Hardcore Zen : punk rock, monster movies and the truth about reality Part 3

The word paramita paramita essentially means "highest" (though it has other meanings as well), so in this context we simply read "prajna paramita" as the highest wisdom, the highest prajna. essentially means "highest" (though it has other meanings as well), so in this context we simply read "prajna paramita" as the highest wisdom, the highest prajna.

Shariputra Shariputra, as I've said, was one of Gautama Buddha's most advanced students. He was a guy with a particularly clear grasp of subtle teachings about "emptiness" (more about this concept soon)-so lots of sutras have Buddha addressing him or answering his questions. Many of the earliest sutras from the ancient Pali canon compiled after Gautama's death are almost certainly transcripts of actual talks between the two men, but in the Mahayana sutras both Gautama and Shariputra have basically become legendary figures, characters in the unfolding of a dialogue.

Five Skandhas Buddhists do not accept the existence of a soul, some unchanging thing that is somehow "the essence" of a person. Instead they see a human being as a composite of five skandhas skandhas. The word skandha skandha literally means "heap." Imagine a heap of junk: take away all the individual pieces of junk that make up the heap, and the heap is gone. There is no "heap essence" or "heap soul" aside from the pieces of junk on the heap. In Buddhism, the five "heaps" that make up a person are these: form, feelings, perceptions, impulses toward actions (and the actions themselves), and consciousness. literally means "heap." Imagine a heap of junk: take away all the individual pieces of junk that make up the heap, and the heap is gone. There is no "heap essence" or "heap soul" aside from the pieces of junk on the heap. In Buddhism, the five "heaps" that make up a person are these: form, feelings, perceptions, impulses toward actions (and the actions themselves), and consciousness.

The denial of the idea of a soul is central to Buddhist understanding. Gautama Buddha was responding to the Indian idea of atman atman. This idea says that a little piece of G.o.d, called the atman atman, exists within each one of us, and that this atman is eternally separate from the body. The Judeo-Christian idea of a soul is pretty much the same except that the soul is seen by Jews and Christians as being eternally separate not just from the physical body but from G.o.d as well. It can go hang out with G.o.d, but can never merge into G.o.d as can the atman in the Hindu view.

Gautama Buddha looked carefully and exhaustively and could see no reason to accept the permanent existence of anything that could be called self or soul or atman. This is the basis of the teaching of anatman anatman, "no self"-which has been verified by generation after generation of Buddhists for 2,500 years.

Nothing in the universe is permanent-and the thing we call "self" is no different.

Form Is Emptiness Emptiness is the single most misunderstood word in all of Buddhism. The original Sanskrit word for this is is the single most misunderstood word in all of Buddhism. The original Sanskrit word for this is shunyata, shunyata, which ultimately points to the as-it-is-ness of things, the state of things being as they are without being colored by our views and ideas. But really, no matter how you define this word, it is still used to express something for which there simply were and are no adequate words, definitions, or concepts. The set of tools we're given to write about Buddhism are simply not up to the task. Nor were they up to the task 2,500 years ago. which ultimately points to the as-it-is-ness of things, the state of things being as they are without being colored by our views and ideas. But really, no matter how you define this word, it is still used to express something for which there simply were and are no adequate words, definitions, or concepts. The set of tools we're given to write about Buddhism are simply not up to the task. Nor were they up to the task 2,500 years ago.

Emptiness is not a nihilistic concept of voidness. Emptiness is not meaninglessness. Emptiness is that condition which is free from our conceptions and our perceptions. It's the world as it is before we come along and start complaining about the stuff we don't like.

Nishijima translates the famous line "Form is emptiness, emptiness is form," as, "Matter is the immaterial, the immaterial is matter." John Lennon expressed the same idea in Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except for Me and My Monkey: Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except for Me and My Monkey: "Your inside is out and your outside is in." The world we perceive and the thing that perceives the world are one and the same. Another modern Indian teacher, a guy named Krishnamurti, was fond of saying, "The observer is the observed." "Your inside is out and your outside is in." The world we perceive and the thing that perceives the world are one and the same. Another modern Indian teacher, a guy named Krishnamurti, was fond of saying, "The observer is the observed."

This all sounds pretty weird to most people when they begin studying Buddhism; it sounds so bizarre as to seem meaningless. But it is really a very concrete statement. It may, in fact, be the most concrete, most clear statement you can possibly make.

This book is you, you are this book. Reality is you, you are reality.

