Get your puja on

Apu: I have come to make amends, sir. At first, I blamed you for squealing, but then I realized, it was I who wronged you. So I have come to work off my debt. I am at your service.
Homer: You're...selling what now?
Apu: I am selling only the concept of karmic realignment.
Homer: You can't sell that! Karma can only be portioned out by the cosmos. (slams the door)
Apu: He's got me there.

--The Simpsons

Fig.1 My favorite Hindu

Like many Americans my age, the first Hindu I met was Apu Nahasapeemapetilon. As a kid with no previous concept of racial stereotypes or the offensive nature associated with them, I embraced Apu with pure love, if only for his humorous accent and the friendly way he always said “Thank you, come again!” no matter how terrible a customer was.

In a roundabout way, Apu represents the most patriotic of institutions: the American Dream. He graduated first in his class of seven million from CalTech (Calcutta Technical Institute) and came to America to get his doctorate in computer science. He started working at the Kwik-E-Mart to pay off his student loans, but remains in Springfield to this day. He married Manjula, fathered eight kids and keeps a garden on the store’s rooftop accessed through the secret door disguised as a freezer case containing non-alcoholic beer.

Possessed of a tireless work ethic, a sharp intellect and a deep devotion to Ganesha, Shiva and Vishnu, Apu is, despite over-generalized appearances, a very positive Hindu figure in American culture. His perpetually open convenience store has helped the Simpson family through many hard times, and if the appearance of real-life Kwik-E-Marts across the country in the summer of 2007 is any indication, Apu’s humble business is a quintessential symbol of American life. For me, walking into a Kwik-E-Mart in Burbank and drinking a Squishee for the first time was nothing less than transcendental.

Alongside Apu, Indiana Jones had a big hand in my youthful perception of Hindus. I was only sixteen months old when Indiana Jones and the Temple Of Doom was released, but the pop cultural engine created by Spielberg/Lucas and company was running at full steam by the time I could put two words together. I grew up with my parents’ large VHS collection and knew all the references to Harrison Ford characters that the Muppet Babies blatantly showcased in nearly every episode.


Fig.2 Not standard operating procedure for Hindus

When I was still too young to be at home by myself after school, I spent a lot of time at my grandmother’s house. My sister and I made forts out of sheets and spent all our free time carrying out our shameless obsessions by watching the same movies and TV shows on a loop. Of course, one of the looped VHS tapes on my granny’s TV was Temple Of Doom. By the time DVDs appeared, that tape in particular was run through the VCR so many times that the CRT had a permanent image of Harrison Ford’s face magnetized on the glass. I would put on the movie, set up pillows on the carpet in a big rectangle, wear my favorite old ratty silk nightgown, lay down in it like a frozen snow angel and when Willie Scott was being latched into Mola Ram’s sacrifice cage, I’d pretend I was being lowered into the volcano and plead for Indiana to save me.

For years, I believed in Shankara stones and faraway Indian jungles filled with giant vampire bats and the beauty of Pankot Palace. Most of all, I marveled at the bright and sparkly costumes worn by Willie and the palace dancers. The Hindus had it going on, as far as I was concerned. Like many westerners, I was allured by the mysterious glamour of Indian culture, swept away by its music, dance, and polychromatic artistry. It was centered so far away on the planet as to feel fantastic and surreal, and kids are such suckers for everything so different from what they’re used to.

Fig.3 You can rescue me anyday

As adults, we get annoyed that kids display such a degree of endless passion for new things, but deep down, we envy them their unquestioning devotion. Before life became colored by injustices and complexities, devotion was easier and more fun. We shake our heads at adults who can recapture that brand of loyalty, and I can’t help but believe that children remember something we forgot.

After I freed myself of the bedsheet-and-table-fort-building years, my next Hindu influence appeared on a real-life plane of existence. My circle of middle school friends included Sneha, a tall, slender, and very brainy girl who didn’t eat beef. She was clever and funny and shared my love for The X-Files and of course, a huge crush on Fox Mulder. We went to the same high school and kept in touch for the first few years of college.

One day, while riding our bikes to a local book store to buy some class texts, she mentioned that that narrow street north of University smelled like Bombay. Garbage, restaurant fryer exhaust, and urine. I will forever remember that going to Goerings is not unlike a trip to an Indian metropolis.

