Hardcore Zen : punk rock, monster movies and the truth about reality Part 7

WHEN I WAS STUDYING ZEN with Tim McCarthy, Buddhist morality was definitely talked about but there was never any question of me or anyone receiving the Buddhist precepts from Tim. Tim just wasn't into that kind of ceremonial stuff. When I got to j.a.pan and started studying Buddhism with Nis.h.i.+jima, I gradually became aware that a lot of his students were taking the precepts ceremony and that he already had a few "Dharma heirs"-people to whom he'd given transmission. I noticed that lots of people showed up at his lectures wearing a thing called a rakusu rakusu. This is a little garment deal that looks kind of like a bib: a square of cloth, usually brown or gray or black, that you hang around your neck. On the back of the cloth square your teacher writes a short phrase usually from a Buddhist sutra and your "Dharma name"-a new name which is given to you when you take the precepts ceremony. All of that stuff has always seemed really lame to me.

I've always held disdain for people who join spooky mystical religious orders and then change their names and start wearing goofy orange dresses and all kinds of other weird affectations. My buddy Terry of the Cleveland Hare Krishna temple is a good example of what happens to that sort of person.

But everybody loves getting a nickname. Nicknames are fun. Though it wasn't the coolest name, I was pretty pleased when the guys in Zero Defex started calling me Brad No Sweat. I would have preferred something more along the lines of the punk names my friends Johnny Phlegm and Fraser Suicyde got, but it was good enough. I rarely used that name, though, because, well, I hated the whole idea of using fake names. Taking on a fake name is a way of signaling members.h.i.+p in a group. And I was not not a "joiner." a "joiner."

I was always disgusted whenever I saw the people in Nis.h.i.+jima's group proudly showing off their new rakusus. It made the whole organization look like a cult. Uniforms are things you wear when you get a job at Burger King. What's a rakusu, really, other than a fancy kind of name-tag: "Welcome to Buddhism! My name's Brainwashed Twit!" So when people in Nis.h.i.+jima's group used to say to me, "You ought to take the precepts," I felt like I was in one of those bad horror movies where everybody's gradually being taken over by the aliens and I am the only human being left in town-Pod People coming at me from every direction: "Join us! Join us!" "Join us! Join us!" It creeped me out. It creeped me out.

ALL OF THIS STUFF with Nis.h.i.+jima wanting me to join his cult and become an Authority Figure within it happened to coincide with my grandfather being diagnosed with cancer. He was already eighty-one years old and the doctors felt that surgery at that age might kill him faster than the disease which seemed to be progressing extremely slowly. At one point he was sent to the hospital for observation and I decided I'd better go and visit him rather than wait until it was too late.

Plus, the visit would give me a chance to stop by Tim's place and talk to him about this whole Dharma Transmission deal. Tim was still in Kent which was four hours' drive from where my grandpa was, down in Cincinnati. I arranged to arrive in Cleveland, spend a few days in Kent, and then head for Cincinnati. Grandpa, my aunt and my grandmother said, was doing pretty well under the circ.u.mstances and there was no reason to hurry. When I spoke to Grandpa on the phone he sounded strong and even told me it was a waste of money to come all the way to America just to see him.

My grandmother, my aunt, and the doctors were wrong. Grandpa died suddenly just hours after I arrived in the country. I found out when the friend I'd arranged to stay with got a frantic call from my dad while I was out visiting Tim's place. Several hours later when I finally got the message, I was devastated. After that, talking to Tim about Dharma Transmission didn't seem so important anymore.

I LOVED MY GRANDFATHER DEARLY. He was a true friend and always supportive of whatever I did in my life. I'd worried about his reaction when I was telling him about my moving to j.a.pan-because he'd joined the navy in World War II in order to fight those people. But he was fine with that and he was pleased when I brought home a j.a.panese wife for him to meet. It was tough to lose him.

Since I come from a long line of agnostics we had no family pastor to call on to perform the funeral. My grandmother ended up finding some random religious guy in the phone book. He seemed sincere enough-but he'd never met my grandfather. We talked with him briefly a couple hours before the funeral was set to begin and he asked the family members if they would say a few words at the service. My dad and I volunteered, hoping others would follow suit. But no one did. My dad made it through his bit very well, I thought. Knowing Grandpa's love of humor I prepared a joke as part of my speech. I said that I'd come out from j.a.pan to visit my grandpa, not to attend his funeral. In fact, I said, Grandpa had told me in our last phone conversation that if he did die soon, I was not to waste my money coming to his funeral. But, I said, since I was already in town and had nothing else to do that morning, I thought I'd drop by.

