Precious Folly

By Ace Remas

When a Paiute Indian woman asks a Buddhist monk if she can "steal" Bodhichitta, she instantly becomes a spiritual guide for the monk and his prized disciple Daniel. Bodhichitta-the effort to perfect oneself for the sake of others-is the most refined of Buddha's instructions. The Native American woman demonstrates how this Buddhist maxim is an accurate description of the Paiute state of mind. As a result of her theft, an entourage of tech-savvy San Francisco millennials, Daniel, and the Buddhist monk set out to convince one of the world's largest corporations, the state of Nevada, and the EPA to right a wrong inflicted upon the Earth Mother of the Paiutes. From the cloistered Buddhist meditation center in San Francisco, Daniel, the monk, and members of the Buddhist community learn Buddha's real intention was to jump into the world and not separate from it for personal benefit. Their efforts inspire valid spiritual realizations that help them to adjust their lives according to the reality of the present moment and the power of the wisdom teachings of Buddha.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781641388191

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Precious Folly

Ace Remas

Copyright © 2018 Ace Remas

All rights reserved

Revised Edition 2020

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2018

This is a work of fiction and is the product of the author’s imagination. The characters, organizations, events, and locales are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

Cover photo by Bill Kane, Digital Grange, Petaluma CA

ISBN 978-1-64138-817-7 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-64138-819-1 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

This story is dedicated to all the Daniels in my life who did not stop at true.

Human affairs are hardly worth considering in

earnest, and yet we must be in earnest about them.

Plato

Chapter 1

First Step

When newcomers to the Buddhist meditation center in San Francisco stopped by the door to ask Daniel what they could expect by attending the evening class, no matter how many times he had confronted such questions, he squirmed in his seat as he considered what to say. He deeply felt the plea in these kinds of inquiries, which generated in him a genuine heartfelt sympathy, but he also wanted to be honest and direct. Over the fifteen years he had performed his duties as a host and collector of fees, sometimes called donations, though this reference was not exactly accurate even if it made people feel better to think they had done a good deed rather than pay for something they desired, he always paused to consider his options, building a sense of expectation and excitement with this delay. In fact, he looked confused, which charmed some people and concerned others, as he considered which option to choose.

Part of the decision of what to say depended on his estimation of the questioners, whether they wanted fact or pander. If he decided they wanted fact, without smiling to ingratiate himself, he would say, Buddhist meditation isn’t about making you feel better or more productive. It’s about how bad you’ve been and how good you want to be.

If he sensed their expectations did not rise above pander, he would force himself to smile and simply tell them they had taken the right first step to a better future.

If his audience hadn’t been turned away by the somber version of his response, he would continue explaining his views, and though his explanations were not contrary to Buddhist teachings, they possessed a particularly pungent quality, which amused some and disturbed others.

Everyone is in trouble. There are no exceptions. You may think you are safe. You might even call yourself happy. The kids are out of college. Your retirement fund will last until you croak. You are not afflicted with cancer or arthritis. Nobody is suing you. Your taxes are paid. Your neighbors are pleasant and helpful. And you know where the remote control is. You can kick back, relax, take a break, and pat yourself on the back because, dammit, you did a good job. What could go wrong?

Here he would remain silent for a few moments to produce some drama for his words.

Death. That’s what can go wrong. Not just your death. Perhaps a member of the family. Or an old friend. A pet. Yeah, you say, ‘So what?’ You shrug and reach for the remote to catch the last quarter.

At this point, Daniel customarily paused to assess the impact of his long-winded response to these innocent, even casual inquiries. If his listeners were eager to hear more, he continued, sounding as practiced and glib as the center’s teacher in residence usually did, a young American monk who had become a disciple of a Buddhist tradition exiled to India from its original home in the monasteries of Tibet.

Then Daniel would depart from orthodoxy after looking around to make sure the monk teacher and his closest disciples, mostly women, could not overhear his remarks.

This is what the spiritual guides, preachers, and gurus do. They fling death your way to scare the bejesus out of you and then offer platitudes to ease your fright. The essence of their teachings and prognostications is this: even with death in the nearby offing, you have a future. Only it won’t be what you want, and in fact most likely is something you don’t want. This opens the door for their next instruction. Fear the future. This is the essence of Buddhism and I daresay of all religions with a missionary zeal to collect new customers.