One year, she invited my friend Alan and me to an Indian cultural function at UF’s O’Connell Center. We met up at her apartment and marveled as she dressed up in a sari and told us what to expect. We arrived amongst a slew of similarly attired Indian immigrants and their American-born families. In retrospect, I suspect it was a Diwali festival, and they celebrated with a colorful variety of food and shopping stalls selling jewelry, clothes, trinkets and what I would later discover to be my favorite Indian export: Bollywood DVDs. As we perused a DVD booth, Sneha happily pointed out actors she recognized and how sexy they were, constantly reminding me of how essential to life it was that I watch some Hindi movies. I was lost in a sea of unfamiliar and beautiful faces and was eager to take her advice.


Fig.4 Y'all can rescue me too, please

There was lots of dancing on the basketball court, so Sneha eventually went down there to join a large group of other smiling faces for a traditional dance using sticks and catchy drum music. I bought some child-sized bangles (the only ones that stayed on my wrist!) and took in the festivities with great interest. It was a nifty peek into a world I would later dive into with much enthusiasm.

Sneha and I lost touch as the months went by and classes got more involved. As is customary for my generation, I caught up with her again on Facebook. She lives out of state now, so our interaction remains a digital one, but her influence on my current interests has turned out to be monumental. I don’t know that I’d have been so open-minded about studying Hinduism and Indian culture had it not been for her presence in my youth.


To be continued...

Dashboard Buddha: Jon Stewart Edition

"Jesters do oft prove prophets.”

--Regan, King Lear Act V, Scene III

Fig.1 American Buddha?

I read somewhere that to take the Buddhist path requires developing a sense of humor. Humor helps you let go of pride, laughter erodes ego. Obviously, that went a long way with me. Laughter is my drug of choice. I laugh so heartily and consistently every morning and evening watching my favorite shows that my sister’s quaker parrot learned to perfectly imitate my chortles of joy. If I don’t get boisterous at least once a day, I feel stagnant. Heart half-full. If I can laugh all the way to enlightenment, then show me the way.

Jon Stewart has said in a few interviews that a person’s sense of humor only goes as far as their ideology. He explains that sometimes people come up to him and say they love his show and think he’s hysterical except for the time when he made a joke about global warming. Or abortion or foreign policy or last night’s episode of American Idol.

The Buddha says “Attachment causes suffering.” People get offended about things they have a personal affinity for, their attachment to it sucks out all the humor, and they suffer in the form of anger or resentment.

Why do Creationists want to discredit evolution so much? Why do scientists roll their eyes at the idea of intelligent design? Why do Man U fans verbally abuse Chelsea fans at football games? Why did I despise Tina Fey with relish when I heard she dissed Jon Stewart even though it was clearly taken out of context and she doesn’t actually harbor any ill will toward the man in any shape or form except perhaps a bit of envy that he’s so much more iconoclastic and clever and influential than she?


Fig.2 Rescue me from ignorance

Each party feels that the Other holds sacred certain ideas that encroach upon beliefs. Our beliefs, which we hold so dear, are very personal and we perceive them as an extension of ourselves. If someone attacks our beliefs, it’s an attack on our own existence.

As self-proclaimed “equal opportunity satirists,” Jon and his Daily Show crew have ripped into everything. Nothing is sacred except the almighty Laugh. He’s the classical court jester: the only person (simply by virtue of being the Fool) allowed to call out the King by poking comedic holes in his actions and policies. The Fool has very little ego and frequently depreciates himself with pratfalls, laughter, and general tomfoolery. He doesn’t care about his reputation.


Fig.3 Make fun of thyself

A speaker on the Path of the Ekayana podcast once concluded that Buddhism has a joke at its heart. One of the speaker’s teachers—one who always seemed to have a little smirk on his face—said that when you become enlightened (that is, once you don’t care about ego), you get all the jokes. Ultimately, that’s what Buddhism is: getting all the jokes. Everyone should aspire to be the Fool.

That said, everyone should care.

I wasn’t intending to sound cryptic. The best things in Buddhism come in Yoda koans.

The Fool, in fact, does care. He may even care more than anyone else. The trick is to hold that caring like an egg in the grip of the mind. He holds it gently and considers it in its entirety. He holds it long enough to find the flaws and cracks, then remembers that the egg is not an extension of himself. He is not the egg. He is not the anger or worry or disgust. The egg is there to spur the insight to learn or to take action... or make a joke.


