Mrs. Buddha

Of all the spiritual philosophies I have explored, I always liked the gentle, moderate teachings of Buddhism the best. Wow, I thought the first time I encountered the eightfold path, that Buddha must have been a really nice guy. Wish I could find a boyfriend like him.

So last week at the library, when I ran across a biography of Siddhartha Guatama, the most recent incarnation of the Buddha, I picked it up. I didn’t expect much in terms of factual detail, since the biography was a modern interpretation of a 500 year-old text based on a 2,400 year-old text written 100 years after Siddhartha Guatama died by a committee of religious fanatics in a language that hasn’t existed for over 1,000 years. I just hoped for a glimpse of my perfect man.

Boy, were my eyes opened! Turns out the Buddha wasn’t very nice at all. Actually, he was the kind of guy you’d cross the street to avoid.

Sid was born into a wealthy family and lived his first three decades in what passed for the lap of luxury 2,500 years ago in what is now northern India.  But he wasn’t the kind of person who could enjoy good fortune. He complained about his “petty” and “pointless” domestic responsibilities (he named his son “Fetter”)  and yearned for a simpler way of being as “complete and pure as a polished shell”.

Well, who hasn’t been there? I estimate over two-thirds of my waking life has been devoted to the mundane drudgery of earning a living and maintaining personal and domestic hygiene. But I can’t really sympathize with Sid on this one, because he had servants who did most of this stuff for him, which makes him seem more like a spoiled brat than a great spiritual teacher.

Sid’s overprotective dad certainly deserved some of the blame for his whiney son. Not wishing the boy to experience ugliness, he hired a troop of guardians to ensure Sid lived in constantly beautiful surroundings. As a result, Sid was twenty-nine before he saw his first old person. It was a terrible shock to him.

Now this one I can sympathize with. I see an old person every morning and I still flinch when she appears in the bathroom mirror.

Sid went home, looked at his wife and newborn son, and experienced unbearable suffering when he realized that one day they too would grow old, get sick, and die. To avoid the pain brought on by this existential epiphany, he abandoned his family to become an itinerant monk. Or, to put it another way, he gave up his luxurious home, beautiful wife, and healthy child to wear inadequate clothing, sleep in ditches and beg for food, thereby adding whole new layers of discomfort and guilt to his suffering.

Big mistake, Sid, I muttered as I stopped reading to nuke dinner. I began to question his intelligence and nearly skipped a few chapters, since I had already figured out what would happen next, and clearly Nirvana was not imminent. But it was like watching a train wreck, I just couldn’t stop reading.

He wandered homeless for many years, hooking up with various spiritual gurus who taught him yoga and told him his suffering was the result of being too attached to the material world. To prove them wrong, Sid fled to the forest, where he abstained from human companionship, clothing, personal hygiene, food, and water. (He did some other strange stuff, but I’m not going to tell you about it, because this is the holiday season, and I don’t want you tossing your Christmas cookies.) Naturally, he became desperately ill, which resulted in even more suffering. Apparently, he tried to give up breathing as well, but failed.

Well that’s too bad, Sid, I said as I tossed the book into my tote bag to take back to the library, because your death by asphyxiation would have ended the suffering for both of us. But the next day, I realized I hadn’t got to the part of the story where Sid attained enlightenment yet. Certain there had to be a happy ending, I started reading again.

As Sid’s earthly feet took their last wobbly steps towards death’s door, a glimmer of reason finally penetrated the fog of misery he’d been lost in for his entire life. He realized suffering was unavoidable.

Seriously Sid?!? I shouted as I threw the book at the wall. Because the way I see it, 99% of your suffering was self-inflicted and absolutely avoidable. A couple of days later, as I was tidying the living room, I picked up the book, which happened to be lying open on a page with the words “rice pudding” at the beginning of the first line. Feeling foolish for getting suckered in once more, I sat down and finished the book.

Sid ate some rice pudding, then developed the principles of morality, moderation and wisdom that allowed him to embrace suffering and led him to Nirvana under the bodhi tree. He spent the rest of his life spreading the word. Eventually, he returned home and converted everyone except his wife to Buddhism.

Finally! I crowed, snapping the book shut with satisfaction at having found my happy ending. Someone in this story had a functional cortex! I totally empathized with Sid’s wife’s reluctance to take him back. She was probably still mad at him for deserting her and their week-old baby. Also, by that time, even if Sid had re-embraced personal hygiene along with suffering, he couldn’t have been winning any beauty contests.

I wonder if Mrs. Buddha is the real author of the Zen koan: If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.