I wasn't sure how everyone would take the joke (a funeral parlor's a tough room to work), but I got a laugh so I guess the speech went over pretty well. Afterward my grandmother took me aside and asked, "Do you think there's any way he could know we're all here and we're all thinking of him?" Without thinking about the question I surprised myself by honestly saying, "Yes. I do. Absolutely."

I've often wondered where that answer came from. It was spontaneous. It wasn't based on any particular belief I held-in fact it went against a lot of them-but I wasn't just being kind. Grandpa was was there in any and every sense that really mattered. Not as a ghost hanging out in the corner checking up on things, but as a real partic.i.p.ant in the living events of that afternoon. Shunryu Suzuki once said, "You will always exist in the universe in one form or another." Even without holding any ideas about reincarnation or the afterlife or spirits, I saw right now that Suzuki's words were true. there in any and every sense that really mattered. Not as a ghost hanging out in the corner checking up on things, but as a real partic.i.p.ant in the living events of that afternoon. Shunryu Suzuki once said, "You will always exist in the universe in one form or another." Even without holding any ideas about reincarnation or the afterlife or spirits, I saw right now that Suzuki's words were true.

SOMETIME DURING MY TRIP I decided to accept Dharma Transmission from Nis.h.i.+jima and to get on with doing what needed to be done. h.e.l.l, as long as there were going to be Authority Figures in the world, I might as well be one of them. When I got back home I got in touch with Nis.h.i.+jima and asked him what arrangements needed to be made. He set a date, and that was that.

The precepts ceremony was fairly unremarkable, and not as bad as I had feared. Yuka decided to take the precepts too, as did a friend of ours named Eric who was stationed in j.a.pan serving, the U.S. Navy. Nis.h.i.+jima got dressed up in some silly-looking official-type precept-giving robes. An altar was set up and there was some incense-lighting, some bowing, a bit of chanting, and at the end of it, all three of us got rakusus with our new Buddhist names written on the back.6 Mine, as I mentioned earlier, was Odo, which means "The Way of Answers." And like my Krishna buddy Terry, it was chosen partly because it sounds a little like "Warner"-that is, if you're an eighty-two-year-old j.a.panese Zen master it does. By the way, Nis.h.i.+jima's Dharma name, Gudo Mine, as I mentioned earlier, was Odo, which means "The Way of Answers." And like my Krishna buddy Terry, it was chosen partly because it sounds a little like "Warner"-that is, if you're an eighty-two-year-old j.a.panese Zen master it does. By the way, Nis.h.i.+jima's Dharma name, Gudo, means "The Way of Stupidity." Really. means "The Way of Stupidity." Really.

Next up was the biggie, the Dharma Transmission ceremony (imagine monster truck racingcavernous echo here). For this, I had to get myself a kesa kesa, the traditional robe worn by Buddhist monks since Gautama Buddha's time. Zen monks in j.a.pan normally wear two main garments. One is a big black robe and over the top of this is a thing that looks kind of like a sash. It's usually mustard-colored or brown, though I've seen purple too. The sash thingy is the kesa. In India, where its considerably hotter than j.a.pan, the kesa was the monk's only garment.

Traditionally you're supposed to sew your own kesa, and your supposed to do it from discarded sc.r.a.ps of cloth from burial shrouds as well as diapers and sanitary napkins. Some people still sew them themselves, but I don't think even they go so far as to use shrouds, diapers, and sanitary napkins. When I asked Nis.h.i.+jima for his recommendation he said, "You can sew it if you want to. I bought mine in a store." I've never even sewn a b.u.t.ton on a s.h.i.+rt, so I found a shop and bought a kesa (the cotton was new, by the way).

The other thing I needed was a certificate of transmission for Nis.h.i.+jima to sign and stamp with his seal. This I had to make for myself.

I was to take a big piece of silk and write down the names of all the people who ever received the transmission in Nis.h.i.+jima's lineage starting from Gautama Buddha all the way through Nis.h.i.+jima's teacher and Nis.h.i.+jima himself and then adding my own name-or rather the new phony Buddhist name I'd received at the previous ceremony-at the end. Though he told me I could write the names in roman letters, I elected to write them in Chinese characters. I liked the challenge of it and besides, he showed me a photocopy of one of his other foreign student's transmission certificate and it looked dorky written in roman letters. I ruined two pieces of silk, and finally, after messing up the names of two of my Dharma ancestors, I asked Nis.h.i.+jima if I could use Wite-Out to correct the mistakes rather than toss away another piece of silk. "Sure," he said without hesitation. to correct the mistakes rather than toss away another piece of silk. "Sure," he said without hesitation.