Fig.4 All in a jester's day's work

The Buddha once told his monk buddies that they should use his teachings as a raft they leave behind as soon as it’s fulfilled its usefulness. You don’t haul a raft out of the river to cross a desert. The raft would be heavy and would just drag behind you and people would question your sanity. Similarly, if the Fool continues to carry the egg, it starts to rot and people tend to avoid him and his odoriferousness.

But the Fool is no fool. He extracts the joke, then promptly tosses the egg away. It smashes against the wall and everyone laughs. We laugh at impermanence because we inherently know that it’s silly to think anything lasts forever. We laugh at our false perception that an egg can survive being thrown at the wall. We laugh at our false perception that our problems will never end.

Laughter is a little piece of enlightenment, and if Jon Stewart teaches us nothing else, it's that fact.


Fig.5 Simpsonified

Vegan Week

"In the strict scientific sense we all feed on death - even vegetarians."
-Mr. Spock, Star Trek, "Wolf in the Fold"

Fig.1 Have you hugged a chicken today?

One sunny Floridian January Saturday, I drove up to Gainesville to hang out with my friend Casey and meet his boyfriend Joseph for the first time. We checked on the community events for the day and unanimously decided to attend the Hoggetown Medieval Festival. Of course, we had to find a place to eat beforehand, since Joseph is vegan and ren faires are not well known to serve up anything more vegan than giant roasted turkey legs. Luckily, it’s as easy to find a vegan-friendly eatery in a college town as it is to find a coffeehouse in a college town. At the fest, while perusing the numerous vendor tents drinking our mead (vegan!) and scoffing at the bevy of overwrought Scottish accents floating into our ears, theology got injected into the conversation. I have no idea how.

“I consider veganism my religion,” he said.

“Really?”

“Lots of people write in their religion as veganism on the census.”

Veganism is a religion? I’m so there.

Fig.2 They also call loved ones "Agave nectar" instead of "Honey"

Thus, Vegan Week was born. Now, I can do Vegetarian Week standing on my head. Since I started doing Buddhism, I’ve been observing Vesak--the holiday that celebrates the birth, enlightenment, and nirvana of Gautama Buddha--by avoiding meat for the week leading up it. Plus, I renounce meat on full and new moons. And I don’t tend to eat meat all that much anyways.

I’m not addicted to meat, is what I’m saying.

But veganism is a lot of work. I spent a few weeks beforehand researching how vegans sidestep and tip-toe around consuming animal products. Mulling over concepts like incorporating organic alfalfa sprouts, fermented soy tofu, and textured vegetable protein to meals, I paused the way people do when they know they’ve just stepped in dogshit and don’t want to move for fear of hearing that aromatic moist sucking sound you get when you lift your sneaker. But when I picked up my foot and started walking again, collecting recipes that sounded exotic and tasty, I found there was no unpleasant odor clinging to my sole.

Sure, I couldn’t eat anything from the box of Godiva chocolates I had just gotten for Valentine’s Day or sprinkle grated Parmesan cheese on my beloved Italian dishes or dump a little whole milk in my chai tea every morning, but I was going to survive. If it’s good enough for Emily Deschanel (girlcrush!), then it’s good enough for me.

I’m addicted to dairy products, I guess is what I’m saying.

Fig.3 I count broccoli myself

My sister volunteered to take the vegan plunge along with me, so, armed with a list and some recipes, we went to Publix and the Green Bean organic market to gather supplies. We surprised ourselves at how quickly the flip-the-box-to-parse-the-ingredients-list obligation instilled itself into everyday life. I would zero in on the tiny type and wag my finger at any evidence that animals sacrificed their lives or comforts in the making of that product. Whey? Exploits milk cows. Egg whites? Exploits chickens. Honey? Exploits bees. Non-dairy creamer powder? Contains milk derivatives. “Non-dairy” my ass.

We got soy yogurt and soy milk, which we’ve had before and generally enjoy. We made sure to avoid butter and only use olive oil or corn oil for cooking (again, not a big issue). We’re already big fans of nearly every variety of beans (fava, by the way, look and taste like cockroaches, FYI), so we made hummus to use as a sandwich spread for lunches. We also picked up some things we had to learn to prepare, like tofu, bean sprouts, seitan and tempeh.

