this story.
One summer between school semesters in the early nineties, Duncan decided he would travel to India and Nepal. Or maybe he took a leave of absence from work. I don't quite remember. Either way, he had always wanted to see both countries and had saved enough money to hike around for a number of weeks, camping, staying in youth hostels or anywhere that would put him up for relatively little money.
While exploring the Indian countryside, he managed to contract scarlet fever, a rather nasty infection that, as its name implies, is accompanied by a high fever, in the 100-104 degree Fahrenheit range. When he started feeling really off and knew something was very wrong, he began asking people in the village he was passing through about a doctor. Each person he spoke with just pointed him toward what appeared to be an abandoned Buddhist monastery up on a hill. Feeling sicker and sicker, he soon gave up asking, thinking they hadn't understood his question. He just stumbled toward where they had pointed, though he didn't remember actually getting there.
For the next several days, he was in and out of lucidity in the throes of febricity. If you've ever had a fever of 102 or higher, you know how it is. Reality becomes soft and mutable. The difference between dreams and waking blurs until the boundary no longer exists. He didn't know how much time had passed. He didn't even know where he was. All he knew was that periodically, someone raised his head to help him sip a little water, and dabbed his head with a cool cloth, which he found both soothing and comforting.
The next thing he remembered was waking up on a pallet, drenched in sweat, on the floor of a small, simple, stone cell. It was mostly dark inside, with just a few rays of light passing through the slats of the primitive, wooden door. He could see his backpack in the corner, unopened and undisturbed, along with a bowl of water on the floor beside him. He drank that down in one continuous gulp and felt much more lucid than he had since he'd arrived. After sitting up a moment and assessing, he decided he was ok to stand. He also discovered he was hungry, and extremely curious about where he was. So, he got up, found he was still mostly steady and went outside.
He emerged to find himself on the grounds of a rather ancient Buddhist temple and monastery. It was evening and there was no one in sight. There weren't even sounds to indicate anyone might be nearby. Somewhat in awe of the beauty of the place, he started wandering, looking for someone, anyone to tell him where he was and how long he had been there. After a few minutes completely alone in this huge, stone complex, he stumbled across a young novice in orange or scarlet robes, only a few years younger than himself. The young man gestured to him and said, "Come, you must see the master. He wanted to speak with you as soon as you were up. Come, come." Not sure what else to do, Duncan followed the brightly robed youth as he navigated the shadows among the warrens of the empty grounds.
Eventually, they entered a large common room with slightly more modern appointments where all the novices were gathered watching television. Yes, television. You have to remember that in Asia and India many boys and girls enter monastic life at a very early age. Most don't necessarily do so voluntarily. It is often a decision their families make for them for one reason or another.
So here are all these brightly robed boys and young men, ranging in age from ten to sixteen, gathered around a television, watching, of all things, the satellite broadcast of MTV Asia. And not just anything on MTV Asia, they are watching the video to "Smells like Teen Spirit" by the Seattle grunge band Nirvana, which was quite popular at that time. The older monks are also in the room, but they were all studiously pretending the television did not exist, just as they thought good Buddhist monks should. All except the oldest monk. He seemed to be staring at the television, captivated by it as though he was a small child.
He noticed Duncan and said, "Ah, good, you are awake. Come, sit, sit." Duncan, his energy pretty much drained by the trip from the cell, sat down while one of the novices went off to get him some water and hot broth. While Duncan sat there no longer feeling particularly steady, the master went back to staring at video. After several days with a fever and no food, Duncan didn't feel completely connected to reality at this point and found the scene of a monastery of Buddhist monks watching MTV all too surreal. But he sat and watched, not having the energy to do much else.
Emboldened by Duncan's presence, the novices started giving the old master a hard time about watching the television. "No," he said in a single, clipped syllable. With sidelong glances toward Duncan, they persisted. Come on, admit it, you are watching the television. "No," he repeated, but he didn't stop staring at it. You can admit it to us, they chided, you are actually enjoying it. "No," he answered firmly. But he kept staring. Undaunted, the novices continued. You're watching the girls in the video and you are enjoying it. We know. We can tell. "No," the venerable monk insisted. Then he slowly turned Duncan as if only he would understand. "It is all fire," he said, passing his hands in front of him toward the television screen, "Fire and illusion."
All the novices fell silent, knowing their enlightened master had just shared with them the true meaning of nirvana.
© 2008 Edward P. Morgan III
