Blood-drenched Beard

When it is over, he waits for the lama to finish talking to the short-haired woman about Buddhist decorations that are going to be made to sell in the temple, so he can ask her the question that brought him here in the first place. He asks how Buddhists can talk about reincarnation if the whole philosophy preaches detachment from any notion of an ego that endures through time. Because for a being to reincarnate — I mean, to be reborn — something of what he was must reappear further down the track, or it doesn’t make any sense to use the term. Bonobo has told him it’s not exactly like that, it isn’t beings that are reborn but states of mind and, truth be told, it’s pretty hard to explain, but he sees no difference between a reincarnated spirit and a state of mind reappearing at some point in the future and being attributed to someone who died as if something of the person still existed. He can’t find the words he is looking for and knows that his question is starting to border on total incoherence, but Lama Palden listens with all her attention until he tires of speaking. Then she says that only meditation can lead to the rational certainty of the existence of karma and rebirth. The path to enlightenment is a training of the mind, analogous to training the body. Only practice reveals the teachings, she says. Truths cannot be understood through a rational, dualistic Western outlook. She also points out that enlightenment eliminates the cycle of rebirth and asks if he would like to know anything else. He stares at her as if he is taking it all in, thanks her repeatedly, and says good-bye. She tells him not to miss the coming services, which are every Sunday morning at nine.

Leopoldo agrees to stop by the bed-and-breakfast to visit Bonobo, who is watching a porn movie at a high volume on the computer in reception and shouts when he sees them walk in.

Captain Ahab! Leopoldo Beefsteak!

I told you not to call me that. I don’t like it.

Okay, Leopoldo Beefsteak.

You really are an idiot.

You guys call me Bonobo, and I don’t complain.

But you like it, don’t you? It’s different. I’m going to make up a bad nickname for you.

Back in Porto Alegre they also used to call me Monkey, Ebola, and Velvet Dick. Your choice. But tell me, swimmer, did you talk to the lama?

Yep, we’ve just come from the temple.

Cool. Wait around. A family from Curitiba is going to check out in about fifteen minutes, and then we can fire up some pizzas. Grab some beers from the fridge in the café.

The three of them spend the afternoon drinking and eating at one of the four tables in Bonobo’s Café. Leopoldo is a big man, but he gets drunk quickly and starts joking about his participation in that morning’s service. Bonobo listens to everything, shaking his head, and then tells him off.

You’re really something, aren’t you, swimmer? Jumping on the lama like that with the whole rebirth thing.

What’s the problem? I wanted to know.

What did she say?

To meditate until I understand.

Leopoldo laughs.

I told you, Bonobo, let’s not go there.

Man, you’re obsessed with this rebirth thing. Turn the page. Why is it so important to you to know if rebirth exists?

It’s important to know that it doesn’t exist. All the rest seems right to me, but that detail spoils everything.

Listen, swimmer. The question of rebirth isn’t all that important in the original Buddhism. There was a lot of black magic in Tibet when Buddhism first appeared there, and part of the madness stayed on. But it isn’t like the Kardec brand of reincarnation. If you understand that a person is just a dynamic agglomeration of states of mind, the idea of a soul that can reincarnate stops making sense. To put it in crude terms so you can understand it, it’s these states of mind that are reborn, that continue on and recombine to a certain degree. Just as your body feeds plants and worms if you’re buried in the ground. Just as the atoms of your body are stardust.

The atoms of my body might be stardust, but that doesn’t mean there are stars in me.

Stop talking like hippies.

Do you get what I’m trying to say, Bonobo? The star is dead, I’m going to die. It doesn’t make any difference. The atoms didn’t belong to the star. My states of mind aren’t mine. And what the fuck is the mind anyway? I think it’s just a clever way to believe in a soul. It’s the leftovers of permanence that Buddhists keep stashed under their beds.

We’ve created a monster, Beef.

I warned you. We shouldn’t have gone there.

Life can’t continue after death. I can’t. It’d be ridiculous. If they prove that it does, I’ll kill myself.

But in that case it’d be pointless.

You’re a piece of work. The most skeptical bastard I’ve ever met.

No, I’m not. I just don’t believe in any old thing.

If there was a God, he’d be amused by you.

Leopoldo raises a bottle and hiccups.

Here’s to the passionate belief that none of this exists.