The Birth of Buddha, part II

La Commedia Doggia, or, Flaubie's Inferno: AKA The teenage years of Buddha

Now to the actual birth of Buddha, which is a bit of a sore subject in Purgatory.

Listen closely now, because I heard the whole story exactly as it occurred from the midwife Punnā, who lives here in a small but elegant little cottage befitting one who engages in the professional midwifery of enlightened beings. This is a very special and remarkable story and it actually underscores how entirely miraculous Buddha’s birth was, and how very strange it is that most of the story has been completely forgotten.

Buddha, by the way, has always been irritated that such a great fuss is made over Jesus’ birth; one wouldn’t be able to say he was jealous, because Buddha is fully enlightened and doesn’t get jealous; but one could say he is peeved.

Yes, peeved. That’s about right.

Buddha rarely factors into his irritated reasoning that Satan has just about completely ruined all of the right emotional feeling human beings ought to have about the birth of Jesus by infusing His birthday with a massive dose of lowbrow, vulgar consumerism. When he starts griping I often have to remind him of the fact that much of the glow has been rubbed off the whole event over time due to the addition of this unacceptable disease.

Nonetheless. When your little brother’s birth is accompanied by magical glowing stars and shepherds visited by angels (always a nice earthly+heavenly touch, that one ) and wise men and gifts and the like, it can really be galling. You, after all, had to work to attain enlightenment and while yes, it’s a true privilege and all that and it’s always better to work for something than to have it handed to you on a rich plate of gold filled with fragrant frankincense and myrrh, blah, blah, blah, it still upsets you from time to time.

I mean, why is there a Christmas but no Buddhamass?

Ah.

It’s a good thing I, Flaubert, am always here in times of need to comfort one, isn’t it?

But back to the affairs at hand.