There’s this story that’s been quietly streaming through the undercurrents of my mind over the last few months. I’m not quite sure how it goes yet, but it involves Abraham and Buddha happening upon each other in the desert. Somewhere in Central Asia, one would imagine, maybe outside the bustling metropolis of Balkh or Merv. These are the areas of the world where archeologists uncover Buddhist statues with Greek robes and Persian inscriptions. The crossroads. So what happens: across the ocean of sand dunes they spot each other, and each begins his careful, confident approach. Abraham, the cautious, stubborn, faith-driven shepherd, who believes in some highest level singular God that no one around but him seems to understand or care to think about. And Buddha, the all-understanding, simple, desire-less reflection of whatever is around him. When Buddha is in the desert, he becomes desert, the desert flows through him, and he reacts with maybe a little half-crack smile and lets it be, lets everything be. When Abraham is in the desert, he’s still Abraham, and he sees opportunity for turning the barrenness into a home where he won’t be subject to the oppressive dictates of others, and he attributes his unquestioningly (for fear of God’s wrath, if nothing else, he won’t question it) essential Abraham-ness, which is located in this draw of freedom, to the all-encompassing, all-watching, all-knowing, incorruptible One True God.
They see each other from afar, the two old men, and neither being particularly afraid - what with God/Nirvana on their side - they keep walking until they are face to face. They greet each other with all the requisite boldness and kind faith it takes to honestly and openly engage with strangers. Each bows. Humble hellos are exchanged. They become acquainted. They see the holiness in one another quickly - they must! - and after exchanging basic information (I’m Abraham the Hebrew etc. etc., I’m Buddha the Enlightened One etc. etc.) they meditate together.
Maybe it’s Transcendental Meditation. A few dips into the quiet sea of infinite consciousness.
And then they get into it about what this all is.
Naturally, eventually, (inevitably), the words flying back and forth between them start to catch a little heat, maybe even singe with some fire. Because these two have some fundamental disagreements after all. It’s a sudden thing, the argument, but they’ve gotten to the point where they’re talking past each other most of the time. The topic that’s drawn out these combative sides? One grain of sand. They’re contemplating its existence, its meaning, from whence it first came and to where it shall in the end go. Abraham is describing this in the context of that which is crafted by God’s all-powerful hands (he might be using “hands” metaphorically of course). He is calling upon Buddha to join him in offering a sacrifice to the One True God to commemorate this profound moment of realization about the single grain of sand. Buddha disdains this metaphor of “God’s hands,” and he tells Abraham that there is no cause and effect in the highest, truest level of conscious reality. He tells him that this grain is not really a grain of sand, there is no real grain of sand, but is, like everything else, a part of the unending, unbeginning relativity of existence in which in the center there is…nothing. No no, says Abraham, That’s pure nonsense! In that center is not nothing, there is the One True God, and all is derived from that. Oho you silly, bearded, striving desert man, says Buddha, Don’t you see how hard you are making if for yourself? Abraham balks. And what about you oh hairless one, says Abraham right back, Wandering around saying things like there is essentially nothingness? I say balderdash!
And they continue on like this for awhile. The answer is One! Shouts Abraham with all the defiance and righteous energy of a person who’s pretty freaking sure he’s right. It’s Zero, says Buddha, patiently, calmly, because he’s absolutely sure that he’s right.
One! Zero! One! Zero!
The grain of sand looks at them both and thinks, “splllffrrpp.”
This, we might guess, is an echo in its memory of the waters that once-upon-a-time, back in the Mesozoic Era or thereabouts, eroded it away from the rocks.
“Splllffrrpp.”
Buddha and Abraham pay this thought no attention.
And then maybe a few women walk by. Diana, Roman goddess of the hunt and moon and childbirth, and Athena in all her wisdom and battle gear, and a few of the holy women mystics: Hildegaard of Bingen, with all her monastic, virtuosic true visions of God as Love; Bruria, that witty, brilliant, sage of the Talmud who taught her husband Meir the virtue of praying for the wicked to repent rather than be destroyed. They’ve got their own squabbles, arguments like Abraham and Buddha’s over the meaning of it all, and sometimes they find themselves arguing over the best methods for enacting the feminine spark in a world that desperately needs it. But at this moment they happen to be walking peacefully. Maybe they’re even walking with the presence of Shechina, that complicated ancient Hebrew word that refers both to God’s dwelling space and the feminine half of the Divine. And these holy women see the holy men, squabbling over the state of existence. They see the grain of sand staring at both of them. They think these men could probably use some Shechina in their lives. Then one, pretty understandably you’d have to admit, says, “those idiots.”