The details of the ceremony itself are supposed to be secret. I guess they're worried that if they get out, unlicensed people might start transmitting each other w.i.l.l.ynilly and then who knows who knows what kind of h.e.l.l would break loose. So, in fairness to everyone who's been keeping mum about it for the past dozen centuries, I won't go into the details here. But you're not missing much. what kind of h.e.l.l would break loose. So, in fairness to everyone who's been keeping mum about it for the past dozen centuries, I won't go into the details here. But you're not missing much.

Traditionally it's supposed to take place after midnight. But Nis.h.i.+jima doesn't like to stay up that late, so the fun began at 8:30 in the evening. I pretty much got every single step in the ceremony completely wrong. My kesa kept sliding off my shoulder, I kept putting the little mat-thingy you're supposed to kneel down on the wrong way around, I nearly klonked heads with Nis.h.i.+jima when we were bowing to each other-pure comedy.

But I got through it and Nis.h.i.+jima gave me my certificate back with all the necessary seals on it-and, badda bing, badda boom badda bing, badda boom, I'm a certified Zen master.

LET ME TELL YOU THIS THOUGH: No one masters Zen. Ever. It's a lifelong, never-ending continuously unfolding process. Zen master Zen master is a horribly misleading term. is a horribly misleading term.

Could we dispense with Zen masters? Certainly. Could we dispense with the Dharma Transmission ceremony altogether? Sure. And we could dispense with the word Buddhism Buddhism too. Personally, I'd like to get rid of all of them. Ultimately, none of it has anything to do with what matters. too. Personally, I'd like to get rid of all of them. Ultimately, none of it has anything to do with what matters.

Gautama Buddha was able to see through the facade of religious organizations and must certainly have realized that his simple method of meditation ran a serious risk of being turned into something cheap and shoddy by a.s.sociation with such nonsense. In fact he predicted his own order's eventual demise. Yet he went ahead and established an order of monks, and one of nuns, anyhow. He knew it was the best way to transmit what he had found to future generations. It worked, too-for all the cheap gaudiness that surrounds much of what pa.s.ses for "Buddhism" today, Buddhism works. Real Buddhism still makes it through the inst.i.tutional Buddhist muck, like a flower blooming out of a cow-pie.

No matter how many dumb-a.s.ses there are running around with shaved heads and robes who wouldn't know enlightenment from a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, there are some people within Buddhism who know exactly exactly what it was Gautama Buddha was trying to teach. And these people, these real Buddhist teachers, also know better than to believe in the inst.i.tutional facade referred to as "Buddhism." And they know this precisely because of the social organization known as Buddhism. Neat, eh? what it was Gautama Buddha was trying to teach. And these people, these real Buddhist teachers, also know better than to believe in the inst.i.tutional facade referred to as "Buddhism." And they know this precisely because of the social organization known as Buddhism. Neat, eh?

Any good Zen Buddhist teacher will tell you right up front that the whole Zen Buddhist shebang, from robes to enlightenment to Dharma Transmission, is really a sham, ultimately not important in the least. And that's that's what makes Zen Buddhism different from every other religion. As Johnny Rotten said in what makes Zen Buddhism different from every other religion. As Johnny Rotten said in MOJO MOJO magazine, "It isn't a rip-off if you tell everybody it's a rip-off." Authority is easily abused. But authority can do good. It takes power to make the real changes needed in the world. A good person who is good at dealing with power can make the world a better place for everyone. magazine, "It isn't a rip-off if you tell everybody it's a rip-off." Authority is easily abused. But authority can do good. It takes power to make the real changes needed in the world. A good person who is good at dealing with power can make the world a better place for everyone.

Buddhism, though, should go beyond that. Buddhism is about letting people know they do not need to follow any authority. If you think you need an authority figure, go somewhere else.

The tendency to look at Buddhist teachers as Authorities is tough to avoid. I noticed my teachers were different from me in some vague way I couldn't really understand, and so I gave them Authority. But, G.o.d bless 'em, they always tossed it right back to me. That's what any good Buddhist teacher does. That's the easiest way to tell the real teachers from the phonies: a phony will take your authority and a real teacher will give it back.

There are times I've felt I could do certain people some good if only if only I could get them to see me as some kind of authority-but that kind of att.i.tude isn't right. A faith-healer makes people believe he has a special power to cure their sickness and if they believe that strongly enough, they may be able to transcend their own inability to see that they themselves have the power to affect their own cure. The problem is that they then attribute their miraculous healing to the faith-healer instead of to themselves thereby depriving themselves of the power that was already theirs to begin with. I could get them to see me as some kind of authority-but that kind of att.i.tude isn't right. A faith-healer makes people believe he has a special power to cure their sickness and if they believe that strongly enough, they may be able to transcend their own inability to see that they themselves have the power to affect their own cure. The problem is that they then attribute their miraculous healing to the faith-healer instead of to themselves thereby depriving themselves of the power that was already theirs to begin with.

