Hardcore Zen : punk rock, monster movies and the truth about reality Part 1

Hardcore Zen.

Punk Rock, Monster Movies & the Truth About Reality.

by Brad Warner.

PROLOGUE.

For me it was this: Turning away from an overflowing toilet in a crummy bas.e.m.e.nt bar in the middle of an Ohio winter with a bunch of apes in leather jackets outside shouting in unison as some other ape in a pair of stretch-pants thrashes away at an imitation Les Paul guitar running through a busted Marshall amp. The lights, the noise, the girl by the bar in the sweaty white T-s.h.i.+rt that I can just about see through... All of a sudden I'm struck with the senselessness, the absurdity, the sheer overwhelming weirdness of it all.

What is this place? This existence-the very fact of my being-what is this? Who am I? What is this thing, this body, its ears ringing from the noise, its eyes burning from the smoke, its stomach churning from the p.i.s.sy-tasting swill that pa.s.ses for beer?

IT ALL CAME TO A HEAD that night but those have always been the kinds of burning questions that bit into the core of my being since I was old enough to think. Not questions like, "What is the purpose of existence? What is the meaning of life? Where did we come from?"-those were always too indirect for me. Meaning is removed from real existence. Purpose deals with goals, direction, and stuff that's going to happen in the future. Wherever we came from is over and done. That doesn't get at it for me. It doesn't get right at the root of things. I want to know what this this is-this place right here, this state of mind right now. is-this place right here, this state of mind right now. What is this? What is this?

*I'd like to mention, for the benefit of the good folks at that record label that I'm still waiting for my royalties.

Or to put it another way: What is truth itself? What is this thing called reality?

NOW, AFTER YEARS AND YEARS of intense questioning I feel like I have something to say-and more than that, I feel I almost have a duty to say it.

Why should you listen to me? Who the h.e.l.l am I? Who is this guy who's claiming he's gonna give you the skinny on "the truth about reality" as if he's an authority? No one. No one at all.

The fact is, although I can tell you who I am and what I've done, I can't give you any real reasons why you ought to listen to me. There aren't any reasons. It's not about reasons.

For the record, I'll tell you I'm an ordained Buddhist priest who received s.h.i.+ho, s.h.i.+ho, "Dharma Transmission," in an ancient line of Buddhist teachers. This is supposedly the symbolic recognition that I have "attained" the same enlightenment as the Buddha did some 2,500 years ago-but if I were you I wouldn't put too much stock in that kind of thing. Guys who've received Dharma Transmission are a dime a dozen here in j.a.pan these days, and there are scores of them in America and Europe as well. Big deal. "Dharma Transmission," in an ancient line of Buddhist teachers. This is supposedly the symbolic recognition that I have "attained" the same enlightenment as the Buddha did some 2,500 years ago-but if I were you I wouldn't put too much stock in that kind of thing. Guys who've received Dharma Transmission are a dime a dozen here in j.a.pan these days, and there are scores of them in America and Europe as well. Big deal.

Before I was a Buddhist priest I was a part of the early hardcore punk and alternative music scene. I played ba.s.s in Zero Defex, an Ohio hardcore punk band whose only significant recorded release was the song "Drop the A-Bomb on Me" on a compilation called P.E.A.C.E/ War. P.E.A.C.E/ War.* This double alb.u.m, on which the Dead Kennedys, the b.u.t.thole Surfers, MDC, and a host of other hardcore legends appeared, has been reissued numerous times over the past twenty years and because of it our little band is far more well known now than it was when we were playing. I cut a deal with New York's Midnight Records label and released five alb.u.ms of Syd Barrettinfluenced neo-psychedelia under the band name Dimentia 13 (though on three of those records the "band" consisted of me alone). Those records sold well enough and influenced enough people to earn me the everlasting recognition of my own little footnote in the history of alternative rock-if you own the right coupla books. This double alb.u.m, on which the Dead Kennedys, the b.u.t.thole Surfers, MDC, and a host of other hardcore legends appeared, has been reissued numerous times over the past twenty years and because of it our little band is far more well known now than it was when we were playing. I cut a deal with New York's Midnight Records label and released five alb.u.ms of Syd Barrettinfluenced neo-psychedelia under the band name Dimentia 13 (though on three of those records the "band" consisted of me alone). Those records sold well enough and influenced enough people to earn me the everlasting recognition of my own little footnote in the history of alternative rock-if you own the right coupla books.

