Chapter Twenty-Two: We Have a Map of the Piano
Bowser sighed. He was a bit overwhelmed by it all…: what to believe and not believe. But one question came to the forefront of his thoughts, maybe the most 'important' one of all:
"What did Rûm actually teach? You didn't say anything about what he actually said… What he preached."
Then Bowser also thought: Was that really supposed to be a 'happy' story?
"Hmm." The boo paused. "I don't think Rûm's teachings would help you… and certainly not through me. Besides, I'm sure you've already heard versions of what he might have taught. You have a fondness for religion… you've read about different teachings."
"Fondness for religions!" Bowser huffed. "I have an interest. I don't… ehh."
"I would not attempt to give one of Rûm's sermons… even as far as I can remember them. It has been a long time." The boo smiled. "And I was never a good preacher. My work in Sarasan never left much of an impression."
And then…
"And what about being happy? It didn't seem like a happy story to me."
The boo blinked. Blinked one or two times...
"Yes. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps it's my nostalgia that colors my memories. That was the best part of my life, perhaps. When I followed Rûm, I felt like I had full purpose in my life… and that I was very close to God's will. Now, as a boo, I am very much tied to will, but I am less certain about God…"
"Really? But you're, eh, floating proof there's life after death."
"It's quite possible to have life after death without God. After all, the world is already quite an impressive thing… that may all exist without a creator, right? What more is life after death— the revelation simply that mortals were wrong about death being the end? The system simply perpetuates further than some believed."
"And you say," (Bowser was struggling strangely under the weight of the story, which was bursting with mystery, and may not have been true anyway) "You have less faith in God now?"
"I had faith in God as Rûm taught. I spent my life preaching… or trying to preach, his word. But after I died, and woke again as a boo, I found that the church had crumbled, and Rûm's word had been lost. Furthermore, I discovered that there had been others who had already said very similar things to what he had said. His message seemed less powerful… in that it could be found repeated in many cultures, in many different time periods, and seemed to reflect the basis of deep sentient morality rather than the personal word of God."
Bowser sighed. "Shouldn't the universality of the message make it even more likely to be… be legitimate?"
"You are fond of religion." The boo added more tobacco (or whatever) to his pipe. "Or fond of Jung, anyway. I am not arguing against the miracle and mystery of the universe… simply the idea of one creator managing everything. I have no doubt that Rûm did something extraordinarily powerful in the moment of his disappearance… but it does not prove that God exists."
Bowser was about to say something else, but he caught himself— what was he arguing for? He didn't really believe in God either. Life wouldn't be so random and unfulfilling if there was a God… or a God worth believing in, anyway.
Again, there was something else within him that wanted to believe in God. But Bowser himself believed now in just about nothing. (And he had to snort terribly, later, when he realized these thoughts sounded like the beginning of some awful tract.)
"So you say all that really happened, huh?"
"Yes."
"This guy could actually transform?"
"Yes." The boo gave him a somewhat humorous look. "Does that seem impossible to you?"
Bowser was struck by a violent shiver.
The boo was smiling a little again. "Something happened to you, didn't it?"
Bowser felt cold. "What? You…"
"I'm guessing. I'm only guessing." The boo turned back to the fire. "But I've become very good at guessing. You look like you, yourself, are about to become a ghost. You have a secret you've been keeping, and it's been weighing you down. Now, as we near the revealing, you feel a little closer to death, perhaps."
"What are you talking about?"
"I am sure… that you encountered a miracle. I think… you too transformed."
Bowser's head hurt.
"And where," The boo continued, "I ask, did this happen?"
Bowser felt he was cracking a little. "Where what happened?"
"You're still awkward in that body— slightly, like it is one you are used to, but not the one you were born with. In your conversations, your past is eternally vague. You make references to... odd things."
"Ha!" Bowser scratched at the armrest. "I make odd references! That's a great one. Yeah, that's proof that I was transformed! Ha. Ha ha ha…"
"Yes…" The boo drew out a cloud of smoke. "So there it is. You did not transform. You were transformed. Someone else, or something else… caused the change in you. A miracle. A new, unheard of miracle."
