Buddha's Wife - short fiction

Buddha’s Wife -   2020-2021 - ver09e
- short fiction by Hugh Tayler

I closed the dishwasher on the breakfast dishes and called up the stairs to my wife in her studio, "I'm going to check the Free Table, see what's out there this morning."

It was a nice day, considering that there was a pandemic. People were de-cluttering that summer as they spent more time at home. Lots of that clutter ended up on the Free Table, out on the boulevard in front of our townhouse. One of the principles of running a Free Table or a Free Store or a Free Space in an apartment recycling area is that someone has to fill in the gaps left by volunteer anarchy. I put on my baseball cap, checked my t-shirt and sweatpants for dishwater, put on my mask and gloves, and went out to the sidewalk.

Some jerks had left two paper coffee cups on the Free Table next to a big pile of free kids' clothes. Better coffee cups than another bag of dog poop. I edged away from the table because there was a woman in black street pajamas pushing a stroller down the sidewalk and I hoped that she would look at the kids' clothes and a white and green potty. The potty was clean and in like-new condition, but people do not usually take potties from the free table, and I needed this one to find a new home.

She stopped ten feet away from the table and waited while I picked up the coffee cups and a rumpled paper napkin and walked away to toss them in my little trash can. She rolled up to the table and said, "I'll just be a minute."

She picked through the kids clothes and put two cute t-shirts and a sun hat in the bag at the back of the stroller. The sleeping child in the stroller could use the hat. Not Scandinavian straw blonde, but with a good head of blonde-brown hair. Probably time for their first hair cut if they were going with the short-hair-for-boys look. No gender clues from the clothes; the kid was wearing what looked like a patterned knit cotton golf shirt in Foxfibre cotton tones. The shorts over Pampers were a coordinating solid color. An outfit like that for me - if I could find something so eternally stylish, so ethnic, and so expensive in a golf shop - would be $650, even without the Pampers.

She looked at the other stuff on the table and picked up and put down a blue and white china cream pitcher with a chip on the edge. And she said, "Who's putting these on the free table?" And she picked up a rock that was holding some yellow paper printouts on the table and looked at the top paper for a second.

The printouts said:
Learn to meditate for free!
Breathe deeply and naturally, focusing your attention on your nostrils or your abdomen as the air flows in and out. At some point you will realize that your attention has wandered and you have a train of thoughts that are not here and now. Simply become aware of this and let your attention return to your breathing.

And she looked up and over at me and said, "You know, I was his wife."

I thought to myself, 'Whose wife? Are you this kid's mom?'

 But I said, "What?"

She said, "Gautama. Siddartha. I was his wife. Can you imagine? Walking away from his wife and son? We weren't left poor. And we never went hungry. But I was beautiful. And devoted. And our son was wonderful. And he walked away from us. Can you imagine?"

I thought, 'Yeah. Beautiful for sure, under that mask. Could be from north India, but she's thirty or twenty-five years old, not twenty-five hundred years. And her accent is not really an accent, just measured and educated, with intonation and timing that lets you know she speaks more than one language.'

She rocked the stroller, and said, "I understand, but I'm not at peace. I don't go for this forgiveness stuff. I have relaxed about what happened, it just is, and it was a long time ago. But I get so angry when I read this too-simple mindfulness stuff, stuff that you repeated here."

I hadn't told her that I put the free printed handouts on the Free Table but the logic was simple: I was at the table. And I'm old, male, mixed Euro background. I look like the kind of person who used to make a good living importing and marketing Asian art, or Asian cameras, or Asian wisdom.

"Breathe in, breathe out. Let the thoughts come, let the thoughts go. " she said. "That's only half the story. You will not end suffering in the world this way. It's not wrong but it is only the first baby steps."

I said, "What do you mean?"

She rocked the stroller. "I remember my life with Siddartha Gautama, the prince who became the Buddha. I really did live out on the plain, in a palace in a city, by the river, with the hills nearby. Well, I don't really know that I did but you, you, know when you have a feeling? When you suddenly get it?"

