Numbered Love by Maysam Yabandeh - HTML preview

The Bald Monk

Interviewer: “You claimed to be the first incarnation of Buddha on the American continent, and yet you provide little to no proof to support your claim. How is it that there’s been no miracle or supernatural act during your many years as the American Buddha.”

American Buddha: “Well, it surprises me how uninformed you so-called journalists are, and yet you claim to be in the position of informing the public. Isn’t that ironic? I did, in fact, once try this miracle thing that you people are obsessively seeking. It just didn’t work out.”

Interviewer: “Forgive my bluntness, but how is a failed miracle different from no miracle at all?”

American Buddha: “It didn’t fail on the materialistic level your mind is fixated on. Rather, it failed on the metaphysical level, in the sense that it didn’t serve the intended purpose. Quite the opposite, actually. It broke love, shattering it into pieces—unimaginable, unthinkable.”

Interviewer: “Love? What does love have to do with a miracle?”

American Buddha: “Love has everything to do with my miracle. You see, all the miracles that you’ve heard of were on the cheap, physical level, born from the public’s lust. Moses parted the sea not to save lives, but to kill. I emphasize: to murder—mass murder, in fact— the Pharaoh’s soldiers. Buddhism, however, teaches non-violence and encourages compassion toward all beings. Jesus turned all the water in the wedding into wine. All the water. Either someone there was a raging alcoholic, or Cana’s weddings were wilder than Charlie Sheen’s parties. Buddhism teaches keeping the mind clear and free from intoxication.”

Interviewer: “So, what did your Buddhist miracle do?”

American Buddha: “I did a miracle never attempted in the history of mankind. A miracle that nourishes the souls of thirsty hearts. A miracle long sought by humanity through the ages.”

Interviewer: “Which is?”

American Buddha: “Love.”

Interviewer: “Ah, I’m sorry, did you say love?”

American Buddha: “Yes…love in its purest and strongest form. A love that will last forever. A love that wouldn’t backfire. A love that leaves no broken heart. A love 100% guaranteed.” He turns to the interviewer. “Let me ask you a question. What if you knew for certain that you would end up falling in love and that love would never diminish until the last moment of your life. That guarantee would make you the happiest person in the world. Right?”

Interviewer: “Right.”

American Buddha: “Wrong. Wrong. It didn’t make Nam and Livia any happier—not in the slightest.”

Interviewer: “Who’s Livia?”

American Buddha: “Only the most lovelorn soul in America.” He sighs. “Someone who deserved another chance.”

Love, Unguaranteed

“But we have to rub your head first,” baby Livia said, almost screeching.

“Or our wish won’t come true,” baby Nam added, backing her up.

“All right, all right. Let’s make it quick.” I leaned in. Just before their little hands touched my head, I pulled back. “You know what? On second thought, I don’t think it’s such a great idea.”

“Please, Mr. Genie,” baby Livia said.

“Please,” baby Nam echoed.

“I’m sorry, kids, but I know something you don’t. Love shouldn’t be guaranteed. It should always be pursued, with fear and hesitation.

“What does ‘hesitation’ mean?” baby Livia asked.

“I’ll tell you what: How about I give you two cuties a gift instead?” I pulled up my yoga mat and brought out two copies of the same photo. It was the photo of baby Nam blushing when a minute ago baby Livia surprised him with a kiss on the cheek.

“When did you take the photo?” baby Nam asked.

“Take these. One for you, and one for you. As you grow up, whenever life gets too hard on you, look at this picture and remember the brief moment when pure love glanced at you.”

“Huh?” baby Nam asked.

I smiled. “You will figure it out later. Just make sure you never lose the photo.”

“Thank you, Mr. Genie,” the boy and girl said in unison. As they walked down the grassy hill, they took turns licking their lollipop.

The End