Ultimately it's always better to make people see how they can heal themselves. That's what real Buddhism does. Real Buddhist teachers don't tell you about reality, they teach you to see see reality for yourself, right now. reality for yourself, right now.

THERE WAS AN OLD ZEN MASTER in China who would wake up each morning and shout, "Master!" and then answer himself, "Yes, Master?" Then he'd say, "Don't be deceived, Master!" and then reply, "No, Master, I won't!"

That's true understanding of authority.

"Pa.s.s ME the the ECSTASY, RAINBOW, I'M GOING TO NIRVANA ON STRETCHER!" ECSTASY, RAINBOW, I'M GOING TO NIRVANA ON STRETCHER!"

Can you hear that, dude? That's my skull! I'm so wasted!

JEFF SPICOLI (PLAYED BY SEAN PENN).

IN FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH.

ENJOYING A HEIGHTENED STATE OF AWARENESS.

UNTIL RECENTLY I was naive enough to believe that the idiotic notion that taking drugs was somehow a legitimate path toward Buddhist enlightenment had gone out of fas.h.i.+on long ago-about the time The Velvet Underground recorded their final alb.u.m and the last Star Trek Star Trek episode aired with Captain Kirk on the bridge. But when I was in America visiting my parents in July 2002, I was deeply disappointed to find a putrid little book called episode aired with Captain Kirk on the bridge. But when I was in America visiting my parents in July 2002, I was deeply disappointed to find a putrid little book called Zig Zag Zen Zig Zag Zen edited by Allan Hunt Badiner taking up a big hunk of shelf s.p.a.ce allotted to Buddhism in the local Supermarket 'n' Bookstore. edited by Allan Hunt Badiner taking up a big hunk of shelf s.p.a.ce allotted to Buddhism in the local Supermarket 'n' Bookstore.

I picked up that lump of t.u.r.d and read it. Near as I can come to making any sense out of it, Badiner's argument goes something like this: (A) Buddhism is about enlightenment; (B) enlightenment is some far-out, trippy mystical brain-f.u.c.k kind of state; (C) drugs will screw up your brain too; therefore (D) doing drugs will get you enlightened. And besides that, it's much easier to score a hit of acid than it is to sit around staring at walls for years (plus, when you're on acid the blank walls look so much more far out, man so much more far out, man).

Badiner believes that we must must address the issue of how Buddhism and drugs are related because lots of Westerners who went on to become Buddhist masters-like me, for example-used drugs in their early years (as did lots of people who went on to become career criminals-but let's leave that aside). According to Badiner, these Buddhist masters' youthful drug abuse is "Western Buddhism's deep, dark secret." Most Buddhist teachers who've used drugs in the past have gone on to say that they are dangerous at worst and a waste of time at best-and in any case certainly unrelated to Buddhism. Yet, Badiner believes, the enlightenment those guys found in Buddhism was the same whacked-out state of mind they got from dope. address the issue of how Buddhism and drugs are related because lots of Westerners who went on to become Buddhist masters-like me, for example-used drugs in their early years (as did lots of people who went on to become career criminals-but let's leave that aside). According to Badiner, these Buddhist masters' youthful drug abuse is "Western Buddhism's deep, dark secret." Most Buddhist teachers who've used drugs in the past have gone on to say that they are dangerous at worst and a waste of time at best-and in any case certainly unrelated to Buddhism. Yet, Badiner believes, the enlightenment those guys found in Buddhism was the same whacked-out state of mind they got from dope.

In fact, drugs occupy exactly the same place in Western Buddhism as Gautama Buddha's early experiments with severe asceticism. Before he discovered the Middle Way, Gautama tried all kinds of weird-a.s.s stuff to attain enlightenment, including starving himself nearly to death. He saw that although ascetic practices could give him that same tripped-out feeling you can get when doing some really primo s.h.i.+t, none of that got him any closer to understanding the truth or stopping suffering. He gave it up and spent the rest of his career putting those practices down.