It's like the scene in David Cronenberg's movie The Fly The Fly. Having subjected himself to a scientific experiment involving teleportation, Professor Brundle (played by Jeff Goldblum) gets his molecular structure combined with that of a fly that gets into the machinery. Brundle becomes progressively more and more flylike, both physically and mentally. As he comes to terms with this, even begins to revel in it, he starts referring to himself as "Brundlefly." He understands the two-fly and Brundle-are really one, but language can't handle that concept. Same deal here. It's not "you" and "the universe." It's "universeyou."

The matter of matter and its relationship to mind is one of the most interesting aspects of Buddhism. Buddhist ideas about mind and matter are at once very much at odds with most Western philosophy, as well as the "commonsense" interpretation, and also similar in many ways to the notions being expressed recently by cutting-edge physicists and neuroscientists.

I recently read an article in the Chicago Tribune Chicago Tribune called "All in Your Head" by science writer Ronald Kotulak. In it, he says, "The starting point for consciousness may be the universe, which many physicists believe is made of information. The things we see as matter and energy are really information being transformed from one state to another." The human brain can't deal with all the information available, the article continues, so it transforms sensory input into what scientists call neural correlates of consciousness (or in the lingo, NCCs), symbolic forms that it can work with more easily. called "All in Your Head" by science writer Ronald Kotulak. In it, he says, "The starting point for consciousness may be the universe, which many physicists believe is made of information. The things we see as matter and energy are really information being transformed from one state to another." The human brain can't deal with all the information available, the article continues, so it transforms sensory input into what scientists call neural correlates of consciousness (or in the lingo, NCCs), symbolic forms that it can work with more easily.

He goes on to quote Piero Scaruffi, a lecturer at Caltech, who says, "Consciousness is no more magic than electricity. We can study consciousness if we can study the particles that give rise to it." In effect what Scaruffi is saying is simply, "emptiness is form." But the understanding that form is emptiness seems to elude him-as it does most scientists.

In the same article Kotulak mentions that in order for scientists to investigate consciousness, "They must first work their way through the thicket of the unconscious mind. It sees things before we are aware of them. We duck a surprise blow, jump out of the way of a speeding car.... Some experts estimate that 90 percent of the brain's workings are at the unconscious level." In fact, as neuroscience is beginning to realize, we can never really separate the conscious and unconscious.

Science is at the verge of understanding the problem, yet, by and large scientists are unable to make the intuitive leap that Gautama Buddha made millennia ago to see how to resolve the contradiction. As a culture we're beginning to see that we cannot comprehend the universe through the symbols of the conscious mind alone.

Yet the idea that the practice of zazen can directly allow a true understanding of the universe to emerge is somehow too strange for Western science and philosophy to come to grips with. It seems too mystical, too weird. The insights to be had through the long, boring practice of zazen, though, are available to anyone at all who commits to the practice- including you. These insights have been empirically confirmed by the process of Dharma Transmission from teacher to student for thousands of years.

"Dharma Transmission" sounds like fanatical religious conversion, doesn't it? Maybe even brainwashing: Your teacher believes it, you listen to him long enough and you begin to believe it too. But seeing reality is not a matter of absorbing a set of beliefs that have been handed down to you.

Here's an a.n.a.logy (it's a little far-fetched but the point is there, so bear with me): Imagine a person who's been blind since birth suddenly gaining the ability to see. Now the formerly blind person and any sighted person can immediately and directly agree that, for instance, oak leaves in summer are basically the same color as gra.s.s. But another blind person listening might a.s.sume that they'd just arbitrarily agreed upon a shared, groundless belief. A real Buddhist teacher is like someone who is no longer blind. Practicing zazen is like gradually (or maybe not so gradually) getting your sight back. Dharma Transmission is what happens when your sight clears enough that you can see what your teacher and the Buddha have already seen: things as they are.

The major difference between the ideas proposed by scientists and those proposed by Buddhists stems from the fact that scientists want to understand things through a.n.a.lytical thought alone. Buddhists realize that any true understanding of the relationship between mind and matter must include intuitive understanding that involves the whole mind-conscious and subconscious-as well as the body and ultimately every piece of the universe itself.

This kind of understanding cannot be expressed symbolically in words used in the usual way. To the extent that it can be expressed symbolically, the phrase "Form is emptiness, emptiness is form" really is as clear as it gets.