And another says, “They really are. This is the freaking desert. They should be looking for water.”
And another responds, “yeah, but do you want to tell them? Let’s just let them go until they figure it out on their own, or tire themselves out.”
They walk on.
Then what? Maybe a couple of computer programmers walk by. They hear the binary argument between the two old men and it fills them with a sense of superiority over the religious sages.After all, ones and zeros are already their tools of trade. They don’t need to argue about which one to use, they know to use both. One zero one zero. Put them together, make sentences, make programs, this is life. They don’t even notice the grain of sand, whose still just sitting there saying, “splllffrrpp.” But this sense of assuredness they feel about their interpretation of events fills them with passion, and they head off behind some dunes to get it on. The rough sand, which, as mentioned, they barely notice, makes this act much more physically uncomfortable than either anticipated. It’s not a great experience.
All of these things are happening at once. Arguments and camaraderie and sex. At the same time, in Balkh and Merv, old orders are being overthrown for new, past rulers are being taken for slaves and slaves are becoming rulers, some merchants are crowning themselves kings and queens of the marketplaces, while others are off in search of opportunity elsewhere. It’s just another day in the world. What to make of all this? The debate in the middle continues and more and more draws people in. The sore and annoyed computer programmers eventually get closer and start recording the sequence of ones and zeros that Abraham and Buddha speak. Diana and Bruria come back to relay their messages to the old wizened desert men. More fights break out. They spread. Tales of woe, calls for pity, listings of credentials and accomplishments, all of these take the place of reasoned arguments in roughly ninety-five percent of the interactions.
And all the while, that little grain of sand just thinks “spllffrrpp.”
So what to make of it? I don’t know. I suppose it’s enough sometimes to remember that it’s all one thing. That this extends as far as the eye can see and the ear can hear and a voice can carry. And then? I’m not quite sure where the story goes from here.
Tonight is Christmas Eve and tomorrow is Christmas. In America this is an odd, commercialized, religiously founded, family-oriented, genuinely love-centric, if often Hallmark-ified, holiday that seems to be really pretty distinct to wherever its celebrated. Merry Christmas everyone. Back after the weekend with posts on Arcosanti, The Grange, and maybe some kind of conclusions to the questions of what it is that Millennials believe in on the spiritual fringe.
They see each other from afar, the two old men, and neither being particularly afraid - what with God/Nirvana on their side - they keep walking until they are face to face. They greet each other with all the requisite boldness and kind faith it takes to honestly and openly engage with strangers. Each bows. Humble hellos are exchanged. They become acquainted. They see the holiness in one another quickly - they must! - and after exchanging basic information (I’m Abraham the Hebrew etc. etc., I’m Buddha the Enlightened One etc. etc.) they meditate together.
Maybe it’s Transcendental Meditation. A few dips into the quiet sea of infinite consciousness.
And then they get into it about what this all is.
Naturally, eventually, (inevitably), the words flying back and forth between them start to catch a little heat, maybe even singe with some fire. Because these two have some fundamental disagreements after all. It’s a sudden thing, the argument, but they’ve gotten to the point where they’re talking past each other most of the time. The topic that’s drawn out these combative sides? One grain of sand. They’re contemplating its existence, its meaning, from whence it first came and to where it shall in the end go. Abraham is describing this in the context of that which is crafted by God’s all-powerful hands (he might be using “hands” metaphorically of course). He is calling upon Buddha to join him in offering a sacrifice to the One True God to commemorate this profound moment of realization about the single grain of sand. Buddha disdains this metaphor of “God’s hands,” and he tells Abraham that there is no cause and effect in the highest, truest level of conscious reality. He tells him that this grain is not really a grain of sand, there is no real grain of sand, but is, like everything else, a part of the unending, unbeginning relativity of existence in which in the center there is…nothing. No no, says Abraham, That’s pure nonsense! In that center is not nothing, there is the One True God, and all is derived from that. Oho you silly, bearded, striving desert man, says Buddha, Don’t you see how hard you are making if for yourself? Abraham balks. And what about you oh hairless one, says Abraham right back, Wandering around saying things like there is essentially nothingness? I say balderdash!
