Book Review: Awakening the Buddha Within; Lama Surya Das; 1998

Buddhist practitioners can levitate. They can see the future. When they die, their bodies turn to light.

So claims Surya Das.

I genuinely enjoyed Awakening the Buddha Within. The book is a primer on Buddhism, with a chapter on the Four Noble Truths, and one each on the Eightfold Path, clearly explained and illustrated for the western reader making his or her first encounter with Buddhism. Surya Das' writing is breezy and conversational, an easy-to-read style that keeps you turning the pages. Das doesn't get bogged down in the minutiae of theology or philosophy and personalizes his teachings by relating relevant stories from his own life and his own search for meaning. As much "what is," the book also offers "how to" in the form of simple meditations and other exercises, such as keeping a dream journal or a creating a collection of favorite spiritual quotations, simple steps to for helping build new awareness.

As much as I liked the book, I also found some fairly outlandish claims within, such as the section on Lucid Dreaming, in which Das writes that we can multiply our bodies, travel to heavenly realms to receive special spiritual teachings, and that he himself was able through such practices to see into the future.

He sets us up early on by letting us know that such super human powers, while manifest among the Buddhist elite, are ultimately mere distractions along the path.

Seekers, curious about the unknown, might want to know more about levitation, conscious dying, lucid dreaming, astral travel, rainbow bodies, and clairvoyance. However, that's not finally what it's all about. The Buddha did perform certain miracles, but he always instructed his disciples not to demonstrate miraculous powers except to inspire faith in the skeptical. Lamas say the same thing. The magical, mysterious and occult are special effects that can be produced, but it's not the whole story. The miracle of Buddhism is a miracle of love, not levitation. [pp 12-13]

As we're only on page 12, it might be reasonable to expect some future explication of such feats, but the only thing I recall reading is a couple of paragraphs in the last quarter of the book, in the section on Lucid Dreaming.

By seizing a dream we can perform spiritual activities, multiply our bodies, as well as go to pure realms of existence to receive teachings and blessings from Buddhas, transcendent Bodhisattvas, and saintly sages. In this way we train to master altered states and different ways of being, including astral travel and other out-of-body experiences.... With guidance from my teachers, ... I was able to get some indication of future events and to understand certain signs, portents and omens. [pp 330-331]

Amazing.

Perhaps not so amazing for a Tibetan who's grown up listening to stories about such super-human feats. But Tibetans are not likely to be reading this book, at least not in large numbers. This book is for Europeans and North Americans, the people most likely on planet Earth to be skeptical - and curious - about such claims.

And yet Das provides no evidence, no proof, not even an accounting of what he experienced or what he witnessed. For over 300 pages he covers the Four Noble Truths and the Eight Fold Path, a topic that is covered by most authors in a few pages. Das' account is padded with quotations, examples, stories, and illustrations, from the lives of saints, from every day life, from his own life. But here - nothing. He falls strangely silent.

I do not claim that such feats are impossible. They certainly may be. But Das' refusal to engage the subject makes it seem he has something to hide, which in turn casts a shadow of doubt across the rest of what is a well-written introduction to Buddhism. If he can't talk to us honestly about this, then what else can't he discuss openly? What else might he be hiding?

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Movie Review: Jesus Camp; Ewing & Grady, dirs; 2006

Most eight year olds are not aware of, nor concerned with, government, politics, ideology or theology. That's not to say they're incapable of giving such issues their interest, nor that their development is likely to be impaired by encountering and thinking about them. As this film so clearly demonstrates, it's how you teach that makes the difference.

Jesus Camp has an obvious point of view that isn't sympathetic to the Evangelicals it portrays. Perhaps when the filmmakers began this project they didn't have any particular bias towards apocalyptic Biblical literalists. I can image how neutrality could be easily subverted after meeting some of the people in this film and observing their lives and their teaching methods. It's difficult to feel any sympathy for people of any faith who as a result of ideological motivation see people as things, pawns in a supernatural game, rather than as individuals to be cared for and loved. It's even more difficult to deal with the enmity that arises on seeing parents and teachers using intense emotional appeals and peer pressure as methods of ideological indoctrination, creating in the minds of a children a world of "us" and "them," the kind of world that doesn't normally exist for children until after puberty.