A number of Zig Zag Zen Zig Zag Zen's contributors point out that various sects that claim to be Buddhist use techniques such as physical exhaustion, food and sleep deprivation, and various kinds of mental gymnastics to achieve changes in brain chemistry similar to the ones you get from the stuff you can buy from the sleazebags slouching around down by the nine-year-old girls at the playground. True enough. But those practices are not Buddhism, no matter how venerable and traditional the guys hawking them appear to be. It's a sad fact that far too many of those who claim to be Buddha's followers indulge in the sort of practices the Buddha himself clearly and unambiguously condemned.

And then there is the little problem of the fifth precept-the one in which Buddha explicitly told his followers not to do drugs. In Zig Zag Zen, Zig Zag Zen, Badiner takes great pains to point out the distinction between what he calls "consciousness-restricting drugs" and what he calls "entheogens," drugs he believes give you real spiritual experiences. Perhaps we're to believe that Buddha's prohibition refers only to certain c.r.a.ppy drugs, and that we're free to get toasted on the good stuff. But Buddha used a word that translates as "intoxicants," thus making no such distinction possible. And FYI: the ancient Indians may not have had LSD or "E," but they knew all about naturally occurring psychedelics. This distinction, however, has a significant flaw, and by "significant" I mean "large enough to drive a '72 Buick LeSabre through." Consider this: Badiner takes great pains to point out the distinction between what he calls "consciousness-restricting drugs" and what he calls "entheogens," drugs he believes give you real spiritual experiences. Perhaps we're to believe that Buddha's prohibition refers only to certain c.r.a.ppy drugs, and that we're free to get toasted on the good stuff. But Buddha used a word that translates as "intoxicants," thus making no such distinction possible. And FYI: the ancient Indians may not have had LSD or "E," but they knew all about naturally occurring psychedelics. This distinction, however, has a significant flaw, and by "significant" I mean "large enough to drive a '72 Buick LeSabre through." Consider this: 1. Would you ride in a car whose driver was on the consciousness-expanding "entheogenic" drug LSD?

And here's a bonus question: 2. Why does an "expanded consciousness" include the inability to operate a motor vehicle?

One of the few contributors to the book who even acknowledges the fifth precept, Dokusho Vallalba Sensei, Sensei,7 thinks doing drugs is fine if the "setting" is correct. But in my experience such a "setting" almost always includes one person who stays straight and looks after the safety of the drug-user. Now, just why is it that people at higher levels of consciousness can't seem to survive without one of us low-level folks there to help them out? Those of you who've ever been that caretaker know just how much fun it can be to try and keep folks in "heightened states of awareness" from doing themselves grievous bodily harm. thinks doing drugs is fine if the "setting" is correct. But in my experience such a "setting" almost always includes one person who stays straight and looks after the safety of the drug-user. Now, just why is it that people at higher levels of consciousness can't seem to survive without one of us low-level folks there to help them out? Those of you who've ever been that caretaker know just how much fun it can be to try and keep folks in "heightened states of awareness" from doing themselves grievous bodily harm.

The very good reason most Western Buddhist teachers don't talk much about the druggy days of their youth is because there are always guys around who'll latch onto any little sc.r.a.p to justify their own predilection for getting wasted. Zig Zag Zen Zig Zag Zen contributor Rick Fields cites the story-probably apocryphal-of how Nagarjuna, one of Buddhism's most brilliant poet-philosophers, told one of his disciples to accept only whatever food could fit on the end of a pin. The disciple came back with a pancake balanced on a pin. Fields calls this "compelling evidence" that Nagarjuna's real source of inspiration was magic mushrooms-since, y'know, a mushroom sorta looks a little like a pancake balanced on top of a pin if you think about it hard enough (especially if your thinking about it while tripped out on 'shrooms). So while I'm personally reluctant to drag those skeletons out of my own closet, the existence of contributor Rick Fields cites the story-probably apocryphal-of how Nagarjuna, one of Buddhism's most brilliant poet-philosophers, told one of his disciples to accept only whatever food could fit on the end of a pin. The disciple came back with a pancake balanced on a pin. Fields calls this "compelling evidence" that Nagarjuna's real source of inspiration was magic mushrooms-since, y'know, a mushroom sorta looks a little like a pancake balanced on top of a pin if you think about it hard enough (especially if your thinking about it while tripped out on 'shrooms). So while I'm personally reluctant to drag those skeletons out of my own closet, the existence of Zig Zag Zen Zig Zag Zen and its dubious claims of being the first work to take a serious look at the matter make me feel it's necessary to address what really shouldn't even be an issue at all. and its dubious claims of being the first work to take a serious look at the matter make me feel it's necessary to address what really shouldn't even be an issue at all.

LIKE SO MANY OTHER pimply-faced young Buddhist wanna-bes in the West, when I was a boneheaded little college dweeb I was dumb enough to fall for the spiel of one of these irresponsible p.r.i.c.ks who claimed that psychedelic drugs were one of the "skillful means" spoken of in Buddhist literature for reaching enlightenment.