Suffering, Origination, Stopping, Path This phrase represents the four n.o.ble truths outlined by Gautama Buddha in his first talks after his own enlightenment experience. The usual understanding is that the first truth is that all life suffers. Gautama Buddha actually used the word dukkha dukkha, a word in the Pali language meaning something more like "unsatisfactory experience." The second n.o.ble truth is traditionally interpreted as saying that the origination of suffering is desire. The third truth is usually understood to say that stopping desire leads to the stopping of suffering. The fourth is the truth of the Right Way, usually given in the form of the n.o.ble eightfold path, which leads to the stopping of desire. The eight "folds" are these: right understanding, right thought, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration.

Lemme give you my takes on these truths.

The first n.o.ble truth, suffering, represents idealism. When you look at things from an idealistic viewpoint everything sucks, as The Descendents said in the song called "Everything Sucks" (from the alb.u.m Everything Sucks Everything Sucks). Nothing can possibly live up to the ideals and fantasies you've created. So we suffer because things are not the way we think they ought to be. Rather than face what really is, we prefer to retreat and compare what we're living through with the way we think it oughta be. Suffering comes from the comparison between the two.

Even physical suffering works like this. I saw this fact clearly for myself about a year ago when I pa.s.sed a kidney stone, allegedly the most painful experience a person can actually survive. I don't know about that, but I can tell you that the pain was astoundingly astoundingly bad. And yet when I stopped comparing what I thought I ought to feel like (namely, free from pain) to what I actually felt like (namely, in bad. And yet when I stopped comparing what I thought I ought to feel like (namely, free from pain) to what I actually felt like (namely, in enormous enormous pain), things became far better. It still hurt like h.e.l.l, don't get me wrong. But if you're not trying to run away from the unavoidable h.e.l.l of suffering, if you just let it be, your whole experience is transformed utterly. The Buddhist author and nun Pema Chodron calls this transformation "the wisdom of no escape." pain), things became far better. It still hurt like h.e.l.l, don't get me wrong. But if you're not trying to run away from the unavoidable h.e.l.l of suffering, if you just let it be, your whole experience is transformed utterly. The Buddhist author and nun Pema Chodron calls this transformation "the wisdom of no escape."

This leads to the second n.o.ble truth, the origination of suffering: our wish that things be different from what they are when they cannot possibly be. Things can never be other than they are. This moment can never be other than it is. So the "desire" often spoken of by Buddhist teachers isn't just the fact that we desire that big car or that busty redhead with the nose-ring or that hunky guy who delivers for Domino's. Everyone has desires. We can't live without them. Nor should we. The problem isn't that we have natural desires and needs. It's that we have a compulsive (and ultimately stupid!) desire for our lives to be something other than what they actually are. We have a world in our minds that we call "perfect" and a world in front of us (and within us) that can't possibly match that image. The problem is the way we let our desires stand in the way of our enjoyment of what we already have.

Is this confusing? The world within can be quite distinct from what out brain wants it to be. The brain is often in conflict with itself. You're depressed but you want to be happy. You're h.o.r.n.y but you want to have self-control. You're scatterbrained but you want to be focused.

The second n.o.ble truth was never supposed to be taken to mean our natural desires are evil and should be eliminated. Gautama had already tried that path as a ascetic yogi. After trying to abstain from all of his desires (including the desire to eat), he found himself thin and weak and miserable-and no closer to enlightenment than he had been when he started out (although he was way closer to Corpseville). He broke his fast by accepting a bowl of rice from a milkmaid who was taking it to a temple as an offering to one of the G.o.ds. Only after acknowledging and accepting his natural human desire for food and regaining his natural strength was he able to embark upon the practice that culminated in his enlightenment. Such a person would not be likely to preach that natural desire itself is the cause of suffering.

The third n.o.ble truth, stopping suffering, represents action in the present moment. It's not that we force ourselves to stop having desires. That wouldn't solve anything and it's impossible anyhow. Trying to force yourself not to desire just brings up more desires (not the least of which is the desire not to desire). You'll often hear religious-type people saying, "The only thing that I desire is desirelessness." Sinead O'Connor has an alb.u.m called I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got. I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got. The only state in which you don't want what you don't have is The only state in which you don't want what you don't have is death death. Maybe Sinead was trying to start a "Sinead is dead" rumor....

You desire a Jaguar XKR but you've got a Chevy s.h.i.tbox (this is a car Chevy made awhile ago-it wasn't very popular at the time, but a lot of people drive them now). When you want to go to the supermarket, what makes more sense: sitting there and wishing you had that Jag or getting in your s.h.i.tbox and actually driving? If you have desires, leave them as they are and do what needs to be done. Maybe you wish you'd bought that new Ken Wilber book instead of this one. Well, there's no accounting for taste, but this is what you spent your money on so you may as well finish it.