Bowser was going to deny it, he wanted to deny it (he wasn't even sure why), but then that one part of himself caught up, the part that said: "If you never lie… your soul will be clearer. Your spirit can float a little higher."
So Bowser said nothing.
"Where did this happen? The Koopa Kingdom?" The boo continued. "A place deep in the woods. Decrepit… forgotten… ruins…"
—Holding breath—
"A church, perhaps?"
Bowser's face paled.
"I can see it on your face," The boo puffed thoughtfully, "And I don't intend to interrogate. I only wanted to know about that. I don't care about finding out who you really are… I think that is what you are scared of most of all. But. A miracle… in our old church. Again…"
The boo drifted off into silence.
"You said…" Bowser sought.
The boo looked over.
"You said I reminded you of an old friend of yours." Bowser's throat was dry. "Who was that?"
"Oh…" The boo nodded. "Yes. You… reminded me of Devada."
Bowser seized up. "Why?"
"Your spirits feel similar. Your auras. I can't say your actions match one another's… but something very hard to describe… does feel similar. Perhaps, beneath everything, some line of fate."
"Yeah?" Bowser trembled. "You wanna say I'm a reincarnation of him or something?"
"Hu! What a remarkable conclusion." The boo puffed. "No."
"Then what?" Bowser was shaking. "What is that supposed to mean? I'm the bad guy? Ha ha ha…"
"You're getting awfully worked up about this." The boo made an airy sound, maybe a kind of sigh.
There was a flicker of movement, and the boo's pipe vanished.
"I think… I have one more story for you."
"What!" Bowser gritted his teeth. "Another story! You're a real storyteller, huh?"
"Hmm… a storyteller… Hmm… Yes, after all… maybe…"
"Is this a story about Devada? Or me?"
The boo turned from side to side, like he was thinking. But he didn't answer the question.
"This is a very short story.
There are only two characters: Mother and Baby. Mother is somewhat sad. Depressed, even. She often gets into dark moods. Mother loves Baby, but she still falls into dark moods— whether she wants to or not.
Baby is new to the world. Baby knows very little… almost nothing… The only thing Baby knows for sure is the existence of Mother. Baby relies on Mother for food and protection. Without Mother, Baby would be helpless and quickly dead. So Baby looks to Mother for everything.
Mother falls into dark moods often. And whether she wants to or is even aware of it, she harms Baby a little. Even just her negative energy, taking out anger on Baby, negative influences— very subtle things can harm Baby. And if Mother ever actually hurt Baby on purpose… well… that would be truly unfortunate.
Baby knows nothing except Mother. If Mother, by accident or purpose, makes Baby feel fear or pain… Baby begins to struggle. Baby asks itself, unconsciously, a key question. It is one of the most profound questions of existence, of Baby's own existence. And there seem to be only two answers possible.
The Question: Why do I suffer?
The first answer is that Baby suffers for no reason. Helpless, lying in a crib, Baby has no choice but to suffer, apparently at random. Whatever Baby does, they will be forced to suffer sooner or later. The world is meaningless.
(Or even worse, far worse: Mother is bad. She causes pain by accident or on purpose.)
The second answer… is that Baby is bad. That if there must be a reason for this pain, and a way to "solve" it… then Baby feels pain because Baby is bad. Mother is punishing Baby. If only Baby was good, better… if only Baby, lying in its crib, was not bad. Then maybe, someday… Baby would not be hurt anymore.
There are the choices— at least for helpless, simple Baby.
But they are not really choices. The first choice is unbearable— mentally unbearable. The idea that Baby is powerless to pain and suffering is impossible to bear. Baby's mind, if not its physiological self, will not allow it to make that first conclusion— it would render life impossible, to conclude that Baby was truly helpless, and that it had no choice or ability.
So then, there is the second choice, and it is not truly the second choice, but the only possible solution to the problem: Baby is bad. Baby is bad, and from that point on, Baby can accept that role of "bad" (whether or not Baby is actually capable of real "evil") and "understand" why bad things must happen to it… Or, constantly seek to be morally better, to stop being "bad", to finally be "good"— and earn an end to pain.
Baby must believe itself to be bad."