Now in high school, I was a major fan of John Lennon and knew Lennon had used LSD so I really wanted to try it for myself. h.e.l.l, I would've posed naked with Yoko Ono if it'd have made me more like John Lennon.8 One morning, ........... probably late in my junior year, a friend and I found a dealer in the school parking lot-which was a veritable drug supermarket at the time-who sold us what he said was acid. We went to my friend's treehouse that night and each swallowed one of the pills we'd bought. We waited and waited, but nothing happened. We'd been scammed. We were more relieved than angry though. Oddly enough, a few days later, when I confronted the guy who'd sold the pills to us, he just laughed and gave the money back. Honor among thieves, I suppose. One morning, ........... probably late in my junior year, a friend and I found a dealer in the school parking lot-which was a veritable drug supermarket at the time-who sold us what he said was acid. We went to my friend's treehouse that night and each swallowed one of the pills we'd bought. We waited and waited, but nothing happened. We'd been scammed. We were more relieved than angry though. Oddly enough, a few days later, when I confronted the guy who'd sold the pills to us, he just laughed and gave the money back. Honor among thieves, I suppose.

Once I joined Zero Defex, I became aware that LSD-real LSD, that is-might be available. I knew Jimi Imij, our singer, had used it. He was a great acid-head philosopher, always willing to hold forth with psychedelic cosmic wisdom. I asked him once if it was true you could see G.o.d when you took acid. "Yeah," he said, "but you can see the Devil too." LSD, that is-might be available. I knew Jimi Imij, our singer, had used it. He was a great acid-head philosopher, always willing to hold forth with psychedelic cosmic wisdom. I asked him once if it was true you could see G.o.d when you took acid. "Yeah," he said, "but you can see the Devil too."

At that time, though, I didn't ask him for any LSD because I was in a heavy anti-drug phase. I'd given up John Lennon (and my hopes for Yoko) and the whole hippy thing and embraced punk. Whatever the hippies were for, punk was against. One of the things that really got me interested in Zero Defex in the first place was their anti-drug stance. They had a song called "The Drug Song" whose chorus went, "Your drugs suck, don't push them on me!" Tommy Strange, our guitarist, used to drink beer though. Our drummer might have joined him sometimes. Jimi Imij didn't use any drugs at the time, as far as I could tell, and neither did I. We were aghast when the Meat Puppets came through town with bags full of pot. Hippies! Sell-outs! Hippies! Sell-outs!9 A lot of people in our scene were into Straight Edge, a movement spearheaded by the Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., band, Minor Threat, and their singer Ian MacKaye. Straight Edgers didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't do drugs, and claimed to renounce meaningless s.e.x as well. They liked to draw big X X's on their hands with Magic Marker, an imitation of the mark minors got at "all-ages" shows held at bars. I admired the Straight Edgers and although I also did-n't do the things they didn't do, I wasn't into joining movements and never called myself Straight Edge (plus, when I refrained from meaningless s.e.x in those days, it was because I didn't have any other choice).

In spite of my anti-drug stance, though, my interest in trying out the psychedelic experience remained. When Zero Defex broke up and I got into the burgeoning garage/ psychedelic revival scene, I virtually lost myself in the new '60s. The music, clothes, and trends of the '80s were repulsive, and everything from the '60s seemed so much cooler.

Ram Da.s.s's book Be Here Now Be Here Now became my bible. I used to carry that thing with me wherever I went. But in spite of the book's wonderfully profound t.i.tle, became my bible. I used to carry that thing with me wherever I went. But in spite of the book's wonderfully profound t.i.tle, Be Here Now Be Here Now is also a huge, flas.h.i.+ng neon advertis.e.m.e.nt for drugs. Just like is also a huge, flas.h.i.+ng neon advertis.e.m.e.nt for drugs. Just like Zig Zag Zen Zig Zag Zen will no doubt be for kids today, will no doubt be for kids today, Be Here Now Be Here Now was, for me, just what I needed to legitimize my desire to get zonked out of my skull and pretend it was a religious experience. Now all I had to do was get my hands on the goods. was, for me, just what I needed to legitimize my desire to get zonked out of my skull and pretend it was a religious experience. Now all I had to do was get my hands on the goods.

In the spring of 1984, Bill, the rhythm guitar player with The F-Models and one of the guys with whom I was sharing a horrible old house near the Kent State campus, got hold of some acid blotter and shared it with me. It was pretty much your standard acid trip. The rug moved. Time became distorted. When I waved my hand in front of my face I saw a whole trail of hands waving there just like those pictures of Hindu G.o.ds.