"People often have a strong feeling that they know things with certainty, that they see the world beyond this one, that God has delivered a special truth to them, but those feelings are a fantasy. Sometimes it is the kind of fantasy where people have to call the police or a holy man. But in most cases - like me, I hope - it is harmless. Your brain seizes the nearest myth and you think that you are destined to play a part in the coming new age of peace, or that you are destined to become the most respected superfan for the local football team. Or that ...."

And she paused and looked down into the stroller and gave it a rock and looked back right at me, "Or that you lived a past life, as a hominid out on the plains in Africa. Those feelings that come at you, like out of nowhere, sometimes triggered by a story or a picture."

She was on a roll: "Those feelings that some people have when they realize the size of the planet and they realize the number of people that live here and they realize the chain of human actions needed to put food on the table everywhere, every day. And it just strikes them with this feeling of fright: never mind the groceries, do we have enough air for everybody?"

And she laughed. Because she'd identified two emotional themes that I knew well and she could see my eyebrows go up even though the rest of my face was masked.

"There's nothing mysterious about knowing what might resonate with people. People have these odd personal ideas all the time, lots of them. Your brain works all the time, non-stop, at night, especially. Who do you think throws the covers off so you wake up cold?"

 And she looked down at the sleeping child and rocked the stroller again.

And I'm thinking to myself: 'Do we both have an albatross around our neck, like the ancient mariner in the poem?  This compulsion to share some story with personal meaning? I don't see any albatross on her, but wait, she's either well fed for a small person or she's pregnant and the kid is how old .... Stop. This is none of my business. People always tell you what you need to know.'

I made a motion to leave and she said, "No. He's sleeping. He'll sleep for another few minutes. As long as I am in a park by then, because he really likes parks. If I'm in a park with a dog, that's even better. As long as I get there by then. I get enough exercise myself. I did my yoga this morning."

So I said, "You think you are Siddartha Gautama's wife?"

"No, not now, but yes. I have that inner conviction and lots of imagery to back it up. But the idea that we carry memories from one life to another is not logical. How are you going to encode memories in DNA? DNA makes proteins that make us ready for things. When you are ready to walk, you learn to walk. When you are ready for toilet training ... He really is. I'm getting tired of this diaper thing. We could use this potty if that's okay. It looks clean. I'm taking it."

I said, "This is the Free Table. People put stuff here at random. People take stuff at random. And a few mess it up at random, too. But you can't let the actions of five percent dictate the destiny of the human race. I guess those are big words for a guy babysitting a table full of old household articles. But you know how you said you get a feeling about stuff?"

She said, "Yeah. Lots of us get some powerful feeling but we don't check it out against reality. The exciting feeling that their football team's struggles to win some child's game, all that running around, really matters. Or their deep feelings of duty to their parents' religion, some eighty year old guy in a thousand year old outfit, telling them how many kids to have. Clearly ridiculous. But we are ready. Ready to understand that we are part of something bigger."

"Those feelings are unusually strong sometimes for reasons that we can't put a finger on. There are coincidences in your life - everyone's life - all the time. You dream of a wolf, and in the morning you go out of your tent to do your business. And surprise, a wolf wanders up to watch what you are doing. And she looks at you and she walks away. Stuff like that happens all the time to people."

"So I am Siddartha Gautama's wife, his ex-wife, in my heart. I had this feeling that I knew him when I first heard about him and when I read about his family, there was something so familiar about her story, my story. And there is almost nothing written about her. There are thousands of pages of commentaries written about his teachings, but I could fit the essentials into a Spiderman comic. It's hardly more complex than "With great power comes great responsibility." But it is not that, of course."

I asked her, "So what is the story, if you know all about it?"