Ultimately, the n.o.ble eightfold path is reality itself. To act according to the n.o.ble eightfold path is to act in accordance with reality. And that's all.

The Three Worlds The three worlds are the past, present, and future.2 This is a common Buddhist expression that seems to throw a lot of people. They think it's some kind of reference to Other Realms or higher states of consciousness or some such c.r.a.p. This is a common Buddhist expression that seems to throw a lot of people. They think it's some kind of reference to Other Realms or higher states of consciousness or some such c.r.a.p.

The past and the future-even the present-are just inventions by the conscious mind for dealing with reality in an organized way. They're symbolic representations. And representations aren't reality.

We'll never find the past and future no matter where we look. Nor will we find the present-but let's put that one aside for a couple of minutes. On my desk is a picture of my nephew when he was five dressed up as Gammera, the famous j.a.panese fire-breathing giant turtle. He's twelve now and no longer dresses up as Gammera. That five-year-old in the picture can never be found. In one sense the past exists since the state of our own bodies and minds is the acc.u.mulation of past actions. But even this past exists only now.

We usually believe that the past creates memory. Real events occurred in the real past and we remember them-but in fact that's only half the truth. The other half, every bit as important, is that memory creates the past. We are actively constructing our own past right now every bit as much as we create our own future. We can look at dramatic examples, but it's true in mundane ways as well.

Was Thomas Jefferson a brave champion of human freedom or an exploitative slave-owner who enjoyed a bit on the side with his female property? History is rewritten constantly-and the "past" changes. Stalin reshaped the past by erasing his enemies from official photographs and we are constantly revising our own pasts in more subtle, but ultimately quite similar, ways.

Furthermore, our perceptions of events at the time they are happening is always flawed and incomplete and then we reshape those flawed perceptions every time we revisit those memories. The past exists only in our minds and our minds are easily changeable and so the past itself becomes malleable as well.

There's another Buddhist sutra called the Diamond Sutra-diamond because its wisdom cuts through anything. The Diamond Sutra says, "The mind of the past is unknowable, the mind of the future is unknowable, the mind of the present is unknowable." The mind of the past is unknowable because the past is not where you are. Ever. You cannot find your past no matter where you search. Ultimately that concept we call "the past" is little more than a clever fiction to explain how things got the way they are now-and sometimes this fiction doesn't even explain things all that well. because its wisdom cuts through anything. The Diamond Sutra says, "The mind of the past is unknowable, the mind of the future is unknowable, the mind of the present is unknowable." The mind of the past is unknowable because the past is not where you are. Ever. You cannot find your past no matter where you search. Ultimately that concept we call "the past" is little more than a clever fiction to explain how things got the way they are now-and sometimes this fiction doesn't even explain things all that well.

We may long to revisit the past, but we really never can. And all those idyllic memories we have, well, we know deep down things probably weren't quite as rosy as we like to remember them (or as wholly and utterly bad, if that's the way our memories tend to go).

The mind of the future is unknowable. As a guy who collects a lot of weird stuff, I run up against this one a lot. I'll sometimes see a certain old monster book or something at a price that's just a little bit too steep. So I'll sit there and wonder, "Will I regret it later if I don't buy this now?" Of course, you can't answer that question. People stress themselves out all the time over variations of the same question. If I sign this contract, will it make my company big money? If I ask her out for a date, will she say yes? And if she says yes, will I end up enjoying the date or regretting it? You don't know what the future will be. You might take on an awful job in order to make a lot of money "for the future" but what if you drop dead before then? You never know. Of course, you need to think about the future to some extent. I wouldn't write a book without imagining a future time when it might be read. But don't get too hung up on the future. The future's out of your control. Enjoy what's happening right now. Do what is appropriate, what is right, in the present moment and let the future be the future.

So what about that present moment? The Diamond Sutra tells us that the mind of the present is unknowable. What's that mean? We think we know the mind of the present-after all, here it is! But we don't really know it. We can't really see it.

Wholly in the midst of something, you can't possibly see it. As I write this my eyes look at the keyboard (if I'd learned to type correctly, they'd be watching the screen) but I can't see my own eyes anymore than I can bite my teeth. I can only see their reflection and experience their effects. Trying to see one's present mind is just like that. I can only see the reflection of my mind in the universe or in my own past.