Watch this film and despair the generation of lost children produced by this 21st century generation of know-nothing parents. I hope the filmmakers do a follow up in 10 or 20 years so that we can all see what becomes of these experiments in Evangelical indoctrination.

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Naritasan

Yesterday we ventured out to Kurume, a city only 30 minutes by train from Fukuoka. Perhaps because it’s so close, or perhaps because we never had any reason, until yesterday we had never been.

We have Rui to thank for making such a visit possible. She invited us for dinner at one of her favorite Italian restaurants, and since we were headed out that way, I thought we’d go a little early and see one of Kurume’s tourist attractions, the giant statue of Kanon, the Japanese version of Avalokiteshvara, the Buddhist god (or goddess) or mercy.

The 62 meter statue stands on a hill just off one of the main roads running out of Kurume and is part of a larger complex that includes a traditional Japanese Buddhist temple (foreground left) and a recreation of the temple at Bodhgaya (middleground), the town in north India where Siddartha Gautama became the Buddha, the awakened one.

From afar the statue looks a bit odd. You don’t see such things on the Japanese landscape very often. The Statue of Liberty, yes. It adorns the tops of hotels and pachinko parlors all across Japan. But Buddhas, Virgin Marys or crucifixes, no.

Once you walk up the hill (and past the kindergarten with the cool tire sculptures of dinosaurs), you find that the site is about as tacky as the Statue of Liberty on the love hotel.

Actually, the Kanon itself is perhaps the least tacky bit in the whole complex, which seems designed primarily for collecting money from sightseers, with entrance tickets costing 500yen. That allows you to climb up the 278 steps to the shoulders of the Kanon for some nice views of the surrounding countryside.

It also gets you into the tour of hell, a Buddhist haunted house that shows what’s in store for those who continue to accrue negative karma. This particular hell is the best one I’ve seen thus far, an animated diorama with spooky lighting and some nice sound effects.


You can also enter the Bodhgaya Temple, which houses some inelegant paintings from Sri Lanka illustrating various stages of the Buddha’s life, in addition to a malformed Buddha statue. What’s cool, though, is that this temple functions primarily as a tomb; spots are still available to store your urn.


Altogether, the Naritasan Temple was more awful than awe-inspiring. Still, it was worth a visit, especially for the tour of hell and a chance to spend time with friends.



Oh, and dinner was great, too. Especially since it was Rui’s treat. Thanks, Rui! We’re looking forward to our next visit to Kurume.

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Myokoji

Yesterday evening I visited Myokoji, a Soto Zen temple in Yoshizuka, just south of Hakata station, that holds open zazen every Saturday. I got there last night just 5 minutes before the first bell and so didn’t have time to really meet and talk with anyone nor take a head count, but it appeared there were perhaps ten lay people and a half dozen monks. I overheard one of them remark that there were an unusually large number of visitors.

There was no lecture or teaching. Zazen lasted 90 minutes. As I didn’t look at my watch I’m not sure of the actual timings, but there were two sitting sessions with what seemed like 15 minutes of walking zazen in between.

Substantially, the meditation I did last night was no different than what I do at home each morning and evening. But it was reassuring to sit with others, to share in the effort, even if the effort has to be made alone. Their presence made it possible to sit for more than twice the time I normally do. The additional hour left me physically tired. My legs were killing me. But afterwards I felt more centered than I have in a while.

Mutsumi and I were planning to go together. Unfortunately that didn't happen yesterday, but perhaps the week after next. This coming Saturday is already spoken for.

