Every year in my Eastern Religions class, the question is asked: “What happens when a buddha achieves Awakening? Where does he go?”

The question is predictable, even though it is always asked with determined sincerity; as though the question had never been asked before. When my answer is to shrug (because I actually think shrugging is the right response in this case), I am met with incredulity.

“You mean you don’t know the answer?”

I shrug again.

“Shall we continue with the lecture now?”

I suppose I could answer the question, but the truth is that I can’t. Because there is no answer, which is precisely how Buddhism has left it.

If the question is pressed (and it often is), then I tell the following story:

A long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away?), I was a young, idealistic backpacker hanging out in Dharamsala—the Dalai Lama’s home-in-exile in northern India. I was living with friends, eating in small shops, going for walks as I meandered through the existential layers of my mind. And I was taking Buddhist studies classes at the famed Library of Tibetan Works and Archives, trying to make sense of this spiritual tradition with which I was falling in love.

One day, the elderly monk teaching the course introduced the concept of samsara. He described all living beings as trapped in a cycle, going round and round, but ultimately moving forward toward Awakening. He spoke in Tibetan and a young woman beside him translated into English. I was sitting on the floor surrounded by dozens of others—Tibetans and foreigners alike—trying to take it all in. We were expected to sit quietly and absorb what he had to say, but I was soon flooded with a burning question.

I raised my hand.

“If we are all moving forward through samsara,” I asked when he called on me, “does this mean that we will all eventually achieve Awakening? And if so, what happens then? Does the world explode if there is no one left in it? Where do we all go?”

The teacher eyed me carefully, then stood up and did the strangest thing. He barked at me in Tibetan for what seemed to be an eternity, and then stormed out of the room.

Everyone stared at me accusingly. I looked to the interpreter in bewilderment. She looked back at all of us in discomfort.

“What did he say?” I asked.

She took a deep breath, and replied: “He said, ‘What is wrong with all you Westerners? Why do you always want to know the end of the story?! Are you awakened yet? I don’t think so. So instead of worrying about the end of the story, just work on getting awakened now. You will find out how it works when you get there!’”

And just like that, he left.