The present moment is the razor's edge of time, slicing through both future and past like a red-hot machete through a stick of I-Can't-Believe-It's-Not-b.u.t.ter. Buddhist writings sometimes refer to mind-moments mind-moments, the conceptually shortest possible division of time. It's said that there are sixty-four mind-moments in a finger snap. I couldn't care less whether this has any scientific value in modern terms-it's just a poetic attempt to ill.u.s.trate the fleetingness of the present moment. In the present moment there isn't even time to complete a single thought, no matter how simple. In the present moment not even perception has time to occur. Action alone exists.

And yet this fleeting teeny-weeny present moment is the only only time in which you are free to act. The reality of the unknowable past is set. Done and gone. Our ability to mentally manipulate it is an illusion. Yet in this moment, our past actions affect our life here and now. Within the confines in which our past action has placed us, we are time in which you are free to act. The reality of the unknowable past is set. Done and gone. Our ability to mentally manipulate it is an illusion. Yet in this moment, our past actions affect our life here and now. Within the confines in which our past action has placed us, we are absolutely free absolutely free right now. That's an important point-make sure you see it. right now. That's an important point-make sure you see it.

The future is not here. Completely unattainable. Yet in this moment, the action we take affects our and the universe's future circ.u.mstances infinitely and unknowably. Here and now we can do something real.

Everything exists in this moment. This moment is the basis of all creation. The universe wasn't created the Biblical six thousand years ago or even the scientific fifteen billion. The universe is created right now right now and and right now right now it disappears. Before you even have time to recognize its existence, it's gone forever. Yet the present moment penetrates all of time and s.p.a.ce. In Dogen's words, "What is happening here and now is obstructed by happening itself; it has sprung free from the brains of happening." it disappears. Before you even have time to recognize its existence, it's gone forever. Yet the present moment penetrates all of time and s.p.a.ce. In Dogen's words, "What is happening here and now is obstructed by happening itself; it has sprung free from the brains of happening."

In other words, we can't know the present in the usual sense because the present is obscured by the present itself and by the act of perceiving it and conceiving of it. Form meets emptiness here and now and all of creation blossoms into being.

Nirvana Betcha think I'm gonna make some reference to Kurt Cobain's band. That's not the real Nirvana. The real Nirvana was a two-man band from England who put out some great psychedelic LPs in the '60s. But that's not what the Heart Sutra is talking about.

In the West, nirvana is often misunderstood as some kind of Buddhist heaven, or, since nirvana nirvana literally means "cessation" or "extinction," a lot of people have a seriously mistaken tendency to equate the idea with nihilism. Others equate nirvana with some kind of everlasting spiritual bliss. Nirvana isn't about bliss. If you want bliss, you'd be better off smokin' a fat ol' doobie, dude. Just brace yourself for a stiff dose of reality again when you've used up yer stash. literally means "cessation" or "extinction," a lot of people have a seriously mistaken tendency to equate the idea with nihilism. Others equate nirvana with some kind of everlasting spiritual bliss. Nirvana isn't about bliss. If you want bliss, you'd be better off smokin' a fat ol' doobie, dude. Just brace yourself for a stiff dose of reality again when you've used up yer stash.

If you must, you can understand nirvana as a kind of goal of Buddhist practice. Now, any good Buddhist teacher will tell you it's the path path that's important in Buddhism and not the goal. It's like shooting at a target with a bow. You just aim as well as you can and let the sucker fly. Maybe you hit, maybe you don't. Either way, you do what this moment calls for. And this one. And this one. In that's important in Buddhism and not the goal. It's like shooting at a target with a bow. You just aim as well as you can and let the sucker fly. Maybe you hit, maybe you don't. Either way, you do what this moment calls for. And this one. And this one. In Fundamental Verses of the Middle Way, Fundamental Verses of the Middle Way, our old Indian buddy Nagarjuna says that nirvana is not reality. I agree but I'll add that nirvana is also our old Indian buddy Nagarjuna says that nirvana is not reality. I agree but I'll add that nirvana is also ultimate ultimate reality. Buddhism's just chock full o' contradictions. Doncha love it? reality. Buddhism's just chock full o' contradictions. Doncha love it?

And here's something that'll really get your panties in a bunch: Maybe your concept of ultimate reality has no counterpart in ultimate reality.

Anuttara-samyak-sambodhi This means "complete, unsurpa.s.sed, perfect enlightenment." Notice, though, that the sutra first says the bodhisattva has nothing to attain and that, because of having nothing to attain because of having nothing to attain, he attains complete liberation. You can't attain liberation the way you can attain a 1968 Camaro or a D-plus on a math test. You can only attain liberation by clearly seeing there is nothing to attain there is nothing to attain.