As far as earning a living now, I'm in the prestigious line of making B-grade j.a.panese monster movies. You know the kind: two out-of-work sumo wrestlers dress up in rubber dinosaur costumes and slam the bejeezus out of each other on a scale model of Tokyo made out of balsa wood and model train kits. The company I work for was founded by the late, great Mr. Eiji Tsuburaya, the man who directed the special effects for all of the cla.s.sic G.o.dzilla movies of the '50s and '60s. These days we make a show called Ultraman Ultraman , which is perhaps the single most popular superhero character throughout half the world-although if you live in the America half, you might never have heard of him. , which is perhaps the single most popular superhero character throughout half the world-although if you live in the America half, you might never have heard of him.

None of this makes me inherently worth listening to-as I'm sure you'll be quick to agree. Yet truth is truth. And if words are true, who cares whether the guy who wrote them has s.h.i.+ho s.h.i.+ho or Divine Inspiration or the power to fly faster than a speeding bullet? or Divine Inspiration or the power to fly faster than a speeding bullet?

So, if you're interested in what I have to say, keep reading. If you find something, some little thing that resonates and might do some good in your life, great. If you get to the end of this book (or to the middle, or to page 27 second paragraph down) and think the book is c.r.a.p, leave it on the subway and forget about it. No problem.

But before you do, ask yourself just one thing: Who are you?

I'm not talking about your name, your job, or the number of hairs on your b.u.t.t. Who the h.e.l.l are you really really? And what really is that thing you so confidently call your life?

GIMME SOME TRUTH.

Sometimes the truth hurts.

And sometimes it feels real good.

HENRY ROLLINS.

NOTHING IS SACRED. Doubt-in everything-is absolutely essential. Everything, no matter how great, how fundamental, how beautiful, or important it is, must be questioned.

It's only when people believe that their beliefs are above questioning, that their beliefs alone are beyond all doubt, that they can be as truly horrible as we all know they can be. Belief is the force behind every evil mankind has ever done. You can't find one truly evil act in human history that was not based on belief-and the stronger their belief, the more evil human beings can be.

Here's one of my my beliefs: Everything is sacred. Every blade of gra.s.s, every c.o.c.kroach, every speck of dust, every flower, every pool of mud outside a graffiti-splattered warehouse is G.o.d. Everything is a worthy object of wors.h.i.+p. If you can't bow down before that putrefying roadkill on I-76, you have no business wors.h.i.+ping leatherbound tomes and marble icons surrounded by stained gla.s.s. beliefs: Everything is sacred. Every blade of gra.s.s, every c.o.c.kroach, every speck of dust, every flower, every pool of mud outside a graffiti-splattered warehouse is G.o.d. Everything is a worthy object of wors.h.i.+p. If you can't bow down before that putrefying roadkill on I-76, you have no business wors.h.i.+ping leatherbound tomes and marble icons surrounded by stained gla.s.s.

And here's one more: Everything is profane. "Saving the planet"is a waste of time and preserving the environment is a waste of energy. Flowers stink and birdsong is irritating noise.

On the other hand, nothing nothing is sacred and is sacred and nothing nothing is profane. Not even your sorry a.s.s. If we hold anything sacred above anything else-ever-we're riding along in the fast-lane to h.e.l.l. And by "anything" I mean is profane. Not even your sorry a.s.s. If we hold anything sacred above anything else-ever-we're riding along in the fast-lane to h.e.l.l. And by "anything" I mean anything anything-our family, our friends, our country, our G.o.d. We cannot hold any of that stuff any more sacred than anything else we encounter in our lives or we're doomed. I'm not just going for dramatic elocution here. The act of regarding anything at all anything at all as more worthy of respect than anything else is the first step down the short and slippery path to the utter annihilation of all mankind. as more worthy of respect than anything else is the first step down the short and slippery path to the utter annihilation of all mankind.

And what happens if we follow that dangerous path to the end? We've had numerous hints that ought to give us a clue. They linger darkly on in our collective memories: the a.s.sa.s.sinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and John F. Kennedy, the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the atomic bombings of Hiros.h.i.+ma and Nagasaki, the Final Solution, "9-11." We might even be able to rattle off the dates of these awful events-but the lesson, we haven't yet absorbed. And until we really learn it, kids will keep getting new dates to memorize for history cla.s.s.

