The Fountain of Eden: A Myth of Birth, Death, and Beer

by Dan H Kind

  Chapter 9

  Adventures at New Shaolin

  Master Mirbodi floated across the New Shaolin Monastery grounds, humming a Grateful Dead tune he had heard blasting over the sound system at the Olde Eden Taphouse last night and taken a liking to. He nodded his head and banged his staff on the ground in time with the music playing over the loudspeaker inside his head. He was hunting down a specific novice, and he knew just where that novice would be at this time of day.

  The tall swinging doors fronting the New Shaolin warehouse/workshop were open to allow a good breeze to swirl into the place. The giant log cabin—which had been built from the ground up by the monastery founders themselves, including Master Mirbodi—was slam-pack-full of stuff the novices had collected Dumpster-diving over the year.

  When the Zen master materialized in the warehouse, every novice therein stopped what they were doing. They bowed in unison, then stood and peered with trepidation at the mighty visitor, each of them hoping the overbearing monk wasn’t looking for them.

  “Sitting Lotusssssssssss!” chimed Master Mirbodi, his voice cutting through the silence like a sonic samurai sword. Every novice but one visibly relaxed; the communal sigh of relief was audible.

  In the midst of applying Windex to a full-length mirror, Sitting Lotus acknowledged Master Mirbodi with a glance, but made no move to walk in his direction. Instead, he turned around and continued with his work, so master floated over to novice.

  As he hovered ever nearer, Master Mirbodi observed something in Sitting Lotus that he had not observed in the ten years he had known him. So he wasted no time, walked right up to the novice, and pointed staff in face, an inch from Sitting Lotus's nose.

  “What your original face before you born?”

  “Your face is your face before you were born,” replied Sitting Lotus, rag and bottle of Windex in hand, without batting an eyelash.

  “So what this, then?” said Master Mirbodi, moving his staff about the novice's face.

  Sitting Lotus shrugged. “A sample in a jar, no more.”

  Master Mirbodi's eyes narrowed. “And can you show me this sample?”

  “No less,” said the novice, and laughed.

  And Master Mirbodi dropped his staff and reared back in shock—quite out of character for the Zen master, whose mind was as immovable as a mountain.

  But the veteran monk soon recovered, picked up his fallen staff, and clapped Sitting Lotus on the back. The exuberant blow sent the novice reeling into the warehouse wall and the full-length mirror resting thereupon. Cleaning implements went flying.

  “You got it, novice. Great job. Perhaps now you no reincarnate as tree. No let it go to head, though,” said the Zen Master, tapping his own skull with a bony finger.

  Sitting Lotus leaned on the mirror, in a state of shock. But he was not stunned from Master Mirbodi’s high-spirited clap on the back. No, it was because he had never, during his ten years as a novice, heard such simple words of praise coming from the mouth of the batty old monk!

  Master Mirbodi turned and addressed the assembled novices, who had not moved since he had entered the room, although many had grinned at Sitting Lotus’s replies to his questions. “Everybody take ten minute break. Go do some walking meditation, or something.”

  The novices jumped as one at the command, used to doing what they were told without complaint, and ran out of the warehouse en masse, pushing and shoving. Nobody wanted to see what was going to become of their fellow novice, because it was not going to be pretty.

  “Master, I—” began Sitting Lotus when the exodus was complete.

  “Sure, you solve koan,” interrupted Master Mirbodi, “but that no make you instant Buddha like you package of instant Ramen noodle. You find water bottle behind Olde Eden Brewery & Taphouse this morning?”

  “Uh . . . I sure did,” said Sitting Lotus. “It’s right over there.” He pointed at the blue water bottle he had picked up earlier in the day, before he had solved his first assigned koan. It sat atop an ornate oak dining-room table across the warehouse—empty.

  Master Mirbodi glanced once at the water bottle, then peered at Sitting Lotus. “Novice, was bottle full when you found it?”

  “We - ell . . .”

  “Speak truth, novice.”

  “Er . . . yes?”

  “You drink water in bottle?”

  “We - ell . . . what does it matter if I did or not?”

  “Sitting Lotus, did you drink it?”

  “Er . . . yes?” said Sitting Lotus. He flinched, awaiting the forthcoming thwack!

  But the expected blow did not fall. When Sitting Lotus looked up, Master Mirbodi was peering at him with a strange, scrunched-up expression, like he was constipated.

  “Novice, you drink whole bottle, or you pour some out beforehand?”

  Sitting Lotus hung his head low. “I drank it all. It looked like sparkling water, but when I opened the bottle to dump it out, it just smelled so good!” He rallied his courage and looked up with firm apology in his eyes. “I'm sorry, Master. I need to work harder on avoiding sensual urges.”

  Master Mirbodi looked Sitting Lotus up and down with upraised eyebrows.

  Dour possibilities assaulted the novice's mind. “Master, why do you ask? What was in that bottle?”

  Master Mirbodi looked grave for a moment, but then his eyes filled with hilarity. “Novice, you and I gonna be spending lot of time together. Rest of Time, actually.”

  The novice stared at the Zen master in confusion. “Master Mirbodi, what do you mean?”

  Master Mirbodi put his arm around Sitting Lotus's shoulder and gave him an affectionate squeeze. “Novice, you just drink six pints of Water of Life, drawn from Fountain of Youth! Now you gonna live forever! But no worry, I be there too. Yep, it you and me till universe explode!”

  “What!?” exploded Sitting Lotus, giving the universe a run for its money. “The Water of Life! You must be joking!”

  But Master Mirbodi just stood there, grinning from ear to ear. Sitting Lotus had known the Zen master for a decade, and Master Mirbodi might have been a major loony tune, but he had never heard the old monk tell an outright lie.

  That did not mean he always told the flat-out truth, of course.

  “But the Fountain of Youth is a fairy tale! A myth! A fable! Make believe! Not! Frickin'! Real!”

  Master Mirbodi chortled and gave Sitting Lotus another heartfelt hug. “Myths and fairy tales often contain more truth than non-fiction, especially autobiographies. Fountain of Youth in Virginia. In Eden. In Tranquil Forest. Right next door New Shaolin Monastery.”

  Sitting Lotus's mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. No sounds manifested.

  “Come on, man, death and life—eternal or not—dual concepts,” said Master Mirbodi. He shrugged. “Plus, it no so bad once you get used to it.”

  Sitting Lotus broke free of Master Mirbodi’s arm and ogled the roshi. “Master Mirbodi, who in the sixteen lesser hells are you?”

  But the Zen master just chuckled. “Who anybody, really? For now, you get back to work. One day soon I gonna need your help. But I find you, you no find me, 'kay?”

  Without awaiting a reply, Master Mirbodi floated out of the New Shaolin Monastery warehouse, laughing and whooping, and Sitting Lotus sank to his knees in shock.