Complete liberation sounds like a big deal. And it is. It's the biggest deal around. But don't make too much of it-because it's also absolutely nothing at all.

I love the covers of those New Age books that show some Enlightened Saint with blue halos around his body, shining pure white light from his head and fingertips. It's pure c.r.a.p. A real enlightened being doesn't look any different from anyone else. They're just ordinary people like you. That other stuff's just special effects. Annutara-samyak-sambodhi Annutara-samyak-sambodhi is you. Enlightenment is reality itself. is you. Enlightenment is reality itself.

And reality is you-naked, stinky, and phony as all get-out.

Reality doesn't know a d.a.m.ned thing.

Reality has doubts and insecurities.

Reality gets h.o.r.n.y sometimes and sometimes reality likes to read the funny papers.

Reality is an old guy in Cleveland Heights complaining that his grandkids have stolen his dentures again.

Reality is five guys trying to tune three guitars and a Farfisa compact organ to the same pitch and failing miserably.

Reality is the source of every star, every planet, every galaxy; every dust mote, every atom; every klepton, lepton, and slepton.

Reality is the basis of every booger up your nose, every pit-stain in your dad's T-shirts, and every dingleberry on your a.s.s.

Reality is this moment.

The Great Transcendent Mantra The last section is really different from the rest and seems to be encouraging us to chant that little line at the end, "Gate, gate, paragate, parasamgate. Bodhi! Svaha!" "Gate, gate, paragate, parasamgate. Bodhi! Svaha!" ( (Gate is p.r.o.nounced "gah-tay," by the way.) This basically means "Gone, gone, all the way gone to the other sh.o.r.e. Enlightenment! Hot d.a.m.n!" It's not really meant to be chanted. It's just an expression of joy in response to realization. is p.r.o.nounced "gah-tay," by the way.) This basically means "Gone, gone, all the way gone to the other sh.o.r.e. Enlightenment! Hot d.a.m.n!" It's not really meant to be chanted. It's just an expression of joy in response to realization.

Someone once asked Kobun Chino, who was another student of Nishijima's teacher, what that line meant, and Kobun replied, "I don't know, that's just Indian stuff."

A lot of Buddhism is wrapped up with Indian spiritual traditions. But that's not the important part. Woody Allen often exclaims "Jesus!" "Jesus!" in his movies but that doesn't mean he's a Christian. The mantra at the end of the piece is just a motif that was common in the culture at the time it was written. in his movies but that doesn't mean he's a Christian. The mantra at the end of the piece is just a motif that was common in the culture at the time it was written.

"The other sh.o.r.e" is enlightenment but enlightenment is also this sh.o.r.e, where we are right now.

Does that irk ya? No? Read it again until it does.... If Zen Buddhism were only the understanding that what we are right now is fine and dandy why do we bother practicing zazen and reading books and listening to teachers? It's an important question.

This was the burning question that our man Dogen-the founder of j.a.panese Soto Zen and one of the coolest Zen guys ever-took up when he began pursuing Buddhism in earnest: If we're already perfect as we are, why should we study Buddhism and practice Zen? No one could answer Dogen's question for him, and so Dogen had to find the truth for himself. In a sense, Dogen's entire multivolume Shobogenzo Shobogenzo was his attempt to answer this one simple-sounding question. But that's his answer. What's yours? was his attempt to answer this one simple-sounding question. But that's his answer. What's yours?

There are people who think of the spiritual life as a journey. Buddhism isn't like that. We may use the word path path, but we're not trying to get anywhere. We're trying to fully experience the wonder and perfectness of being right here. Some of those other paths might claim to whisk you off to some magical place-and maybe they'll really do it. But when you get there you'll be just as baffled as you are right now.

BUDDHISM WON'T GIVE YOU THE ANSWER. Buddhism might help you find your own right question question, but you've gotta supply your own answers. Sorry. No one else's answer will ever satisfy you-nor should it. But the real magic is that once you have your own true answer, you'll find you're not alone. As unique as your own true answer is-the one you find after questioning and questioning and questioning-it will be absolutely in tune with the answer Gautama Buddha found all those centuries ago, the answer Nagarjuna expounded upon, the answer Bodhidharma brought to China, and the one that Dogen wrote about in j.a.pan.

And that that answer will announce itself like thunder from the sky overhead and an earthquake from the ground beneath your feet. And it will be just like nothing at all. answer will announce itself like thunder from the sky overhead and an earthquake from the ground beneath your feet. And it will be just like nothing at all.