When you hold something sacred, you try to hold that thing apart from the rest of the universe. But this really can't be done. Nothing can be separated from everything else. Red is only red because it's not green or yellow or blue. Heavy metal is heavy metal because it's not polka or barbershop. Nothing in the universe has any inherent existence apart from everything else. Good is only good when contrasted with evil. You are only you because you're not everyone else. But this kind of separateness isn't really how the universe works.

You cannot possibly honor G.o.d if you can't honor every last one of G.o.d's manifestations. Killing someone in G.o.d's name is ridiculous. If we do that, we are killing G.o.d and killing truth.

But what is truth? What is G.o.d? How can you see, hear, smell, taste, touch, these lofty ideas?

Truth screams at you from billboard cigarette ads. G.o.d sings to you in Muzak versions of Barry Manilow songs. Truth announces itself when you kick away a discarded bottle of Colt 45 Malt Liquor. Truth rains on you from the sky above, and G.o.d forms in puddles at your feet. You eat G.o.d and excrete truth four hours later. Take a whiff-what a lovely fragrance the truth has! Truth is reality itself. G.o.d is reality itself. Enlightenment, by the way, is reality itself. And here it is. versions of Barry Manilow songs. Truth announces itself when you kick away a discarded bottle of Colt 45 Malt Liquor. Truth rains on you from the sky above, and G.o.d forms in puddles at your feet. You eat G.o.d and excrete truth four hours later. Take a whiff-what a lovely fragrance the truth has! Truth is reality itself. G.o.d is reality itself. Enlightenment, by the way, is reality itself. And here it is.

And just FYI: Even if you run and run and run forever you can't possibly escape reality. You can fervently deny the existence of an Ultimate Truth or of G.o.d, but reality is always right there staring you in the face. And you can search and search for enlightenment, but you'll only ever find reality.

You won't find enlightenment by eating 'shrooms or smoking some really primo weed. And enlightenment's not in books. Not even this one.

Some people think enlightenment is some kind of superspecial state without questions or doubts, some kind of absolute faith in your beliefs and the rightness of your perceptions. That's not enlightenment. In fact, that's the very worst kind of delusion. And just so we're clear from the get-go, let me state for the record that I have not "attained enlightenment." Never have and never will. And yet, there is something, something, and even though this experience doesn't change anything at all, it changes everything. and even though this experience doesn't change anything at all, it changes everything.

To "know" that what you believe is absolutely 100 percent now-and-forever utterly and completely True is the sickest, most vile, and most foul perversion of everything worthwhile in humanity, of all that is right in the world. Truth can never be found in mere belief. Belief is restricted. Truth is boundless.

Truth doesn't screw around, and truth doesn't care about your opinions. It doesn't care if you believe in it, deny it, or ignore it. It couldn't care less what religion you are, what country you're from, what color your skin is, what or who you've got between your legs, or how much you've got invested in Mutual Funds. None of the trivial junk that concerns most people most of the time matters even one teensy-weensy bit to the truth.

Oh, and one other thing: The truth is not open to negotiation-not by you, not by me, and not by the Leader of the Free World or the Moral Majority. The truth simply is. is.

THE WORLD IS IN DEEP s.h.i.+T RIGHT NOW. The only thing that can possibly save us from our own self-induced destruction is direct knowledge of the truth. And I say that without any reservation at all. Mankind cannot survive unless the truth dawns-from within-in each and every one of us. No political solution, bellicose or or peaceful, will ever save us. No law. No pact. No treaty. No war. peaceful, will ever save us. No law. No pact. No treaty. No war.

We have developed the capacity to destroy ourselves and each other utterly and that is never going to go away. All we can do now is develop the capacity to see that we must never use that power-and we must see this not just individually but collectively, as the human race itself, as life life itself, and from the very core of our collective being. itself, and from the very core of our collective being.

The lame-a.s.s "solutions" we hear from political leaders, windbag pontificators, preachers, warmongers, peaceniks, tree-huggers, Bible-thumpers-without the clarity of truth behind them, they're all meaningless, yammering noise. Trying to understand their twaddle makes about as much sense as trying to interpret the screeching of Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music Metal Machine Music as a subtle treatise on the nature of being. as a subtle treatise on the nature of being.