Usually some of his audience would be glancing at one another as if they had stumbled into an insane asylum. The religious tapestries of the meditation center showing Buddhas wielding swords and spitting flames didn’t calm their nerves. By now Daniel was worked up, so he resorted to clutching at sleeves if he perceived some trying to find another seat or moving toward the door.

We’re gullible to these entreaties because we have no way, and no will, to contemplate our own end. For us, death is a big black unknown. We may think death is the end. The end of problems, suffering, uncertainty. Just a big fat plain nothing. In short, we want to believe death is the end of the future.

This was another place Daniel had learned to wait. The reaction of his audience would tell him what he needed to know about them. Some resigned themselves to their fate and stared ahead as if patiently waiting out a toothache. A few others would lean forward, shocked to hear such direct comments in the polite environment of a Buddhist meditation center. Maybe, they dared to think, meditation is not what they thought it was but something else, something to challenge them, something to kick sand on their lightweight philosophy and make a he-man out of their purpose in life.

Spiritual teachers can’t teach that there is no future, or they would be out of business, Daniel would go on to say. No one would listen to them because there would be no reason to. For your own good, they resort to scare tactics. Beware! They preach from their various pulpits. There is a future. Because what that future contains we cannot know, we must presume the worst. Though we would like to think death is an end, it’s not. It’s worse! Death is the birth of the accumulated effects of all your bad actions, and we know how bad we’ve been!

Daniel remained silent for a few moments again. He knew he had given his audience more information than they wanted. They didn’t wander into a Buddhist temple to be confronted by the hard realities of surviving in a complicated and self-obsessed world. They gathered in such places to shelter themselves from the truth of their existence, to find, as any Buddhist teacher would intone, peace of mind . . . or as Daniel would redefine for them, detachment. For Daniel, detachment was a dirty word because it was so often misused or misunderstood by his Buddhist friends. Ostriches, he sometimes explained to his listeners, find detachment when they stick their heads in the sand. Buddha’s true meaning, he would go on to say, was the opposite: engagement.

Daniel’s volunteer duty at the Buddhist temple was to help seat people and prepare them for the class, but after fifteen years of toeing the line, he got tired of holding back the truth as he saw it. He wasn’t disloyal, nor did he think he lost his faith. He just had concluded the spiritual guide and his disciple teachers should emphasize jumping in, not out.

Too often, Buddhist teachers pandered to mistaken attitudes. Instead of urging resistance to the selfish craving for a comfortable cocoon existence separated from the woes of the world, Daniel now felt meditation teachers ought to fly in the face of these ordinary and passive expectations and urge people to become more involved in the lives of others, especially in relationships such as family, work, and community. Many Buddhists, in Daniel’s view, were haughty misers, presuming their detachment from the messy affairs of humans was superior to serving others. Eager Buddhist teachers, intent on increasing their flocks, gave their disciples what they wanted, a contradiction for sure because wanting was the basis of all suffering according to Buddha’s teachings. The best way to shield oneself from the suffering caused by wanting was moving one’s intention from self-preservation to other-preservation. This was now so clear to him he wondered why it took so long for him to see it this way.

He had gained something from his Buddhist practice, not just from the words and influence of the young monk who was the teacher in residence but also from the head of the spiritual tradition himself, who appeared every few years somewhere in the world to pass along his blessings and encouragement. But after countless hours sitting cross-legged on a cushion, listening to these teachers and contributing or spending about a hundred thousand dollars in the decade and a half he had been, as far as he knew and anybody else in the tradition could tell, a devoted student, he had a come-to-Jesus moment in which he realized what was going on. He felt compelled to share this now because he regretted his ignorant compliance over the years. How many people, he wondered, old and young, female and male, experienced and naive, had he misled with his well-intentioned help?

As long as he had listeners, he pressed on.

Even if we think of ourselves as a good person who has tried hard to do right by the world and the people in it, we know in our secret hearts we’ve harbored thoughts of hatred, greed, resentment, and even murder, if we could get away with it. Because we are so aware of our own faults, because our pretended goodness is not convincing enough even to ourselves, we suspect, nay expect, the future to be bad, therefore scary—therefore, let’s not think about it. That is until some spiritual teacher catches our attention with a clever observation or elegant posture and says he knows. Whether of the fire-and-brimstone type or the soothing consoler, the spiritual teacher tells us we have a future and the future is bad. We tremble with fear, instantly regretting we hadn’t adhered to our own common sense and tried to be good and stay attentive and bravely faced the consequences of our actions rather than sticking our head in the sand for all these years. Spiritual teachers salve us with messages of hope. We love hope because it replaces the uncertainty of not knowing.