I did have one insight on drugs-though it made no difference whatsoever in anything about my life or anyone else's. I was alone in what had once been the house's living room, but which now just had a rotten old couch and a black-and-white TV set no one ever watched. As I sat there the thought suddenly occurred to me, "This is it." This, what I was living through right then and there-not the drug-induced state, mind you, but my plain old existence as a twenty-year-old white male human being on planet Earth was all there was for me. I was shocked and frightened by the prospect and did everything I could to put it out of my mind as quickly as possible. I turned on the TV and tuned it to a nonbroadcasting channel to watch the static, an activity I'd heard was supposed to be pretty groovy when you're on acid. And it was groovy, man. I saw all kinds of things happening in that static.

I took two more trips that summer and they were neither very good nor very bad, but they never delivered anything close to the beatific vision Ram Da.s.s had promised. The next one, though, was a nightmare of epic proportions.

This guy Donnel, an Irish grad student who also lived at the house with Bill and me, had procured some acid from a somewhat shady source (as if there is any other kind...but this source was particularly iffy). The blotter was purple and Donnel had been warned that it was very strong. I figured I could handle it. What I didn't know was that Donnel chased his. .h.i.t with a full quart of whiskey and then, deciding one extra-strong hit of dodgy purple blotter might not be enough for the night, had swallowed another one as well.

This stuff was definitely strong and very speedy. We were all wired to the gills as well as stoned. I was actually hallucinating-the first time that had happened. Whenever I closed my eyes the patterns on my eyelids formed into bizarre shapes. I couldn't shut out my vision. I started to get tense. I kept telling myself that the drug would wear off in a few hours. But, as hard as I tried I could not get any sense of what "a few hours" meant. How the h.e.l.l long was a few hours? What was an hour? How could it have "length"? I understood that the position of the hands of my watch meant that it was one A.M. What "one A.M." meant, however, I had no clue. The word hour hour might as well have been an unknown word in a foreign language. I turned it over and over in my mind. But as hard as I tried I couldn't make anything out of it at all. I had completely forgotten the concept of time. This was terror piled upon terror. I knew I'd be well in a few hours might as well have been an unknown word in a foreign language. I turned it over and over in my mind. But as hard as I tried I couldn't make anything out of it at all. I had completely forgotten the concept of time. This was terror piled upon terror. I knew I'd be well in a few hours but what for the love of G.o.d was an hour? but what for the love of G.o.d was an hour?

I went to the toilet, afraid to be alone, and took a shaky p.i.s.s. I went to wash my hands and, looking up at the cracked mirror, discovered that looking into mirrors was not such a good idea. My face was changing, melting into a bizarre array of ever evolving shapes, most of them weird and ugly.

After considerable effort I managed to stop panicking. I went into the kitchen to chill out. Just then Donnel showed up again. He'd disappeared a few hours before (or a few minutes, I wouldn't have known the difference), apparently to chug down more whiskey. When he arrived in the kitchen, I was wadding up pieces of tinfoil and tossing them into the garbage can. It was distracting me from the sudden flashes of naked horror that kept threatening to tear my brain apart. Donnel decided he wanted to play too. But instead of wadding up a ball of tinfoil, he wrenched the door off the oven and tossed it across the room, shouting, "Why don't we just throw it all away!"

After I came down I vowed never to touch LSD again.

DRUGS ARE EXTREMELY DESTRUCTIVE to your physical body, and they can leave emotional psychic wounds that can form permanent scars. They do not aid you in usefully discovering the truth in the least. I'm amazed I even survived my experimentation with that poison. My advice to you: Don't bother.

The only lasting value in the acid experience for me was the clear understanding that acid wasn't going to live up to the promises of guys like Ram Da.s.s and Allan Hunt Badiner. It also left me wondering how those guys could be so stupid as not to notice that for themselves. If that's beatific vision and ultimate truth, they can keep it.