These talking heads are all trying to take truth and force it into categories of their own design. It's as if they're scooping up a bucketful of ocean water and saying that now that they've got it neatly in a bucket they totally understand what the sea really is. Right. Right.

Before we can meaningfully talk about any of this, we need to address the real questions: What is is all this? Who am I? Who are you? Why are we suffering? all this? Who am I? Who are you? Why are we suffering?

Personally, I've never been interested in sugar-coated imitations of truth, sweet little pseudo-truth pills I could take three times a day with meals and a beer chaser. And to me, this seems at best to be what all religions, philosophies, and political views have to offer.

Religions, the supposed inst.i.tutional repositories of humanity's understanding of the deeper mysteries of the universe, have never offered anything more to me than sophisticated methods of avoiding avoiding the truth, of building elaborate fantasies in place of reality. As far as I'm concerned, religions obscure reality rather than reveal it more clearly. They serve up vapid plat.i.tudes in place of answers to the genuine and crucial questions that burn in our guts. Pretty buildings full of vacant-eyed people with freeze-dried brains all pretending to agree with each other that the empty words the guy up front wearing the funny costume says actually mean anything at all let alone anything actually useful-that whole scene never did a lot for me. Religions offer authority figures: Trust the wise people's learned excretions and you'll be fine. Uh-huh. the truth, of building elaborate fantasies in place of reality. As far as I'm concerned, religions obscure reality rather than reveal it more clearly. They serve up vapid plat.i.tudes in place of answers to the genuine and crucial questions that burn in our guts. Pretty buildings full of vacant-eyed people with freeze-dried brains all pretending to agree with each other that the empty words the guy up front wearing the funny costume says actually mean anything at all let alone anything actually useful-that whole scene never did a lot for me. Religions offer authority figures: Trust the wise people's learned excretions and you'll be fine. Uh-huh.

And philosophy, the academically sanctioned state religion of the Western world, isn't any better. Philosophies offer clever suppositions phrased in five-dollar words. Sure, philosophy can lead to a deep-a.s.s insight or two. Maybe you even have some o.r.g.a.s.mically important philosophical thought and bask in its glow as you puff your self-congratulatory cigar and write it up for a journal-but soon enough you look around and the world is still the same old screwed-up mess.

Politics? Politicians can't solve the problem of how to find their own a.s.ses with two hands and a flashlight, let alone figure out anything more complex and subtle.

Fame, fortune, really great s.e.x-maybe those'll cure all your ills. But beautiful famous people with loads of money are just as confused and miserable as anyone else. Spend your whole life chasing after wealth and power and you end up with nothing more to show for it than bleeding ulcers and a heart condition. You can master tantric yogic polyo.r.g.a.s.mic Wonder s.e.x but you're still gonna die alone. There has to be something more.

MY OWN QUEST for truth began because I knew there had to be some way to see the truth that didn't involve following all the other cattle to the slaughterhouse. There had to be some way for me to see truth clearly-without relying on anyone else to interpret the world for me. There had to be a way to cut through this mess I was living in. And to see what the h.e.l.l was going on with this mess I called me me.

In my search for something real, I discovered Zen Buddhism. Before I found out what it really was, I'd pa.s.sed over Buddhism several times. Everything I ever read about Buddhism made me think it was about sitting with my legs all twisted up and vegging out while visions of pretty flowers and fluffy white clouds danced through my mind. Yeah Yeah, I figured, like that's ever gonna solve anything. like that's ever gonna solve anything.

It's a d.a.m.ned shame that so much so-called Buddhist writing seems intended to function like spiritual elevator music. Mix up some lullaby-style writing and a few well-worn Buddhist cliches-or quotes from Yoda ("Let the Force ("Let the Force flow flow through you!") through you!") and David Carradine's character in and David Carradine's character in Kung Fu ("Patience, Gra.s.shopper!"), Kung Fu ("Patience, Gra.s.shopper!"), if you don't know any real Buddhist soundbites-wrap it all up in a serene cover with a ripply-water picture and- if you don't know any real Buddhist soundbites-wrap it all up in a serene cover with a ripply-water picture and-Hey! Yer makin' Buddhism!