Then came Daniel’s favorite punch line. It was not something he had composed thoughtfully or spent much time thinking about. It just popped into his head—a result, he presumed, of all the teachings, meditations, books, and slavish work he had devoted to the meditation center. In a completely unexpected way, his spiritual efforts did bear fruit, the sour taste of truth.

Hope is dope.

He waited to let his audience savor his aphorism. After a few moments, he resumed his harangue.

Poisoned by our own ignorance and irresistible impulses, we ingest the prescription spiritual teachers peddle in place of squarely facing the truth of our lives. We are afraid to live without the hope of a better future. We’re addicted to hope, otherwise we couldn’t bear the bleak realization that our own actions, our own narrow minds, and our own habits won’t cure the infection of dissatisfaction.

At this point, some people just turned away and left, happy they hadn’t yet dropped a ten-dollar bill in the donation jar. Those who stayed behind were hooked and grateful somebody had finally given them the honor of treating them like an adult who could receive the hard blows of life and fight back. It was a lesson worth the ten dollars.

The genius of the spiritual teachers comes in two phases, Daniel went on to those who stayed behind. The first phase is equivalent to the aspiring soothsayer on the corner wearing a billboard that proclaims the end is nigh. He is right: the end is nigh and is inevitable. The second phase is the savior who promises rescue. For everyone else the end is nigh and terrible, the savior says, but for you, Bub, we can fix that. And don’t forget to drop your donation in the jar as you leave.

Here Daniel tapped his pen on the glass donation jar and waited while people riffled through their wallets or purses.

From the viewpoint of an aspiring spiritual leader or guru, priest or pastor, well-meaning acolyte or missionary, humanity can be divided into two groups: those who don’t think about the end and those who do. For the indoctrinated and enrolled, the first are lost souls, even if they pretend allegiance to some spiritual tradition. The second is the marketplace. Spiritual teachers are not in the business of saving souls who don’t want to be saved. They’re savvy enough to know their own salvation is in the pocketbooks of those who fear the future. The most effective marketing plan is to paint a terrible picture of a future. Like children who fear dark places, we reach out and cling to the helping hands of spiritual leaders. By this action, the spiritual teacher says, you have taken a step toward rescue. So feel good about this clinging and this donation because now you can tell yourself you have evaded the inevitable.

Though his friends in the center often complained Daniel wasn’t exactly recruiting but possibly driving people away, after the evening class some people began to seek him out. They would collect in the foyer or outside on the sidewalk to wait for Daniel to leave the center, asking him to clarify his pronouncements as they followed him down the block. Gradually, Daniel became convinced he could do what his Buddhist teacher didn’t do but should. Stop offering hope of a heavenly future and urge full and complete acceptance of the present, no matter how ugly or difficult that will be and, as a result of this effort, discover the utter wonder of being, a physical presence breathing, living, and confronting the inexorable challenges of a modern life rife with the magnetic pull of digital distractions, the all-consuming myopia on money, either hauling it in or conserving it, the constant allure of desire discoloring every moment with the promise of recognition, food, sex, prestige, comfort, sleep, and the secret anxiety of failing because in this chaotic effluvia of cause and effect was something, somebody, who could say in such moments, Here am I.

But the religious teachings on death and rebirth implied it was too late to be saved in this life, so let’s work on the next one. This technique reminded Daniel of the old-fashioned layaway plans department stores used to peddle Christmas presents in the heat of the summer. In short, don’t worry about what bothers you now; you’ll soon be dead. This life is meaningless, and thus its troubles and tribulations are meaningless too because their causes have already been assembled and it’s too late to undo them. But there is another future, not the future of this life but the future of the life you’re going to live after you have kicked the bucket.

After several months of behaving in this manner, Daniel finally decided to accept the responsibility of his insights and tell the truth. He would urge people to face facts and ignore the spiritual anxiety induced by visions of a torturous future life. He could tell this story; he could find a pulpit, temple, or podium to proclaim to others that remaining aware of their physical presence here, right now, is the only future they will ever see.