Sitting in the back of your grandma's VW Bug, in that little indentation there by the rear window, you're three years old and the world is big. Suddenly, as the engine warms up and the car begins to back down the driveway, you look out at the clear blue sky and for an instant see that you are everything. You want to say something, but none of the words you have will stick at all; nothing will come except for a wide, wide smile that crosses all of s.p.a.ce and time-and the moment is utterly forgotten. Then one day you're walking along the banks of a river somewhere far, far from that driveway and all at once it comes rushing back, though it never really left.

But still, none of the words you have will stick to it at all.

"DON'T WORRY,IT WILL COME... WITH ENLIGHTENMENT!"

Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away.

PHILIP K. d.i.c.k.

WHILE LIVING IN TOKYO and working on selling Ultraman to the world, I kept attending Nishijima's weekly zazen sittings, finding them alternately stimulating and exasperating. 3 3 The nice little Zen books on the shelves these days don't give you much of a sense of how truly grating Zen masters can be. They're the ultimate in know-it-alls. You can't tell them anything. And Nishijima may be the very worst of the lot. He seems to delight in throwing lines into his talks that are guaranteed to put everyone in the room on edge. The image of the gentle Zen master soothing his audience with tranquil words of serenity and peace is a Hollywood invention that far too many wanna-bes spend far too much energy learning to imitate. Nishijima's talks are never stilling-they're downright irritating. The nice little Zen books on the shelves these days don't give you much of a sense of how truly grating Zen masters can be. They're the ultimate in know-it-alls. You can't tell them anything. And Nishijima may be the very worst of the lot. He seems to delight in throwing lines into his talks that are guaranteed to put everyone in the room on edge. The image of the gentle Zen master soothing his audience with tranquil words of serenity and peace is a Hollywood invention that far too many wanna-bes spend far too much energy learning to imitate. Nishijima's talks are never stilling-they're downright irritating.

In addition to his weekly sittings and lectures, Nishijima also hosts several zazen retreats at a temple near the city of Shizuoka, in the foothills of Mount Fuji about two hours south of Tokyo by bullet train. It's a beautiful old Zen temple surrounded by tea fields, miles from the nearest convenience store and not a McDonald's or Starbucks in sight. Still, if you desperately need a sugar-laden soft drink, you can take a five minute walk down the hill to the vending machine out in front of the little noodle shop that caters to tourists who stop by the temple and folks who come around to arrange funerals.

As far as I could tell during my first visit the main activities of the monks at the temple seemed to be hanging out in the kitchen watching vapid TV chat shows, drinking beer and brushing up on the chants used in funeral services. Over the next few years I discovered I was pretty off base with that a.s.sessment. The guy I'd seen drinking all the beer turned out not to be one of the monks (though he did have a shaved head and lived in a temple-sue me for getting that one wrong) and managed to give up the booze by the following summer-no small feat in j.a.pan where you can get plastered seven nights a week and still not be considered an alcoholic. The monks are in fact all hard-working guys who perform an important service for their community. Still, apart from the head of the temple who usually joins us for at least one sitting, the only other monk there I've ever seen doing zazen-which is the central practice of Zen Buddhism, mind you-was a Sri Lankan guy from the Theravada school of Buddhism who was there as part of some Buddhist exchange program. Unfortunately, this is pretty typical of Buddhist temples all over j.a.pan.

Nishijima's retreats are pretty lightweight as Zen retreats go. While many such retreats have their students wake up at 3 o'clock in the morning, Nishijima lets his students get up at a very leisurely 4:30. There are four zazen periods each day, two of which are forty-five minutes while the other two are an hour and a half each (that's forty-five minutes of zazen, fifteen minutes of walking meditation, and another forty-five minutes of zazen). This is about half, if that, of what the really rigorous temples make their students do. The retreats are just three days long, rather than the week-long or even month-long affairs elsewhere. Still, if you've never done that kind of thing before, even this can be a major jolt to the system.

BY THE TIME I went to my first formal retreat, I'd already been doing zazen for eleven years and going to Nishijima's lectures for two. But my first retreat with Nishijima was my first experience in an actual temple with an actual j.a.panese Zen priest running the show.

I hated it.

For starters I was completely confused about the arrangements. Bonehead that I am, rather than signing on for the annual English-language retreat for foreigners, I signed on for the one Nishijima holds for new members of the company he works for. The company president is enamored of zazen and requires all new employees to attend one of these. A bunch of spotty-faced new college grads who've just entered the fabulously exciting cosmetics industry are herded up to the mountains to sit still for three tedious days. There's no beer, no dried-fish snacks, no karaoke or party games-just peace and solitude and sitting up straight facing a wall all weekend long. Needless to say these kids are not happy campers.