I was lucky enough to meet a real Buddhist teacher (and not just a "buddhistic" poseur) at a comparatively young age. I was nineteen at the time and he was thirty-five-a little younger than I am now. The Buddhism he taught me was nothing like any of the religions or philosophies I'd read about up until then; it was something completely different.

The last thing Buddha told his followers before he died was this: "Question authority." Actually, if you look it up, you might see his last words translated as, "Be ye lamps unto yourselves." A lot of guys who translated this kind of stuff really got into the King James Biblesounding language. But the point is, a lamp is something you use to guide yourself in the dark. "Be lamps unto yourselves" means be your own master, be your own lamp. Don't believe something because your hero, your teacher, or even Buddha himself said it. Look for yourself. See See for yourself, with your own eyes. "Be lamps unto yourselves." It's another way of saying, "Question authority." for yourself, with your own eyes. "Be lamps unto yourselves." It's another way of saying, "Question authority."

And here's something else unique about Zen: While Christianity teaches that man was expelled from the Garden of Eden, Zen teaches that we are living in paradise right now, even amid all the s.h.i.+t that's going down. This world is the Pure Land. This world is paradise. In fact, this world is better better than paradise-but all we can do is p.i.s.s and moan, and look around for something better. than paradise-but all we can do is p.i.s.s and moan, and look around for something better.

But it's not just "Buddhism" or "Zen" that says that. It's me, right now to you. And I'll say it again: This world is better than paradise, better than any Utopia you can imagine. I say that in the face of war and starvation and suicide bombings and Orange Terror Alerts. This world is better than Utopia because-and follow this point carefully-you can never live in Utopia. Utopia is always somewhere else. That's the very definition of Utopia.

Maybe you can go to a paradisiacal island, far away from your boss and your bills and anything else you want, but pretty soon you'll be complaining that you've got sand up your a.s.s, or the snack machine ate your dollar, or hermit crabs stole your thongs. You'll always find something wrong with wherever you are because it will never quite match never quite match your idea of what it "should" be. your idea of what it "should" be.

You can't go to paradise. Not now and not after you make your first million. Not after you die. And not if you eat all your peas and are really, really good. Not ever. What you call "you" can never enter the gates of heaven, no matter how convictedly you believe. Heaven and paradise aren't in your future because you have no future. There is no future for you. There is no future for anyone. There is no future at all. Future is an idea.

You can't live in paradise-but you are living right here. Make this your paradise or make this your h.e.l.l. The choice is entirely yours. Really.

So what's real Zen and how can a person who doesn't know much about Buddhism separate the real deal from the books about getting blissed-out and having weird acid-trippy experiences that certain sad, misled folk call "enlightenment"? Well, there's no easy answer to that question. But watch out for that e e-word. Don't expect too much of it. And watch out for the people who tell you they've got it and you don't. And especially especially watch out for the people who say they can give it to you. The main rule of thumb is to use those critical thinking skills they taught you in school. Whether you have a background in Buddhist "scholars.h.i.+p" is entirely irrelevant. The fact is, it's hard to find a group of people who misunderstand Buddhism more thoroughly than Buddhist scholars. And often, the more renowned the scholar the more likely he's got his head firmly wedged in his a.s.s. Question what you read and hear, question deeply and continually. Don't accept anything because other people believe it, or because it's expressed prettily or because it's been around for twenty or two hundred or two thousand years. And by all means, question watch out for the people who say they can give it to you. The main rule of thumb is to use those critical thinking skills they taught you in school. Whether you have a background in Buddhist "scholars.h.i.+p" is entirely irrelevant. The fact is, it's hard to find a group of people who misunderstand Buddhism more thoroughly than Buddhist scholars. And often, the more renowned the scholar the more likely he's got his head firmly wedged in his a.s.s. Question what you read and hear, question deeply and continually. Don't accept anything because other people believe it, or because it's expressed prettily or because it's been around for twenty or two hundred or two thousand years. And by all means, question this this, too. But go all the way with your questioning: Question your own conclusions, your own judgments, and your own answers. Look at your own beliefs, your own prejudices, your own opinions-and see them for what they are.

If you don't do that, the truth can never appear. And if it doesn't appear in a way that you can personally grasp it without reservation, this whole world hasn't got a chance in h.e.l.l.