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No octopus balls

This morning I came home from the station to find one of kids from the neighborhood hanging out in front of the building. He's maybe 5 or 6 years old and seemingly not afraid of anything, least of all a 2-meter tall "English-speaking person," as he sometimes refers to me.

Today's theme was dirty words.

What's unko in English? he asked. Poop, I said.

What's shikko in English? Pee.

What's chinchin in English? Dick.

What's oshiri in English? Ass.

He wasn't repeating after me. It was just a kind of game for him to make me speak and a chance for him to use naughty words.

What's tokoyaki in English? Suddenly, we had switched to food, and he had chosen an item for which there is no English equivalent.

There isn't any takoyaki. What? Why?

How can I explain that pieces of octopus in a ball of fried batter is not a popular dish outside of Japan?

He gave up and started instead the "what floor do you live on" game.

What floor do you live on? 100.

There is no 100. What floor do you live on? 90.

There is no 90. What floor do you live on? 80.

There is no 80 What floor do you live on? 80.

No, there is no 80. What floor do you live on?

Then we saw the old cleaning lady. I gave her a wink and asked her if there wasn't an 80th floor. Of course, there is, she said.

Which made that little bugger stop and think for a moment and gave me the opportunity to slip away.

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You look pretty good for 55

Friday a student came up to me after class, a kid I've never spoken to personally.

"Sensei," he said in a slightly hesitant manner, "do you know Woodstock?"

"Of course."

"Were you there?"

It took a couple of moments to recover.

"I was only 8 years old then."

"Oh," he said and smiled, "Sorry." I smiled, too.

He didn't say anything more before leaving the room.

More evidence that, at least in the eyes of students, I'm an old fart.

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Return to art school

I have been reminded this past week that not everyone knows that I’m planning to return to Nepal to continue my art studies. I’ve been letting friends and acquaintances know as I meet or write to them, but I’m now starting to lose track of whom I've informed.

I’ve let all my universities know that I’ll be away for the fall semester, and the radio station is now looking for a replacement. I’ll finish up this semester at the end of July, after which Mutsumi, her family, and I will be traveling to the US to celebrate my parents’ 50^th wedding anniversary. We have rented a house on the beach at Hilton Head and will be spending a week there largely laying about and eating. We’ll then spend another week in Atlanta before returning to Fukuoka, after which I’ll be boarding a plane for Kathmandu, probably in early September.

The plan is to stay through March of 2008 to finish the first year (of six) of the art program. During that time, Mutsumi is planning to visit. If anyone would like to join her, perhaps you can negotiate a group discount on tickets and hotels. Just let us know when you’d like to go. Any and all visitors are most welcome.

As usual, we’ll keep you updated through this blog on how this plan develops.

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Friends

Three weeks ago I got an email from Rui with the very happy news that she had accepted a job as a writer from the Asahi newspaper group. Here she is practicing her interviewing skills.


Rui is a former student. She studied in the UK and while there did a small internship with BBC radio. Two weeks ago we went out to dinner to celebrate her new job, which will take her in the fall to Tokyo for training. Here we are after a filling meal at Higuchi, one of the city's better French restaurants.


While searching for a journalism job, Rui has been supporting herself working for Softbank, one of Japan's largest telecommunication providers and the owner of Fukuoka's professional baseball team. Through her job Rui came into a few choice tickets to a game that she couldn't attend, so she passed them on to us, and yesterday we had a relaxing afternoon at the Dome in our box seats.



Joining us were Greg Bevan, a fellow teacher at a couple of the universities where I teach, and his finance, Hiromi, a registered nurse and in her free time a dancer of salsa (though not yet, as I understand, with Greg). The happy couple is getting married this summer.



One of the unique traditions of Japanese baseball is the 7th inning balloon release. Mutsumi remarks on the size of Greg's inflation.


Everyone readies ...


... and releases.



The Fukuoka Hawks lost the game (to the Hiroshima Carp), but sill, we had a great time. As you can see in these pictures.