Any kind of traumatic experience-a car accident, a high fever, the death of a loved one-can dramatically rip a person out of their normal consciousness. But psychedelic drugs mangle your brain and body and when you start off with the idea that some mangled, abnormal state of mind is the "optimal state of consciousness," as Zig Zag Zen Zig Zag Zen postulates in its first chapter, the boneheaded notion that getting bombed out of your gourd is the way to find reality is a pretty easy conclusion to jump to. But if there is one thing I want to make clear, it's that Buddhism has nothing to do with "transcendent states" or "higher levels of consciousness" or "optimal levels of being." (I remain unconvinced, by the way, that a state of mind where you can no longer even roll your own doobies, let alone do anything the least bit useful for anyone else, is somehow "optimal.") postulates in its first chapter, the boneheaded notion that getting bombed out of your gourd is the way to find reality is a pretty easy conclusion to jump to. But if there is one thing I want to make clear, it's that Buddhism has nothing to do with "transcendent states" or "higher levels of consciousness" or "optimal levels of being." (I remain unconvinced, by the way, that a state of mind where you can no longer even roll your own doobies, let alone do anything the least bit useful for anyone else, is somehow "optimal.") Buddhism isn't about anything so diminutive as any of your mental states at all. It's much deeper than that.

There is no optimal state of consciousness. Optimal is just an idea, another manifestation of the Great Somewhere Else. Consciousness is just an idea.

The notion that you can take a drug to get enlightened is as sensible as thinking you can take off the weight gained from twenty years of shoveling nothing but Oreos, Pringles, and Big Macs down your gullet by swallowing a few miracle diet pills. It's big money for big business, but if you're eating three meals a day at Mickey D's you're gonna be taking up two seats on a 747 regardless of how many pills you pop. down your gullet by swallowing a few miracle diet pills. It's big money for big business, but if you're eating three meals a day at Mickey D's you're gonna be taking up two seats on a 747 regardless of how many pills you pop.

Incredibly, the belief that a lifetime-hundreds of thousands lifetimes, since our consciousness includes the acquired cultural and social knowledge of our entire species' history-of bad thinking habits can be altered in a single evening high on LSD continues to be talked about seriously by people who really ought to know better. In Zig Zag Zen, Zig Zag Zen, Terence McKenna even comes out with the comically ridiculous question, "How can you be a serious Buddhist if you're not doing psychedelics?" This kind of thing is a lot like eloquent discourse on tantric s.e.x from guys who really only want to get their rocks off more often and better. Terence McKenna even comes out with the comically ridiculous question, "How can you be a serious Buddhist if you're not doing psychedelics?" This kind of thing is a lot like eloquent discourse on tantric s.e.x from guys who really only want to get their rocks off more often and better.

If you want to get fried off your a.s.s, at least have the decency to admit it. Don't try to convince us you're on some kind of grand spiritual quest.

Drugs won't show you the truth.

Drugs will only show you what it's like to be on drugs.

ONCE TIM TOLD ME the story of how one of his teacher Kobun Chino's students slipped him some acid. Kobun was a very trusting guy. When he was handed an acid-soaked sugar cube and told, "Here, eat this. It'll make you feel good," Kobun swallowed it without a second thought. His comments afterward about the LSD experience? "It was stupid," he said. Spoken like a true Zen master.

The very idea of higher states of consciousness is absurd. Comparing one state of consciousness to another and saying one is "higher" and the other is "mundane" is like eating a banana and complaining it's not a very good apple. The state of consciousness you have right now is 100 percent purely what it is. It is neither higher nor lower, better or worse, more or less significant, than the state of consciousness once achieved by some s.p.a.ced-out swami who came back down and then wrote a book about his memories of it.

Are the visions you can experience on LSD "real" religious visions? Sure they are. And as such they are worse than useless. Religious visions and acid experiences are both fantasies, delusions, projections of your own hidden desires. They have nothing whatsoever to do with the truth, nothing to do with reality. You learn even less about the true nature of reality from such fantasies than from watching a few hours of cartoons on Sat.u.r.day morning.

Chasing after fantasies is always a bad idea. Stick with reality. Reality's all you've got.

But here's the real secret, the real miracle: It's enough.

EATING A TANGERINE IS REAL ENLIGHTENMENT.

Hmm... eternal happiness for a dollar?

I'd rather keep the dollar.

MONTGOMERY BURNS ON THE SIMPSONS.

DRUGS AREN'T THE ONLY WAY to alter your consciousness and send you out chasing fantasies. Sometimes meditation does the trick just as well.

Once this guy who objected strongly to my oddball ways of presenting Buddhism sent me a piece by Ken Wilber, an enormously popular writer of Buddhist-style books (apparently) -though I'd never heard of him. Wilber, in this guy's opinion, represented Real Truth as opposed to the drivel I put out. He wanted me to see the light.

In the piece my friend sent me, we learn that Wilber had read a phrase by Ramana Mahars.h.i.+, an Indian teacher whose philosophy sometimes resembles Zen although he never studied Zen. The phrase was this: "That which is not present in deep, dreamless sleep is not real." This phrase, Wilber says, deeply affected him and made him truly serious truly serious about meditation. about meditation.