I ended up being one of three of Nishijima's special guests that weekend, along with Jeremy Pearson, one of his long-time students, and a strange Korean man who was apparently some kind of philosophy professor somewhere. The four of us shared a room on the temple's second floor.

I didn't know Jeremy very well at the time, but he had a shaved head, knew every chant and mealtime ritual, and wore a set of monk's robes all weekend. Clearly he was a very serious Zen guy. I never could work out exactly why the Korean guy was there. He spoke fluent English and could get by moderately in j.a.panese, and he had obviously studied a lot of Buddhist literature and considered himself quite the expert in the field. For all I knew he might have been one of Korea's most renowned Buddhist scholars. He certainly carried himself like Korea's most renowned something something . Maybe he had come to get a bit of hands-on experience with j.a.panese Zen, no doubt so that he could go back to Korea and legitimately claim to have been through some real j.a.panese-style Zen training. . Maybe he had come to get a bit of hands-on experience with j.a.panese Zen, no doubt so that he could go back to Korea and legitimately claim to have been through some real j.a.panese-style Zen training.

But my main impression of him was this: He farted a lot. Now don't get me wrong, of course pa.s.sing gas is fine and normal and natural. But this man seemed to have no idea that doing so loudly and odoriferously in the middle of a polite conversation was potentially a bit off-putting. He'd just be chattering away then lift a cheek and let one rip without the slightest pause in his speech. I'd heard about some Asian countries where nose-picking in public is not considered odd or rude, but I don't think there's any part of the world where farting is considered an ordinary part of polite social intercourse-and j.a.pan certainly certainly is not such place. The man had a lot of the qualities of the autistic people I used to work with when I'd been an instructor at the Summit County Board of Mental r.e.t.a.r.dation. He seemed unaware that there were other people in the world. He spoke only in monologues as if he'd created his own mental images of people and reacted to those images rather than the people themselves. Before he asked you a question, he already had your answer worked out in his mind and no matter what answer you actually gave, he responded to the one he'd heard in his mind. It made for some very odd conversations. Something like this: is not such place. The man had a lot of the qualities of the autistic people I used to work with when I'd been an instructor at the Summit County Board of Mental r.e.t.a.r.dation. He seemed unaware that there were other people in the world. He spoke only in monologues as if he'd created his own mental images of people and reacted to those images rather than the people themselves. Before he asked you a question, he already had your answer worked out in his mind and no matter what answer you actually gave, he responded to the one he'd heard in his mind. It made for some very odd conversations. Something like this: FARTING MAN: What's your favorite color? ME: Blue.FARTING MAN: You know red is a symbol of... (blah-blah-blah about red for an hour) (blah-blah-blah about red for an hour) Okay, I'm exaggerating a little-but not much.

Anyhow, I arrived at this particular retreat with a chip on my shoulder. I'd been doing zazen for over a decade by then and I was pretty miffed that I had yet to reach enlightenment. I'd read all the major Buddhist sutras and had made a thorough study of most of the major Indian holy books. I had shelves full of dog-eared books by big-wig spiritual teachers like Krishnamurti, Ramana Maharshi, Shunryu Suzuki, and anybody else who'd written on the subject of being enlightened. I'd even been to Christian churches to check out their ideas about "born-again experiences," which I figured might have been a kind of Christian version of enlightenment. (They weren't. FYI.) Buddy, if anyone shoulda been enlightened it was me!

One evening, I was upstairs with Nishijima, Jeremy, and Farting Man, and I steeled up my nerves enough to ask Nishijima about enlightenment.

Let me give you a bit of background. In a nutsh.e.l.l there are two major schools of Zen in j.a.pan: Soto, to which Nishijima belonged and in which my teacher Tim McCarthy had studied and taught; and the Rinzai school, Soto's main compet.i.tor, as it were. The difference between them is this: the Rinzai school believes in enlightenment and the Soto school doesn't.

All right, admittedly it's a good bit more complex and interesting than that. But for now, that's all you need to know to follow the story.

Knowing that Nishijima was a Soto guy, I was trying to be cool about the whole enlightenment thing. I didn't actually use the e e-word, I just kinda hinted around, saying stuff like "I've been studying for ten years and I still haven't got it got it, you know? I mean I don't, like, y'know, understand anything... understand anything..."-everything short of nudging and winking to show him I was in on the big secret.