Thank you for a great day, Rui, Greg, Hiromi, and Mutsumi.

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Book Review: Everything Arises, Everything Falls Away: Teachings on Impermanence and the End of Suffering; Ajahn Chah, 2005

Ajahn Chah was not a writer. He was born in a fishing village in northeast Thailand in 1918 and spent many years there speaking to farmers and fishermen. Many of these talks were recorded, transcribed and later translated and compiled by one of his western students, Paul Breiter.

Ajahn Chah spoke simply for a simple audience. To illustrate his points, he spoke of fields, ponds, rivers, fish, frogs, dogs, plowing, planting, and harvesting. He used folk tales and parables. Here he speaks of how we are responsible for our own suffering:

"Really, someone who suffers when living alone is foolish. Someone who suffers when living with others is foolish. It's like chicken turds: if you carry them around by yourself, they stink. If you keep them when you're among others, they stink. You carry the rotten things with you."

On the futility of becoming overly preoccupied in affairs of the world, he reminds his audience of the beetle, scratching in the earth:

"It can scratch up a pile that's a lot bigger than itself, but it's still only a pile of dirt. If it works hard, it makes a deep hole in the ground, but it's only a hole in dirt. If a buffalo drops a load of dung there, it will be bigger than the beetle's pile of earth, but it still isn't anything that reaches to the sky. It's all dirt. Worldly accomplishments are like this. No matter how hard the beetles work, they're just involved in dirt, making holes and piles"

Translating the colloquialisms must have been challenging, but, as you can see from the above, Paul Breiter has done a magnificent job capturing Ajahn Chah's voice, making "Everything Arises, Everything Falls Away" a wonderful volume for even those who may have been practicing the dharma for many years.

For those new to Buddhism, this would be an amusing and enlightening introduction, not only because of the colorful language but also for the way in which Ajahn Chah reduces the message of Buddhism to a few easy-to-grasp concepts. He seemed to like reminding his audience that Buddhism was not all that difficult to understand, and he did this through the message of impermanence. As he remarks in a teaching on meditation:

"The way I practice medication is not very complicated - just this. This is what it all comes down to: `It's uncertain'. Everything meets at this point."

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Golden Week 2007

This past week was Golden Week here in Japan, so called because of a string of national holidays, including Showa Day, Constitution Day, and Children’s Day. As we usually do at this time of year, we visited with Mutusmi’s family in Kobe, though this year seemed a bit more hectic, if only because Mutsumi’s sister Narumi is now married and living on her own, which adds an extra day to our round of visits.

Jeff, Mutusmi, Narumi, Mitsuhiro

The week turned out – partly by design, partly by accident - to be associated with Shingon, one of Japan’s schools of esoteric Buddhism, founded by one of the country’s most famous monks, a fellow born as Kukai and who later went by the name Kobo Daishi.

Kukai, aka Kobo Daishi

We had been planning to visit Koya-san, a mountain retreat founded in the 9^th century by Kobo Daishi in the forests of Wakayama, but we spent an unscheduled afternoon at Suma Temple, located not far from Mutusmi’s parents’ home, which turned out to also be a Shingon Temple.

Suma Temple

The next morning we were up before 6:00am to take bus to Kobe, then a train to Osaka, a subway to another railway line, a train to the foot of Koya-san, a cable car up the mountain, and finally a bus to the town of Koya, a three-hour journey to one of Japan’s most beautiful towns.






There are no hotels in Koya (nor any super markets, neon lights, or other signs of modern commercial convenience). Accomodation is provided by temples, and we stayed at Shojoshin-in, a place I had noticed on a previous visit to Koya. The temples also provide board, tasty traditional Buddhist vegetarian meals.

Breakfast at Shojoshin-in

And what account of travels in Japan would be complete without a picture of funny English, this one above the hotel sink .


The problem here is Japanese has separate words for cold and hot water. What the temple wants to inform its guests is that there is no hot water available at this sink.

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