For those who stayed behind to listen to Daniel, he would go on.

The future doesn’t exist except as a worry or daydream in the mind. The effort to remain present is the only future we have because the other future, the one imagined existing beyond this moment, does not exist, cannot exist, is a figment of a demented mind, and no matter the logic that tells you to be prepared for it, to set aside this moment for the sake of future moments is a grand delusion to draw you away from the very life you fear losing and, in fact, is a sleep like death, which is happening in every moment you ignore this moment right here, right now, because you seek a future that does not exist. Otherwise, you are dead asleep, and even if it turns out I am wrong and there is some prescient inkling of a future, you’ll sleep right through it unless you wake up right now.

Becoming an ersatz spiritual guide offered all the advantages of a bona fide calling: income, a good reputation, influence, maybe a book contract with an important publisher. In his present job as a paralegal in a large San Francisco law office, he was sentenced to long hours of research, the equivalent of solitary confinement. Though the pay was good and he was allowed all the flexibility he needed to use his vacation time and sick leave to attend retreats and teachings, he was sentenced to be no more than an automaton, searching for precedents to justify the elaborate and expensive rationalizations concocted by his lawyer employers.

Thus emboldened Daniel decided to tell the ordained teacher at the center of his plan. His teacher should know, Daniel thought, what his teachings and example had produced in one of his prized disciples.

He wanted to teach the truth, Daniel announced as they sat together in the meditation room of the center in a meeting Daniel had requested. The teacher wore the robes of a Buddhist monk. By themselves this physical aspect gave him respect, even from strangers. This teacher—younger than Daniel by at least ten years, certainly his junior in life experience, but well-practiced and rehearsed in the rituals and philosophies of Buddhism, which gave him a sort of preeminence since no one else knew the rituals so even if he was wrong about them or made some grievous error no one could know except another monk or nun equally submerged in orthodoxy, and who, it was obvious, counted on this cloak of invincibility, which is the major fault any spiritual teacher must be on the lookout for but rarely is actually perceived—told Daniel he should get ordained so he could wear the same kind of robes his spiritual guide appeared in, thus automatically deflecting like armor all the doubts his ordinary appearance would inspire.

Daniel stood up and moved before a full-length mirror in the foyer of the meditation room.

You mean I won’t do? he asked, pointing to the image of a plain-looking middle-aged man with hair growing over his ears and a bushy mustache already turning gray and dressed in a sweater pulled over a white T-shirt and jeans. Why?

You can’t be you, the monk responded.

Who are you? Not you?

Daniel opened his arms to call attention to the monk’s yellow and maroon robes.

I forgot me when I pledged faith to our teacher, the monk said not so humbly. That’s why my spiritual guide gave me a new name, Gyaltsen.

What happened to the old you? Where did it go?

The monk snapped his fingers. Into thin air, like all illusions.

If I snap my fingers with an ordination, I will go away too?

The monk nodded, satisfied his vague remarks signified profundity.

Isn’t that what you want?

No . . . Daniel waited to measure the impact of his response. I just want to say what is true, he admitted at last.

And what is true? Gyaltsen asked politely, clearly not expecting a response from Daniel that would make sense.

Now, Daniel mumbled.

I don’t understand. Gyaltsen’s reply was polite but not sincere. If Daniel’s answer did not conform to dogma, it was wrong.

Now is true. Not tomorrow.

I still don’t understand, Gyaltsen replied but now wondering if he should generate some sympathy for Daniel and his confused view of the world.

You—no one knows anything about the future. How can they? So how do you know there are hot hells awaiting us all if we don’t behave?

Gyaltsen shrunk back with a look of shock and some distaste. There was no room for sympathy when he was confronted with what he considered blasphemy.

You mean to say we’re making this up? That it is not true?

In fact, he sounded angry.

Well, in a manner of speaking, Daniel replied, "your intention is true, but not what you say. To be honest, you would have to say you just don’t know. What you say is what you read someplace or heard from the spiritual guide. But you act like it is something you have seen directly, and for our own good, we must accept it as true or suffer for all eternity. Truth with a capital T is something else though."

"And you know truth with a capital T?"

No. I only know what is not true.

What’s not true?

Tomorrow. Future lives. You say I have to worry about that.

