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338 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2006
’I feel more alive here [at Auschwitz] than anywhere else,’ confided Aleksandra Kwiatkowska, a 24-year-old photographer student. Here comment was rendered all the more incongruous because she was a vibrant, upbeat, intelligent and compassionate striking blond with a quick smile. In her spare time, she volunteered at a children’s hospice in her hometown of Wroclaw, Poland. This was her second Auschwitz retreat, she told me.Garfinkle was puzzled why Sri Lankans, and Buddhists in other countries were killing each other if they were Buddhists. And looked at the ‘engaged’ practices of Buddhists teaching children how to know landmines and keep themselves from being hurt and killed by them.
Why submit yourself to this emotionally wrenching experience twice, I wanted to know. ‘Surrounded by death at every step?’ I asked, incredulous. ‘How could you feel more alive?’
‘How could that be?’ I insisted. ‘How?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, taken aback by my interrogational tone, as was I. ‘It’s … just … true.’
And she left it at that.’
The answer provided me with no comfort; it perplexed and frustrated me. People often ask how this happened. How did we let 6 million people get killed? Who could be so cruel as to commit such a horrific act? The Buddhist replies ‘I don’t know.’ It sounds like a cop-out (p46-7).
"Yes, we look to God," I said. "God is there even in our casual language. We say, 'God bless you, when you sneeze. We say, 'Thank God that truck didn't run me over.' 'God damn it when we stub our toe or when Matsui strikes out.'This extended quotation gives a nice flavour of Garflinkle’s writing and, I think, his sense of openness and curiosity to what he experienced.
He smiled wryly and looked over the top of his glasses at me. He did not want to play what he saw as a pointless game of intellectual masturbation.
"Who is this God you keep talking about?"
The question was so simple that it cut through all the theological bullshit and suddenly- aha- I realised that belief in God perpetuated suffering. When the Buddha explained that the universe is not divided into self and non-self, me and not-me, that it is rather one interconnected entity, he essentially disavowed the existence of God, for God would be something or someone else. Without God, all the responsibility for the stubbed toe and everything else falls back on me. That in itself may be the reason we invent God, because it is easier to point the finger than to take the blame.
But if we accept nondualism that is, that there is no difference between subject and object, between knower and that which is known – here is no blamer, no blamee. God is also a means of explaining anything we cannot explain with our less-than-omniscient minds even the good stuff. This whole theological conversation – of whether there is a God, or two gods, or even that we are God – becomes moot when tested against one of the Buddha's main theses: that we should accept only what we can experience directly or observe empirically with our five senses. What non-Buddhists do, see, feel or smell with their so-called sixth sense is up to them. Suzuki-roshi [Shunryu Suzuki’s son] was giving me the Buddhist version of "I'm from Missouri." In other words, until I could point to something the two of us could "see" in that dining room, then the subject of God remained in the realm of hypothetical, and therefore as relevant as, say, the possibility of Suzuki-roshi pinch-hitting for Hideki Matsui.
At that moment I was trumped. It was as though, with one whoosh of a breath, Suzuki-roshi had toppled the delicate deck of cards I called God, demolished my God paradigm. Yet there was no panicky feeling, no desperate free-falling without a parachute, or a paradigm. And, for once, I let go. I was out of questions (p211-212).