But if you really thoroughly question everything everything, if you pursue your questions long enough and honestly enough, there will come a time when truth will wallop you upside the head and you will know. know.

But let me offer a warning, which like everything else I say, you are totally free to disregard: The truth won't be what you imagined. It won't even be close. And you may well wish you hadn't chased it so long. But once you find it you will never be able to run away from it again, and you will never be able to hide. You'll have no choice but to face up to it.

DORK-BOY the G.o.dHEAD All of my life spent wondering who's hiding behind this face of mine.

"ORIGINAL ME" BY ALL FROM THE ALb.u.m BREAKING THINGS

AUTOBIOGRAPHIES SUCK. It's so easy for them to become self-centered, self-absorbed exercises in self-importance. And besides that, autobiographies inevitably promote the very un-Buddhist view that human beings are individual ent.i.ties acting autonomously from the rest of the universe. That's c.r.a.p. You only think think you have a mind of your own, buddy. Ain't no such thing. you have a mind of your own, buddy. Ain't no such thing.

But sometimes some autobiographical details have their place in a bigger picture, so I'm gonna share a few with you here. How about if I start with a heartwarming little story about a spiritual master I once knew?

BACK IN THE EARLY '80S, I was yer typical pimply-faced college dork-boy attending my first semester at Kent State University-a campus whose dubious claim to fame was the slaughter of four students by the Ohio National Guard during a 1970 antiwar demonstration. Like lots of people my age, I was searching for a spiritual path. One day I saw a flier saying the Hare Krishnas would be holding free vegetarian cooking cla.s.ses on campus. Now I'd been a fan of The Beatles since junior high and knew George Harrison was deeply into the Hare Krishnas. And, because the foreword was written by George Harrison, I even owned a copy of International Society for Krishna Consciousness founder A.C. Bahaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada's book Krishna: The Supreme Personality of G.o.dhead Krishna: The Supreme Personality of G.o.dhead. So I knew the story of how Prabhupada, a poor but devout Indian monk, had come to America in the early '60s and succeeded in winning converts all over the West to his charismatic brand of Hindu mysticism. Beatle George had rejected Transcendental Meditation in favor of the Krishnas. So I knew I had to check 'em out.

The guy who ran the cooking cla.s.s happened to be the head of the Hare Krishna temple in Cleveland. He was an Anglo-type but he went by some Indian "spiritual name" I can't recall. I do remember him telling us how this "spiritual name" was chosen by his spiritual master for its resemblance in sound to his "karma name," which was Terry. I was real impressed with this guy. He had the saffron robes, the shaved head, and that mellow spiritual way of talking that let you know here was a guy who had truly achieved a rare state of inner with-it-ness. I remember sitting at his feet thinking, "Golly, I could just stay here forever and learn so many wonderful things." He was the very image of everything a Holy Man from a Mystical Eastern Spiritual Tradition should be.

A year later I saw Terry's picture in the paper. He was on the run from the law, wanted in conjunction with a bizarre murder in West Virginia.

I GAVE UP on Holy Men after that.

Look at the leaders of all the great death and doom religious cults: al-Qaeda, Aum s.h.i.+nri Kyo, Heaven's Gate, the Branch Davidians. They've all got the little outfits and that calm, measured way of speaking. Very comforting, very stilling. No wonder so many people loved those guys enough to be willing to give up their lives to serve their deranged apocalyptic visions of a New and Better Tomorrow.

I fell for that scam in college, and plenty of people fall for it every day still. It's a shame how easily people fall for it. But it's been going on for thousands of years, so it must be related to some deep desire common throughout humankind. I don't doubt that the holy rollers of bygone days were just as seedy and corrupt as the Cadillac-collecting, womanizing parasites of our own time. The ancestors of today's spiritual scam-artists go back a long, long way.

So, when I first encountered real Buddhism, I was amazed to learn that unlike those guys, Buddha never asked his followers to accept what he said just because he said it. He never told anyone there was any kind of reward waiting for them after they died if they believed him or any punishment if they didn't. He just told people what he had learned through his own experience and invited others to try it out for themselves because maybe they'd find it useful.