Not worry. Prepare.

Worry. Why all the stories of the hot hells?

That’s what Buddha taught.

Did he? Isn’t that just your interpretation of what Buddha taught?

Not mine. Our spiritual guide’s.

You’re saying what you tell us is true because that’s what the spiritual guide said?

Of course.

That makes you, at least here in San Francisco for those of us who attend your meditation classes, the equivalent of the spiritual guide. Because you’re saying what he is saying? And you believe he knows the future though we can’t?

The monk looked down at his robes, forced to by Daniel’s hard stare. I’ve never doubted him, he mumbled, obviously ready to end the conversation.

But Daniel was persistent. Why not?

The monk pushed himself from the cross-legged position on the cushion to stand up in the meditation room, which was on the ground floor of a large three-story house that had been converted to a Buddhist temple, with living accommodations on the two floors above where the monk and several other members of the community lived because it was the cheapest rent they could find in the skyrocketing housing market of San Francisco. How convenient, Daniel often thought, an opinion he never expressed to the center’s residents because it was sure to disturb them, the truly dedicated, the self-proclaimed devoted, could merge their spiritual commitments with cheap housing, as if this was a genius way of killing two birds with one stone, though to Daniel’s understanding one bird was killed at the expense of another. They deflected any criticism or questions from others, especially those who were asked to donate to the center by rationalizing without their monthly rental income the center could not afford the mortgage on the building. With such an argument, they convinced themselves, if not others, their rent ensured the center’s existence and benefit in the city. Someone had to occupy those rooms, they implied, so why not active and, to hear them tell it, generous practitioners?

I don’t think you understand, the monk said quietly as he bent over to smooth out his robes. You need faith.

Daniel felt himself getting impatient, a familiar feeling. He rose from his chair to stand in front of the robed monk. He looked over the monk’s shoulder at the Buddhist shrine behind him and admired the large statue of Buddha, which was its centerpiece. He imagined the Buddha’s half-closed eyes were watching him and the smiling lips were whispering something only he could hear. It was quite pleasant to imagine a dialogue with a sacred object, and it emboldened him. As a result, Gyaltsen appeared to Daniel to be small and insecure, and he felt some compassion for him, though that did not diminish the urge to make his point.

What is faith without doubt? he asked Gyaltsen as he turned his eyes from the Buddha and looked squarely into the monk’s face.

The monk shook his head as if feeling pity for the wayward Daniel, though it was clear Daniel’s question had stymied him. After a few moments looking down at his stockinged feet sticking out from beneath the maroon robes, he held up two hands beneath his chin and gave Daniel a polite bow, as if blessing him or dismissing him, Daniel didn’t know which, so he decided he would take it as a blessing and, mimicking the monk, genuflected in return toward the monk with his two palms pressed together under his chin. Then Daniel left the center. As he did so, he wondered if he would be let back in.

Of course, he was agitated. He had not expected his simple, to his mind innocent, purpose would cause such a disturbing result. For all the years he had devoted himself to this Buddhist center and its young monk teacher, he had never allowed himself to question the institution itself, only his own understanding. Even so, when he dared to venture an innocent inquiry about the validity of the teachings, the tradition, or the teacher, the de rigueur reply was always what Gyaltsen had just resorted to, the answer to all the unanswerable or unanswered questions: You need faith.

Over the years, Daniel’s reaction to this fallback position, common to all religions and not exclusive to Buddhism, became a famous joke at the center. As they whispered what Daniel had said to one another, people who regarded themselves as serious practitioners because their rent was paid to the center would shake their heads with the same type of pity the rich bestowed upon the poor.

But don’t we need doubt to have faith? Daniel would ask in class or of anyone who would listen. What good is faith without doubt?

No one seemed to get it. Daniel was not joking or speaking for effect, though others laughed as if they considered his response to be a joke, something to entertain them or, most likely, to make them think Daniel was a clever fellow. But Daniel was serious. He knew his days were numbered at the center anyway. If he didn’t quit, he would soon be expelled. But he contributed too much money, so the teacher and the in-crowd at the center put up with him and his blasphemy.

No one escorted him out of the center that evening. Daniel supposed it was because they were afraid of him, like he had Ebola and would spit in their face. Or as usual, they stuck their heads in the sand. For all good Buddhists, everything that happens is as