"He took off. I had to deal with his dad and his brother and the prince from up the river with the big mustache, the guy with two swords who wanted to marry me and unite the kingdoms. He was so sweet to me. Do you know how hard it is when your husband is gone - not dead even - and you have a little son and a daughter on the way - to find another husband? My second husband loved me more than Gautama did, but he was too clever for his own good. But that's another story."

"Gautama took off and we all went on with our lives and then we started hearing these stories. Then holy men, holy beggars with holy bowls showed up and told us about his wise teachings. And it still irritates me."

I said, "Have you done anything to share your insights about Gautama? "

"No, I grew up Jehovah's Witness. I used to knock on doors doing service with my mom and my stepdad on Saturday morning. It's against policy and teachings, but sometimes the babysitter thing doesn't work and you don't want to wait in the car. So there you are smiling at strangers. But kids don't go door to door on Saturday any more. This summer, nobody goes door to door, " her voice a little muffled by her mask.

I said, "Getting back to Buddha," and pointing to my printouts, " tell me what I got wrong."

"It's pretty simple," she said, "You already understand but you don't know that you know.  I didn't watch my parents talk with person after person and not learn who was ready to take the next step."

"So. The missing half of mindfulness meditation. I was listening to the CBC one afternoon and the show host was talking to the traffic reporter about mindfulness."

She saw my eyebrows go up again. "You heard this, too? Coincidences happen. They mean nothing. And everything."

"So you remember that the radio host was talking about the routine: breath in, breath out, focus on the breaths, thoughts will come, and you become aware of them and let them go again. And she talked about how no matter how hard she worked at it or tried not to work at it, all the things she had to do would just keep coming back."

"I felt so sorry for her and her traffic reporter friend, hearing that on the radio. I felt my old familiar anger. These two smart women stuck in this half-wisdom preached by monks in robes and spread by men waving swords like boys waving sticks."

I thought, 'Half-wisdom? Is that a thing?' but I kept my mouth shut.

"The practice is good, and it is true wisdom, discovered over and over by many teachers and wise elders in many faiths and traditions. As you focus on your breathing, thoughts come. You think about taking out the recycling, and you think about who stole your recycling bin, and you feel angry, but you let it go. There is nothing you can do about it. The thief is not here now. Let it go."

"Gautama was right to teach this. He was so smart, and such a nice man. My second husband was a nice man too, definitely more loyal, but he didn't have that - that - what Gautama had, what I really missed. But they are both dead. Unless his spirit is back. Someday I'm going to meet the Dalai Lama and I'm going to walk into the room and maybe there will be this big silent click and everyone in the room will turn to stare at us. We'll know. Or not. He's too old for me. But he seems like a nice guy. His laugh reminds me of the way Gautama used to laugh."

I said, "You remember that?"

"Like a movie. Or a dream. I think I remember it, but people think a lot of things. But back to what you need to learn."

She picked up one of the yellow printouts. "This stuff you typed out here: it's not wrong but it is only part of my practice."

"Like the CBC show host said, you breathe in and breathe out and thoughts come to you and you let them go. And they come back. And they come back because your life is trying to tell you something.You are not a monk or a nun. You are a person learning to be wiser and kinder and calmer as part of a family or a community. You have clothes to wash for school on Monday and groceries you need to buy. Your meditative practices should be part of your life, not something separate. Maybe you already keep a handwritten journal or maybe you need to make time for reflection when you review your day and plan for the next one."

She put the yellow paper back on the stack. "No teacher will advise this, but you can actually pause your mindfulness meditation and write thoughts down with a pencil and paper, and then re-focus on your breathing. When those thoughts like, "I've got broccoli in the fridge." come back to you, you just become aware that they are already on paper, that you can let them go."

"Gautama did not teach the practice of moving your thoughts to paper because we had simpler lives and much better memories back then. Even though he was born a prince and became a wise man, he was not someone who learned to read and write. But he is dead, unless he is back, of course, and not talking to me because he is still mad at me for marrying again instead of becoming a nun like his other wife. But I'm here, here now, and I am telling you this: your pen and paper can be a part of your practice just like your yoga mat."