He taught a method by which the individual could experience the truth directly. The word Buddha used for this method was dhyana dhyana; in j.a.pan we call it zazen zazen, or even just Zen. Dhyana Dhyana is sometimes translated as meditation, but it's not what you think it is. is sometimes translated as meditation, but it's not what you think it is.

TERRY WAS A PRETTY OBVIOUS SCAM ARTIST,but my own search had begun such a long time before I met him, I wasn't about to give up on the whole thing so easily. Starting from about third grade I'd been obsessed with the problem of Finding The Truth. As a kid, I came up with (and rejected) all sorts of bizarre theories: What if I was just a brain in a jar somewhere being stimulated electrically to believe there was a real world out there I could interact with? What if I was just a brain in a jar somewhere being stimulated electrically to believe there was a real world out there I could interact with? But that theory didn't get to the heart of the matter. But that theory didn't get to the heart of the matter. Maybe I was a s.p.a.ce alien being raised by human parents Maybe I was a s.p.a.ce alien being raised by human parents-since my way of thinking seemed so far removed from that of my peers or my family. But with no pointy ears, no antennae, and no special powers on account of the yellow sun, I had to relinquish that theory for lack of evidence.

I was a spiritual-minded kid-and I was also impressively bucktoothed. Because of the first trait I tended to be kind of quiet, and because of the second I tended to be ridiculed by the Cool kids at school. I myself was Not Cool and neither were my friends. But they were all real friends. I grew up knowing who I could trust and knowing that most people would do all kinds of rotten, hurtful stuff just to be accepted by society. I didn't want anything to do with that society, and I have never wanted to join any social inst.i.tution-religions included.

It's only with great reluctance that I call myself "a Buddhist" even today-although I've been involved with Buddhism for the better part of twenty years now. My definition of Buddhist Buddhist has nothing at all to do with the social inst.i.tutions all over the world that call themselves by that name. Zen Buddhism is direct pointing to the truth. It's cutting through the c.r.a.p and getting to the ground of things as they really are. It's getting rid of all pretense and seeing what's actually here right now. has nothing at all to do with the social inst.i.tutions all over the world that call themselves by that name. Zen Buddhism is direct pointing to the truth. It's cutting through the c.r.a.p and getting to the ground of things as they really are. It's getting rid of all pretense and seeing what's actually here right now.

Pretty much all the rest of what people call "Buddhism"-the temples, the rituals, the funny outfits, and the ceremonies-isn't the important stuff. It's just decoration. That stuff is useful at times to create a theatrical sort of atmosphere that brings in the crowds, but it's hardly necessary for seeing the reality that the Buddha's teachings point to.

Religions and social inst.i.tutions aside, I've always felt a need to understand the way things are. It's hard for me to say why. In fact, it's always been far more puzzling to me that more people don't don't feel such a strong need to know. Most of the folks who say they want to understand these things seem to settle for explanations that, as far as I can see, explain things about as well as my childish ideas about being a brain in a jar or a s.p.a.ce alien. feel such a strong need to know. Most of the folks who say they want to understand these things seem to settle for explanations that, as far as I can see, explain things about as well as my childish ideas about being a brain in a jar or a s.p.a.ce alien.

A lot of religious explanations remind me of the old joke about the guy who believes the world is flat and rests on the back of a giant turtle. When someone questions him about what's under the turtle, he confidently answers, "Another turtle." When asked what's under that that turtle he smirks and says, "You can't trip me up with that one! It's turtles all the way down!" Pretty much every religious explanation I've ever run into seems to end up with a variation on "It's turtles all the way down." turtle he smirks and says, "You can't trip me up with that one! It's turtles all the way down!" Pretty much every religious explanation I've ever run into seems to end up with a variation on "It's turtles all the way down."

I could never accept someone else's version of the truth and I don't think anyone else should. If the meaning of life, the universe, and everything could be put into a few definitive words that everyone on Earth could agree upon now and for all time, someone probably woulda figured them out and written them down. But even if they did, it would still just be someone else's someone else's truth-not yours. If it seems that within these pages I'm urging you to accept truth-not yours. If it seems that within these pages I'm urging you to accept my my version of the truth, let me apologize now for expressing myself so poorly. version of the truth, let me apologize now for expressing myself so poorly.

