Buddhablog
The Buddha stuck his head in my door. "Can I borrow your toothbrush?" he asked.
I looked up from the computer. "What? No, it's mine."
"It's just a sensory delusion," he said.
"Maybe, but I don't want the sensory delusion of your germs on the sensory delusion of my toothbrush. Besides, doesn't brushing your teeth kill all sorts of little germs, and a toothache's just a sensory delusion too, that you should be past, right?"
"Fine, be that way. Remain trapped to your illusions."
I shrugged. "I will, thanks."
He walked around behind me and looked at the screen. "You seem distracted."
"Gee, y'think?"
"Frustrated, too."
I spun around in my chair. "Yes, I am. Because I'm tired of watching things I don't have any control over, and seeing things happening, and sitting around and not doing anything. With friends and with the world at large. It's past time I actually DID something. And I'm also lonely, and my country's been taken over by warhawks and reactionaries and fundamentalists. And I'm twenty five and I'm still living at home and haven't completed college or anything. So yes, I'm frustrated and distracted. Because I'm tired of not doing anything."
He sat down on the bed. It didn't flex beneath him. "Why do you want to do things? This world's just a world of becoming, nothing is permanent. Attachment to the things of this world causes suffering."
"Bullshit," I said.
"Oh? The only reason you're frustrated and angry is because you're attached to these transient things and the shells that people inhabit, none of which is real."
"Bullshit," I repeated.
"That's not a very enlightening comment," he said.
"I thought it was. Nice and succinct, and forceful. I disagree with your entire premise and the conclusions you draw from it. The world, in fact, exists. It's right here. People exist, and denying them and the world doesn't do any good."
He shook his head. "Ah, materialism. Nothing in this world is permanent, though. Everything passes away and..."
"Dies," I interrupted him.
"dies and falls apart. What's the point of becoming attached to anything when it'll fade and die? What's the brief time of a friendship or a thing, in the age of the universe?"
I shrugged. "So? That's not an argument to disengage from life, that's an argument to engage in it. Okay, so this is a world of becoming, how's that bad? You live, and how you live is really what matters."
"And that's why you're angry, because you're not. If you weren't concerned with changing things, you wouldn't be worried."
"That's just stupid. And an excuse to just wander around feeling holy, instead of doing things to make the world better."
"How would you make it better? By reducing suffering? Would not the best way to do that teach people the truth?"
"What, that the world's not real? Pah. That doesn't stop them from starving to death, or dying to something stupid. It makes it worse."
"Neither does posting to Livejournal."
"Oh, shut up," I said, and he shrugged.
I looked at him. "What kind of Buddha are you, anyway?"
"Does it matter? Probably Zen."
"Probably?"
"Hey, I'm your mental construct, you tell me. Wasn't this supposed to be started about that Rage Against the Machine album with the burning monk on the cover?"
"Yeah, but we got off on the rant and I couldn't tie it in. Seems like the least effective protest ever, kinda. Okay, sure you disdain the world and such, but setting yourself on fire isn't really likely to stop anybody from oppressing you. Well, you in particular, yes, but not anybody else."
"It got worldwide attention," he pointed out.
"Which didn't do anything."
"Then the fault lies with the world, rather than the monks, wouldn't you say?"
"Probably," I nodded, "and comparing the anger and the kinds of change Rage has versus why the monk did it would probably make an interesting read, but it's not what I ended up writing."
"All you really wrote was two strawmen arguing," the Buddha said.
When I looked over where he'd been, all that was there was a scarecrow, and that was gone the next time I looked.
Previous:
Stories from the Rabbit Hole
Stories from the Rabbit Hole, Part 2
There's a Buddha on My Bed
A Discussion of Procrastination and Buddhism
Tags: Rabbit Hole, Mindscribbles, Religion, Life, The Universe, and Everything
I looked up from the computer. "What? No, it's mine."
"It's just a sensory delusion," he said.
"Maybe, but I don't want the sensory delusion of your germs on the sensory delusion of my toothbrush. Besides, doesn't brushing your teeth kill all sorts of little germs, and a toothache's just a sensory delusion too, that you should be past, right?"
"Fine, be that way. Remain trapped to your illusions."
I shrugged. "I will, thanks."
He walked around behind me and looked at the screen. "You seem distracted."
"Gee, y'think?"
"Frustrated, too."
I spun around in my chair. "Yes, I am. Because I'm tired of watching things I don't have any control over, and seeing things happening, and sitting around and not doing anything. With friends and with the world at large. It's past time I actually DID something. And I'm also lonely, and my country's been taken over by warhawks and reactionaries and fundamentalists. And I'm twenty five and I'm still living at home and haven't completed college or anything. So yes, I'm frustrated and distracted. Because I'm tired of not doing anything."
He sat down on the bed. It didn't flex beneath him. "Why do you want to do things? This world's just a world of becoming, nothing is permanent. Attachment to the things of this world causes suffering."
"Bullshit," I said.
"Oh? The only reason you're frustrated and angry is because you're attached to these transient things and the shells that people inhabit, none of which is real."
"Bullshit," I repeated.
"That's not a very enlightening comment," he said.
"I thought it was. Nice and succinct, and forceful. I disagree with your entire premise and the conclusions you draw from it. The world, in fact, exists. It's right here. People exist, and denying them and the world doesn't do any good."
He shook his head. "Ah, materialism. Nothing in this world is permanent, though. Everything passes away and..."
"Dies," I interrupted him.
"dies and falls apart. What's the point of becoming attached to anything when it'll fade and die? What's the brief time of a friendship or a thing, in the age of the universe?"
I shrugged. "So? That's not an argument to disengage from life, that's an argument to engage in it. Okay, so this is a world of becoming, how's that bad? You live, and how you live is really what matters."
"And that's why you're angry, because you're not. If you weren't concerned with changing things, you wouldn't be worried."
"That's just stupid. And an excuse to just wander around feeling holy, instead of doing things to make the world better."
"How would you make it better? By reducing suffering? Would not the best way to do that teach people the truth?"
"What, that the world's not real? Pah. That doesn't stop them from starving to death, or dying to something stupid. It makes it worse."
"Neither does posting to Livejournal."
"Oh, shut up," I said, and he shrugged.
I looked at him. "What kind of Buddha are you, anyway?"
"Does it matter? Probably Zen."
"Probably?"
"Hey, I'm your mental construct, you tell me. Wasn't this supposed to be started about that Rage Against the Machine album with the burning monk on the cover?"
"Yeah, but we got off on the rant and I couldn't tie it in. Seems like the least effective protest ever, kinda. Okay, sure you disdain the world and such, but setting yourself on fire isn't really likely to stop anybody from oppressing you. Well, you in particular, yes, but not anybody else."
"It got worldwide attention," he pointed out.
"Which didn't do anything."
"Then the fault lies with the world, rather than the monks, wouldn't you say?"
"Probably," I nodded, "and comparing the anger and the kinds of change Rage has versus why the monk did it would probably make an interesting read, but it's not what I ended up writing."
"All you really wrote was two strawmen arguing," the Buddha said.
When I looked over where he'd been, all that was there was a scarecrow, and that was gone the next time I looked.
Previous:
Stories from the Rabbit Hole
Stories from the Rabbit Hole, Part 2
There's a Buddha on My Bed
A Discussion of Procrastination and Buddhism
Tags: Rabbit Hole, Mindscribbles, Religion, Life, The Universe, and Everything