The Free Radical

This week’s topic was paradox.

I decided to have a little fun with it, but hopefully there’s something instructive or otherwise of value contained in my little story as well.

A Pair o’ Dogs

They were an odd pair, even beyond the dire quirkiness of their names. But since naming was the jurisdictional province of street urchins and guttersnipes, it might have been expected. Was it better to be named an obvious cliche or for a condiment that had been politely tolerated for far too long already, even in these ancient times?– times best known for that benchmark moment when sliced bread was just beginning to be a thing.

The one was Scruffy– might as well be Rex or Spot, for all the thought that went into that one! Granted, she was in no way coiffed or groomed, so the appellation did fit… Yes, that’s right, Scruffy was a girl, but the bitch was a bit of a butch– often lifting her leg to pee; consequently, most thought her a boy.

And the other was named Marmalade. C’mon, no one really likes marmalade, especially if there’s proper jam right there beside it. Jelly had just been invented, but hadn’t received widespread exposure yet, but from that time onward, marmalade’s days were numbered; when peanut butter finally came upon the scene, good night! It had been precisely marmalade’s waning appeal which had once afforded the pup the opportunity to claim a jostled and fallen jar from the only crowded place on the preserve-merchant’s table, when his customers reached for their favourite jams and those newfangled jellies. He never should have put the marmalade up front anyway. And Marmalade– the dog– should never had gotten his head stuck in that jar. It was his rescuer who had aptly– and quite unfortunately– named him.

Scruffy and Marmalade were making their rounds, their daily routine. Next up were the Buddhists. The dogs rather liked the Buddhists; it was easy to relate to folk who wanted little more than to sit at their master’s feet, forever testing the osmosis of wisdom. They were gathered now in their little corner of the Commons, discussing all the latest metaphysical fashions, fads and faux pas. As the dogs sidled by this fine day, one of the shaven-headed lads turned and pointed.

“Tell me, Master, does the dog have Buddha-nature?”

Scruffy wasn’t particularly interested in the answer. She had already decided to bypass the Buddhists’ offerings, not wanting to fill up on rice– and philosophy– so early in the day. You’d think that just once they’d have a little morsel of meat, or maybe some fat trimmings… But no! Not the stupid Buddhists! Now, where the hell was Marmalade?

He’d hung back. Apparently he was interested in the answer. He always was the cerebral type– well, at least, ever since the marmalade jar incident… getting stuck like that– that’s gonna change a dog. Think about it: getting your head stuck in a jar… from that moment on, you’re gonna vow to try and think things through a bit more. Yup, Marmalade was downright smart… now.

“I knew it,” he said once Scruffy backtracked to where he sat, listening.

“What’s that, Dear? What’d you know?”

“We got the Buddha-nature!”

“Well that’s marvelous! What is it? Is it like moxie? Or hutzpah? Or maybe like having balls?”

“Naw, it’s bigger than that.”

“Bigger than balls?” Scruffy was suddenly impressed; she knew what Marmalade thought of his own balls. This Buddha-nature thing was big!

“Everyone’s got it.”

“Got what, Dear?”

“Buddha-nature. Of course we all have Buddha-nature!”

“But if we’ve all got it,” asked Scruffy genuinely puzzled, “what’s so special about it? I mean, it sounds a lot like fleas, if you ask me.”

“We’ve all got it… but not everybody knows it… hardly anyone does.”

“Well, me and you know it. Maybe we should tell everyone else?”

“No. No. They won’t believe it. That’s what Buddhists are for; they’ll tell everyone.”

“Why won’t they believe us? Because we’re dogs?”

“No, I said they won’t believe IT, not us. They won’t believe IT.”

“Why? What’s so hard to believe?”

“They won’t believe that we’re One.”

“Um… Marmalade, Dear, I’ll be the first to admit to my obvious shortcomings in mathematics, but I’m pretty sure that we’re two. One. Two.” Scruffy was pretty sure of herself. She had learned to count to two… weeks ago now; no, she was on solid ground here.

“Of course we’re two… but we’re also ONE. We’re all one thing… together.”

Scruffy was doubtful, but Marmalade was supposedly the smart one, so she acquiesced and asked the obvious question: “And what sort of thing is that, Dear?”

“Well, it’s the every-thing… the whole– more than the sum of its parts. It’s like nothing else… because it’s already got everything; there is no more else… and that gives it a special outlook. It can’t look at the world anymore in the same way as before, as all the others– within the world– look at the things OF the world. All those things, every last one of them, is already IT…part of its being; it’s beyond identity… of any kind. Honestly, you can’t really speak of it… not really.”

“Well, you’re doing a terrible job of not speaking of it, I must say. And I’m not understanding one whit, I admit. So what is IT, again?”

“The Buddha-nature is the Being of One expressing the All… through the absence of the one.”


“The absence of which one?”

“The one of many… the former fractional one.”

“Oh, you know I’m no good at fractions!”

“There’s no math involved.”

“Says you!” Scruffy’s poor head was spinning.

“It’s a paradox.”

“A pair of what? A pair of ducks? Oh, that might be nice, baked till they’re crisp with a marmalade glaze… one for each of us!”

“No, it’s all the same One.”

Scruffy was growing weary of this nonsensical conversation, so she abruptly changed the subject. “I’m pregnant,” she said very matter-of-factly. It wasn’t quite the way she had planned on telling him, but… there it was.

Marmalade opened his mouth several times to speak, but suddenly, words failed him. It was wonderful news; truly, it was… and he finally tried his best to smile, but dogs have a devil of a time smiling without crossing that line, right into grimacing. He looked happy… and pained; it was some new transcendent emotional amalgamation.

Scruffy and Marmalade finished their rounds that day in relative silence, each thinking about what the other had said.

“I’d like to have babies… with you,” said Marmalade finally that evening.

“Can we name them?” asked Scruffy suddenly beaming.

“Likely, it would be best,” admitted Marmalade. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Well, no matter how many there are… and whatever gender they are, I say we name them all Allison.”


“Allison? Why Allison?”

“Because All Is One.”

And all Marmalade could say is “I love you.”
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