Hearing Mahayana and reading the same on the page brought immediate approval from Mr Ee.
— First class Buddhism, said he, possibly a little surprised to have the term delivered to himself.
Westerners often went for other forms, perhaps. Nice horse-head nodding from the old, former reprobate sailor turned serious adherent.
Every few days Mr Ee went off down to the Tibetan Centre by Lorong 27; and every day the man carted what he called the Buddhist Bible, a thick tome that heavied his shoulder bag. A few years ago the title of the volume had been recorded in the journal.
Late-seventies and possibly even early-eighties Roughrider like Mr. Ee made an unusual figure bent at his book on the end table of the Haig out by the road. There was certainly no counterpart anywhere in that quarter, whether Buddhist, Muslim, Christian or other.
Paid up Roughrider membership no slouch during his days as a Pump man on the tankers in the region and the Gulfs of Texas and Mexico. Bars, dance floors, whores, the lot. A rollicking merry good time, with the specific segue for the other pursuit unexplored to date.
There had been numerous conversion stories heard in Singapore. Too many.
In the paper in Jakarta there had appeared an interesting piece on the Borobudur reliefs, a story of truth-seeking drawing on the Mahayana tradition that was illustrated in the stone. Once Mr. Ee had joined the table the mention provided a ready conversational line.
One particular detail in the old story included the fact that among the rank of the young seeker’s encounters with monks, nuns and traditional physicians, there was one high class prostitute consulted.
In Mahayana it was underlined that truth was not the preserve of the usual class of dedicated thinkers and cloistered ascetics alone; truth rather was found in the wider domain and might arrive from anywhere, indeed from least expected quarters.
One of the first laws of Western philosophical discourse: dismiss not the drunkard’s voice, nor any of the other so-called lowest of the low.
Times past Mr Ee had spoken not only of compassion for the wastrel, the drunkard and the prostitute, but indeed understanding and respect. Mornings at the front table at the Haig Mr Ee sat bent over his book in the very midst of such-like all round.
Well, then, Mahayana offered something fruitful. First class Buddhism. Coming from someone like Mr Ee a certain confidence was inspired.
Thereupon, further elaborations.
Dharma constituted, according to Mr Ee, the sum total of all Buddha’s teaching that all we beings carry within ourselves day and night. The fullest, best, universal and cosmic spirit perhaps; in each to greater or lesser degree presumably, and of course in the Buddha pre-eminently. (Incidentally, a great Sufi like Zainuddin would include among Moses, Abraham, Isa and the usual other forerunners, the Buddha and Zoroaster too among the early Prophets.)
As for sangaya, well, even the Nepalese monk down at Lor 27 could not explain that concept. The chap concerned possibly had good grasp in his own language, but in English, forget it. (Mr Ee seemed to have enquired.) For Mr Ee’s own part he could include sangaya in his mantra without needing to drill down into the A - Zee.
Mr Ee’s lunch, a cheaper packet brought from elsewhere to the Al Wadi table—the Haig was still closed for cleaning—consisted of nasi, a brittle dried fish, some roasted peanuts and a sachet of curry that Mr Ee spent a long while working through the rice.
A cup of teh halia was subsequently accepted. The illegal Gudang Garam was now $6.50; after his lunch Mr. Ee would take a stick. Seemed the man had cut down.
During the course of the conversation and after the Mahayana we arrived at epistemological questions, during the course of that in turn Mr Ee was delivered the old Russian perspective.
The Russians held man sought truth and knowledge all his life; strived for it, looked hither and yon; yet unhappily, still in the end a fool went into the grave.
Free smiles from Mr Ee, looking up from his greaseproof paper, despite the fact an outlook such as that could hardly accord with the hopes offered a follower of the great sage. A serious, earnest, dutiful and humble right follower.
Therefore, once due acknowledgement was given the point of view—in the quality of the smile first and foremost—Mr Ee had his retort to such a wise guy as this old grisly Ruski.
Should a rogue of that stripe appear among us at Geylang Serai, Mr Ee would throw down the gauntlet.
— Well my dear man, tell me then what it is you know,
Clearly Mr Ee would like to get his claws into such a fellow. Smart arse.
And following quickly upon that, would it happen that Mr Ee himself was asked the same question, asked to reveal the extent of his own knowledge, Mr Ee would not be left dumbfounded. Not found wanting.
To this question Mr Ee would know what to reply.
An implicit challenge between times. Opportunity here provided to submit one’s own position...
Be my guest, Mr. Ee invited by his prolonged silence. Lay that one on me then…
No way. Hardly likely unprepared like that. Such angled exchanges with old lions could never take other than the particular ordained course.
Well, Mr Ee my friend, the field is yours. If you will.
— ...I cannot answer, Mr Ee slowly, eventually, unburdened himself of his ready retort...
I cannot answer, Mr Ee would reply were the same interrogation levelled at himself, what I do not know.
Nicely done. A little package that one knew immediately even before full import might be grasped. Stopped you in your tracks and left you pondering.
As often with Mr Ee, a good deal of Socratic method seemed embedded in the works. Most particularly it was the wonderful Death of Socrates that returned to mind recalling the conversation in the hours later.
Later too in the night one recalled university days, early university not long after football and its related had finally been put aside. On the one hand there was the unexpected intellectual excitement of that period. The questions the great writers and the philosophers had always considered were precisely one’s own; the crucial ones not all properly formulated, but nonetheless, concentration and delving into the very same. Yet many of the lecturers and tutors were in fact arrogating to themselves presumption of deepest knowledge and insight; those turkeys were making claims for themselves by their airs, by the way they conducted themselves in their fiefdom of good and evil, love and passion, fate and tragedy. Such gumption and highest pretence needed challenge.
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