And they continue on like this for awhile. The answer is One! Shouts Abraham with all the defiance and righteous energy of a person who’s pretty freaking sure he’s right. It’s Zero, says Buddha, patiently, calmly, because he’s absolutely sure that he’s right.
One! Zero! One! Zero!
The grain of sand looks at them both and thinks, “splllffrrpp.”
This, we might guess, is an echo in its memory of the waters that once-upon-a-time, back in the Mesozoic Era or thereabouts, eroded it away from the rocks.
“Splllffrrpp.”
Buddha and Abraham pay this thought no attention.
And then maybe a few women walk by. Diana, Roman goddess of the hunt and moon and childbirth, and Athena in all her wisdom and battle gear, and a few of the holy women mystics: Hildegaard of Bingen, with all her monastic, virtuosic true visions of God as Love; Bruria, that witty, brilliant, sage of the Talmud who taught her husband Meir the virtue of praying for the wicked to repent rather than be destroyed. They’ve got their own squabbles, arguments like Abraham and Buddha’s over the meaning of it all, and sometimes they find themselves arguing over the best methods for enacting the feminine spark in a world that desperately needs it. But at this moment they happen to be walking peacefully. Maybe they’re even walking with the presence of Shechina, that complicated ancient Hebrew word that refers both to God’s dwelling space and the feminine half of the Divine. And these holy women see the holy men, squabbling over the state of existence. They see the grain of sand staring at both of them. They think these men could probably use some Shechina in their lives. Then one, pretty understandably you’d have to admit, says, “those idiots.”
And another says, “They really are. This is the freaking desert. They should be looking for water.”
And another responds, “yeah, but do you want to tell them? Let’s just let them go until they figure it out on their own, or tire themselves out.”
They walk on.
Then what? Maybe a couple of computer programmers walk by. They hear the binary argument between the two old men and it fills them with a sense of superiority over the religious sages.After all, ones and zeros are already their tools of trade. They don’t need to argue about which one to use, they know to use both. One zero one zero. Put them together, make sentences, make programs, this is life. They don’t even notice the grain of sand, whose still just sitting there saying, “splllffrrpp.” But this sense of assuredness they feel about their interpretation of events fills them with passion, and they head off behind some dunes to get it on. The rough sand, which, as mentioned, they barely notice, makes this act much more physically uncomfortable than either anticipated. It’s not a great experience.
All of these things are happening at once. Arguments and camaraderie and sex. At the same time, in Balkh and Merv, old orders are being overthrown for new, past rulers are being taken for slaves and slaves are becoming rulers, some merchants are crowning themselves kings and queens of the marketplaces, while others are off in search of opportunity elsewhere. It’s just another day in the world. What to make of all this? The debate in the middle continues and more and more draws people in. The sore and annoyed computer programmers eventually get closer and start recording the sequence of ones and zeros that Abraham and Buddha speak. Diana and Bruria come back to relay their messages to the old wizened desert men. More fights break out. They spread. Tales of woe, calls for pity, listings of credentials and accomplishments, all of these take the place of reasoned arguments in roughly ninety-five percent of the interactions.
And all the while, that little grain of sand just thinks “spllffrrpp.”
So what to make of it? I don’t know. I suppose it’s enough sometimes to remember that it’s all one thing. That this extends as far as the eye can see and the ear can hear and a voice can carry. And then? I’m not quite sure where the story goes from here.
Tonight is Christmas Eve and tomorrow is Christmas. In America this is an odd, commercialized, religiously founded, family-oriented, genuinely love-centric, if often Hallmark-ified, holiday that seems to be really pretty distinct to wherever its celebrated. Merry Christmas everyone. Back after the weekend with posts on Arcosanti, The Grange, and maybe some kind of conclusions to the questions of what it is that Millennials believe in on the spiritual fringe.
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