The Fallen Buddha

Marilyn Monroe, Caroline Kennedy and Richard Nixon's daughter were on my dream TV last night, discussing the powerful men their lives had touched.  The show ended with an unusual take on the history of world religions.

I was flipping through an album of startling black and white stills.  I paused on an image of Marilyn, Caroline and Richard Nixon's daughter on the couch of a TV set.  "That show was censored; the public never got to see it", says the historian who has shown me this recently declassified album from the Library of Congress archives.

Marilyn, in a long brocade and satin sheath of shiny white gold sits with her feet up on a chaise lounge; Caroline Kennedy is resting on her back, head against the other side of the lounge, her pelvis on Marilyn's lap, her legs at an angle, framing Marilyn on either side.  They are in mid-sentence, smiling at each other.   Nixon's daughter  seated ramrod straight, acts as a cushion to Caroline's head; she is looking directly into the camera, expressionless.

Behind this tableau begins to play black and white film of three scenes juxtaposed: Kennedy's funeral after the assassination, a protest against the Vietnam war, and a line of cars driving Nixon to the courthouse; each procession of cars/people is headed by a slowly undulating American flag.  The joint caption at the bottom in white script: "A shameful day in history."  The historical montage is replaced by a color film showing a parade of white face-painted clown monsters and women in suit dresses with pastel wigs; the new caption, in black script: "Maitross, the oldest religion."

The camera pans to the front of a large throne room, focusing on a dais.  There are nine shelves in a pyramid, the lower tiers occupied by recognizable deities from China, Thailand, India, South America and Scandinavia.  Four remain unclaimed, including the single spot at the very top.  Buddha, Jesus and Mohammed run in together, late and out of breath.  Jesus and Mohammed begin jostling for position.  An argument ensues over who should get which of the remaining ledges and a few of the established gods join in.  "We leave that one open for Her, you know that," this from the god from Peru, as a flurry of arms jockey for a handhold to pull themselves to the top of the pyramid.

In the scuffle, Buddha is knocked onto the floor, which opens beneath him.  He plummets through a long dark hatch out of sight, re-emerging alone on the blistering surface of a red sand and black rock desert.  His wanders for some time, his luminous skin becoming charred and burnt; he is disoriented and in pain.  Somehow he finds the opening to the hatch and strongarms himself into it.  An eternity later, he pulls himself, exhausted and disfigured, back onto the floor of the godroom.  It is deserted, dusty, the lights shut.

I woke to typical Seattle mist, my cats scratching at my bedroom door for their breakfast.