I said, "So writing is okay if you do it with awareness."

She said, "Yes. But you have to be observant and honest. Is it a good practice for you personally? There are a few people who should not meditate without careful guidance. They really do have obsessional thoughts that they can't manage if they just sit and relax and breathe. But most people are troubled by ordinary things, like anger or desire or fear or anxiety or if they left food in the microwave at work. Gautama was right, is still right, you can learn to let go of those troubling thoughts."

She looked into the stroller and rocked it again. "Those calming "let it go" teachings work really well for the comfortable and the powerful so it is easy to make them the central message. But that is not all he said. Why do we hear so many commentaries and interpretations on the topic of detachment, but so little about how to live a life of compassionate action?"

"To be fair, we all lived in a caste society, where compassionate action and its sister social justice were not polite topics. And practical observation and logic were concepts for farmers and blacksmiths and merchants, not Brahmins. Gautama pushed human progress forward as much as anyone could in such a place, such a time. It would be unreasonable to expect more."

"But I was so angry with him. I wanted more, even though I could not put into words what I wanted.  Back then, even living in a palace, people's lives could be so difficult. There were priests and some healers, but we had very little practical medical knowledge. I watched my baby daughter die. I take care of kids all the time now. I'm going to have one of my own. But losing a child ... And when you feel like you can do nothing except suffer..."

She looked up and took a deep breath. "But I'm here now, in this life. And with my nanny training I see that we could have done more to try to save my daughter. But all we had to guide us were meaningful stories told with great sincerity and heartfelt conviction: ideas of pollution and ritual and status. They left no room for learning from observation. Learn to keep poop out of the water, learn to boil water before you drink it, learn how to make a rehydration solution."

"Gautama is right about letting go of suffering. I can't feel guilty for not knowing how to try and keep my daughter from dying. We did our best as we understood it, even Gautama, who should have stayed with his family. He walked out on us with his head full of questions to go and starve with the holy men among the trees. But his questions did find some answers that he taught others, teachings that were written down in books. And his answers, his ideas, they made people's lives better."

I nodded, but couldn't find anything to say. What do you say to someone who has experienced or thinks they have experienced the loss of a child?

"His followers' practices spread with the empires that they became part of. Across all of Asia, all the way to Europe through Jesus. You know that Jesus spent the missing years of his life - the ones that are not in the New Testament -  in India studying Gautama's teachings? Those ideas needed to be out there. People were ready to let go of suffering, ready for more kindness."

She rocked the stroller and went on. "But there is the other half of the teachings, the observation and understanding and action half that most people weren't ready for until after Francis Bacon. He was such a shit, too, for such a smart guy. I was not married to Francis Bacon, in case you were wondering."

And I nodded, "Sure. Yeah. I mean, no."

And she said, "I gotta go. The park is waiting. I can feel him stirring in the stroller."

"Back to the women on the radio. Send them a little note saying, 'Buddha's wife says yes, you breathe in, you breathe out, the thoughts come and you let them go. But when thoughts don't leave, and when they are important, you have to write them down, so you can reflect on them later.' "

"When you review what you write, your heart will tell you which ones are really important. Which are like: 'Look for new winter jackets for the kids.' and which ones are like: 'See what I can do to support equal education for women.' "

"But I gotta go. Are you going to fix these Free Meditation handouts? Tell people that they need to let selfish thoughts go. But they also need to attend to their thoughts that lead to wise and compassionate action?"

And I said, "Well.."

She said, "You are such a slacker. There are so many things you haven't done."

I said, "Do you really know me from somewhere?"

And she half-laughed, "No, I don't know you. But everybody with a heart feels that there are so many things we need to do that we never get to."

And she laughed and rolled the stroller and the waking child away down the street, sandals clapping on the sidewalk.

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