At any rate, because of my experience with Terry and also the whole turtle thing, I'd pretty much ruled out religion as a path to truth. So I thought about science for a while. The idea that there could be a sensible mathematical or scientific solution that we just haven't quite figured out yet just haven't quite figured out yet seemed pretty appealing. But looking into that a little further, it was clear that scientific answers were never really going to do it either, because the best science can ever hope to do is seemed pretty appealing. But looking into that a little further, it was clear that scientific answers were never really going to do it either, because the best science can ever hope to do is represent represent reality in some way. But that's not enough. Truth has to be bigger than theories, bigger than explanations, bigger than symbols. Truth can't just reality in some way. But that's not enough. Truth has to be bigger than theories, bigger than explanations, bigger than symbols. Truth can't just explain explain everything. It has to everything. It has to include include everything. It has to everything. It has to be be everything. everything.

The first time I left behind my own idiosyncratic philosophical theories and got into anything connected with any specific world religion happened while I was living in Africa. In 1972, when I was eight years old, my dad accepted a transfer from Firestone Tire's Akron headquarters to their new factory in Nairobi, Kenya, where we stayed until 1975. In fourth grade I watched the movie Jesus Christ Superstar Jesus Christ Superstar at a local Nairobi drive-in and then just afterward saw the Nairobi production of at a local Nairobi drive-in and then just afterward saw the Nairobi production of G.o.dspell. G.o.dspell. I was eleven then and, man, that Jesus guy was I was eleven then and, man, that Jesus guy was cool! cool! I got all my friends together and we made our own version of I got all my friends together and we made our own version of Jesus Christ Superstar Jesus Christ Superstar called called The Mod Bible. The Mod Bible. I, being the writer/ director, naturally played Jesus. My best friend Tommy Kashangaki played Saint Peter, and his brother James played Judas Iscariot. My dad shot it all on Super-8-that's Super-8 I, being the writer/ director, naturally played Jesus. My best friend Tommy Kashangaki played Saint Peter, and his brother James played Judas Iscariot. My dad shot it all on Super-8-that's Super-8 film, film, kids, this was kids, this was way way before home video. before home video.

I still cringe when he drags that relic out for people to see, what with me pretending to be nailed to a plywood cross and my sister as Mary Magdalene skipping merrily to the crucifixion. At one point a couple of African women pa.s.s by my big death scene in which I dramatically "give up the ghost." G.o.d only knows what they must have thought of seeing a little white kid pretending to be nailed to a piece of wood while dying theatrically.

But even then, while faking my own crucifixion, I didn't really believe in religion. It's the same everywhere-we go through the motions but it doesn't mean anything because our beliefs don't get at the root of reality. We take our believing (and our not not believing too, by the way) for granted, but we rarely ever take a hard look at what belief itself really is. believing too, by the way) for granted, but we rarely ever take a hard look at what belief itself really is.

In college I once pa.s.sed by a booth being run by some kind of Christian group in the student center. They had a big poster that parodied the poster for the then-current film Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (what an awful movie (what an awful movie that that was, by the way) was, by the way). In huge yellow letters in the style of the film's logo it said, In huge yellow letters in the style of the film's logo it said, REPENT AND TURN TO G.o.d REPENT AND TURN TO G.o.d.The guy at the booth noticed me looking at the poster and asked me about my beliefs and my relations.h.i.+p to G.o.d. Now in those days, I was so punk I rebelled against punk itself by not looking like a punk, and instead sported the das.h.i.+ng look of a stoner. I had long blond hair and dressed exclusively in out-of-fas.h.i.+on bell-bottoms and ratty black T-s.h.i.+rts. The dude in the booth was clean-cut with neatly trimmed hair and a nice conservative suit with the mandatory blue tie. I must have looked like a real prize to him. I'm sure he thought that if he could convert such an obvious heathen as me, he'd definitely get a gold star from G.o.d.

But I honestly wanted to know about this whole matter of belief so I asked the guy to explain it to me. The gist of his explanation went something like this: "If a person believed Jesus actually literally did all the miraculous things he's supposed to have done, that person would be scared of Jesus' power and would therefore be converted to Christianity. Furthermore, lots of people who actually witnessed Jesus' miracles with their own eyes chose to die rather than deny what they'd seen. Therefore the Bible is literally true, and therefore we should all be scared. So, REPENT AND TURN TO G.o.d REPENT AND TURN TO G.o.d."