A Priest, A Rabbi, An Imam And Two Buddhists

Memoir Excerpt - most names are changed.

The jewel tones of stained glass coloured the sun’s afternoon rays through the metal lamps in an otherwise dark room. Even though all the furniture had backs, I considered the wooden chairs and couches benches because of their square shapes. Where the dark wood was not richly inlaid with mother-of-pearl, it was carved into curls and wisps. The benches we sat on and the red Persian carpet below were littered with embroidered cushions in the same jewel tones of the light. The large brass round tray of a coffee table in the centre held all our tiny glasses of mint tea.

How exactly I had ended up in this room that afternoon, I forget. It had something to do with Razi wanting me to become friends with his friend, Linglu, who was visiting from New York City. Rifaat owned the nightclub where I now performed in Mexico City, and Razi was his brother or cousin. I didn’t know it yet but this was a test run to see if Linglu and I would like to travel together to Acapulco. Linglu owned a famous Chinese restaurant in Manhattan where movie stars frequented. Her homemade Chinese dishes had made her a millionaire. She had come to know Razi through his many visits to her restaurant. Apparently, he had invited Linglu to Mexico City, not thinking she would take him up on it.

We were taken across town to Razi’s apartment which he had proudly decorated with traditional pieces made by master Syrian craftsmen. Prior to Linglu’s arrival, Razi and I had engaged in the odd philosophical discussion. If I hadn’t been part of the conversation that day, I would have dreamed of being a fly on the wall. A Priest, a Rabbi, and an Imam may sound like the beginning of a joke, but it most certainly wasn’t. They were friends of Razi’s who regularly met to discuss philosophy so he thought I would enjoy the exchange.

The three religious representatives wore black and white in different combinations and styles. Linglu and I were in neon pink and lime green casual, late 80s fashion, and Razi was in beige. I breathed the incense through every pore and drank in the words of the three bearded men. It was like the holy books had swallowed me up and whisked me away on a magic carpet ride back in time. The conversation was getting a bit cryptic until Linglu piped up, saying she was Buddhist and did not believe in one god.

Now, I was jolted back to the present day, realizing I wanted this woman to be my friend and grateful for her opening the door to my many, many questions. I finally fulfilled my dream to speak to a rabbi about Gematria. I could still see the Hasidic rabbi’s words on the right-hand page of the book I had read in Nanaimo at age fourteen explaining Gematria.

Linglu was Buddhist like me. I had studied many mystical traditions, but today, I decided I was just a Buddhist who had dabbled in Qabala. We all began to peel back the layers of what the concept of “god(s)” really was. Somehow, we all agreed on the same principles of how the universe and our experience of it works. It was the best conversation ever that I wished would never end.

Linglu and I became fast friends. The following week, I got an extra day off work, and we went on a three-day vacation together to Acapulco, paid for by Razi.

Linglu told me the story of owning her modest Chinese restaurant in Manhattan and about the many movie stars that frequented her tiny place. Even though the dishes were inexpensive and there was no decor on the walls, her delicious cooking attracted long line-ups at lunch and dinner. Razi had encouraged her to take the millions she had made at her little hole-in-the-wall and open a large swanky establishment that could fit all her patrons. It turned out that good food in a humble abode was her winning ticket, and the new place ate up all her millions quickly.

She was now broke with an unknown future but full of wisdom and advice for me. She was not a practising Buddhist, but her family in China had brought her up as a Buddhist. Linglu gave me a beautiful pearl necklace from China that she wished would give me good luck. We kept in touch for a while. She started from scratch again with a new humble restaurant featuring her simple Chinese dishes and the movie stars returned. She made millions again but stayed small and simple this time.

I have longed to be back in that magical jewel-lit room in Mexico City or any room in the world, discussing theology and philosophy with practitioners of different traditions, but the opportunity has not presented itself again…yet. On an hour-long flight from Aswan to Cairo, I was seated next to a Coptic priest in full black regalia with an impressive heavy cross hanging below his long beard. As soon as I sat down in the aisle seat, him in the window seat, he asked how I liked Egypt.

Instantly, I was taken back to that afternoon in Mexico City and asked if we could please discuss religion. His eyes grew wide and he sat up straight. “Yes, of course,” he answered. “What would you like to ask?” I opened with the question I loved to drill my parents with when I was a kid. “If God created the universe, who created God?” He seemed to like my question but I was not satisfied with his answer. I mentioned Buddhist philosophy. He seemed interested and we managed to get to a deeper understanding of what “God” meant that I could get behind. He gave me his card and asked me to keep in touch. .