December 22, 2012

My children came into the kitchen this morning with a serious look on their faces. I was standing by the counter, in my robe, making coffee. My wife was seated at the kitchen table, reading the paper.

The kids had been up for a while playing in my daughter’s room. It seems they had been discussing something.

The boy, age 8, had been appointed the spokesman. He is the more gullible and trusting of the two, and had been goaded to the conversation by his sister, age 7.

“Dad,” he said, “we need to talk.”

“What?” I asked.

“Well,” he said, “we were talking about Santa Clause, and we have some problems with the whole thing. It doesn’t really make sense to us, and we want to know if it is true?” He went on to elaborate the traditional list of Yuletide improbabilities.

I set down my coffee on the counter. Considering my options carefully, I turned to face him full on. I looked him in the eye and said:

“It is true. Your mother and I have been lying to you. And, you know how we feel about lying - we hate it. But this is something that adults everywhere have decided we need to lie about. You see, Santa - this idea of a fat jolly old man living with elves - is sweet and safe. The truth is much more strange and bizarre.

It started with an old Buddhist monk named Santu Ha, who lived several thousand years ago in the mountains which divide Mongolia from China. Like all Buddhist monks, Santu spent her life practicing the disciplines of non-attachment to material things and compassion for others.

Santu spent her winters sitting quietly and meditating – hoping to achieve a state of being called ‘Nirvana.’ Nirvana is kind of like heaven or paradise, but it occurs when the person loses his or her individuality and becomes one with the universe. It is supposed to be the best thing ever, but it is kind of hard to explain.

Anyway, when she was not meditating – in the spring and summer especially - she would work very hard. She had a large field of gardens near her hermitage, and she tended them carefully in  order to grow huge numbers of fruits and vegetables. Then, when fall came, she would make the long, long trip down the mountains with her trusty Yak, Sabu. She would give away all that she had grown and made during the year to the villagers, leaving behind barely enough to get her through the winter.

The villagers were always very grateful, and they would offer her many gifts. But she had no need for things, so she encouraged the villagers to give the gifts to one another instead. After a few years her arrival became a great festival in the village of thanks and gift giving to one another. She enjoyed it each year, and when the festival was over, she would take Sabu’s lead, and head back into the mountains to start the cycle again.

For a long while she was content living like this. But then one year, as she packed her vegetables to bring them down the mountain, she realized that she really was no closer to Nirvana. Santu thought to herself that perhaps since she had not given it all away - since she had saved some for herself - she was being selfish. So, when she and Sabu walked down the mountains, every bit of what she had was strapped to Sabu’s back. There was a great festival, and, of course, the villagers had no idea she had saved nothing for herself.

At the end of the festival, she turned to Sabu and said "I have a gift for you too, loyal servant. I give you your freedom.” And she took off Sabu’s halter and walked back into the mountains, without owning even one thing hereself. But, Sabu loved Santu Ha very much, and so even though he knew he was free, he followed her back into the hills. This made her happy, and she hugged him and rubbed his nose occasionally as they climbed higher and the winds grew.