We had Portobello mushroom Parmesan on spaghetti with crunchy fried tempeh instead of meat crumbles. I made veggie burritos, tofu-cashew curry, and even discovered that vegan brownies taste even more chocolatey than regular ones. Tofutti ice cream, though, is a sad excuse for dessert, sorry to say. And Joseph warned me against “vegan cheese” which not even he would touch. In the end, we survived just fine. It was a challenge, but we came out of it better for doing it, and we learned some new favorite recipes (vegan waffles ROCK) that we’d happily eat outside of Vegan Week.

When our little experiment concluded, I decided that I could never deny my inherent foodie sensibility and significantly limit my intake of the myriad dishes this world has to offer my widely varied palate, but I am apt to expand my meatless options and explore the tastes of vegan cooking. It's always fun to try new recipes, and it's just plain good karma.

Fig.4 Contrary to popular myth, vegan food does not taste like this

One of Joseph’s favorite Simpsons episodes, appropriately enough, is “Lisa the Vegetarian,” in which Lisa realizes that the only difference between the lamb at the petting zoo and the lamb chop for dinner is that one spent two hours in the broiler. Her refusal to dissect an earthworm and inquiries into school lunch policies triggers Principal Skinner into screening an educational video from the Meat Council for the class. Troy McClure gives a little boy a tour of the beef industry, showing off the high-density feedlots and the killing floor of a slaughterhouse, leaving the little boy trembling and emotionally disturbed. When the video is over, the class is treated to a pile of tripe to snack on.

In all my life, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more masterful evisceration of the beef industry, much less satirized in a wildly popular television show. Read Fast Food Nation or watch Food Inc., and you’ll admit that The Simpsons didn’t exaggerate at all.

At one point in the Meat Council video Lisa is force-fed, Troy McClure displays a chart of the food chain. The image is a drawing of a few dozen wild animals, all with arrows pointing straight at the human drawn in the center, proving that eating meat is totally normal and just part of the natural order of things. And if we're totally honest with ourselves, you have to agree with Mr. Spock on this. Things have to die so we can survive.

This is not propaganda. Humans are omnivores and have evolved to eat both flora and fauna. Our cranial capacity developed as a result of hunting animals, which takes a lot more brain power than picking berries. If our ancestors didn’t eat meat, we wouldn’t be half as smart as we are today. Smart enough, in fact, to make choices about what we cram in our mouths. Vegan Week taught me my own gustatory boundaries and how to explore them, and while I may not be cut out for a completely animal-free diet, I am certainly more aware of how to be educated and judicious about what I consume.

Awareness is what distinguishes an enlightened mind. Christians are working to be aware of Jesus’ love. Muslims practice to be aware of the will of God. Jews believe it’s a duty to be aware of God’s presence. Hindus are occupied with being aware of the divine within each person. Vegans try their best to be aware of our connection to all living things and choose to treat them with the same respect we give to our human race.

That's as good a religion as any.


Fig.5 I agree

Jesus Is Just Alright With Me

“And though I am a committed Christian, I believe that everyone has the right to their own religion, be you Hindu, Jewish or Muslim. I believe there are infinite paths to accepting Jesus Christ as your personal savior.” 
--Stephen Colbert

Fig. 1 Jesus: the best first round draft pick for running back

Somehow, in one of my random best-friends-only college era gatherings, someone came up with the placeholder moniker “Jebus Crisp” for use as a mild curse, and it stuck pretty permanently in my mind (this is me not taking the Lord’s name in vain). Oddly enough, several years after that memorable occasion, Homer Simpson yelled “I can’t be a missionary! I don’t believe in Jebus!” Proof positive of that collective human mind field Deepak Chopra’s so hot about.

Sometime after my Buddhist revelation, someone once asked me what I think about Jesus.

"Jesus is cool," I thought. "He's wise and good and genuine. I have no beef with Jesus."

I also know I prefer Willem Dafoe Jesus over James Caviezel Jesus. Or "Imma only make a cameo in Ben Hur" Jesus. That's just lazy.

Fig. 2 The Last Temptation of Scorsese

I love Jesus more now than I ever did as a Christian. Maybe that’s my fault, since I know plenty of people can love Jesus and be Christians at the same time. It’s probably meant to be that way, actually. Some people’s boats float better in different liquids.

Still, I’m all for listening to hippie types. He told off the authorities and chilled out with prostitutes and gave outdoor “God is love” sit-ins on grassy hills. Jesus had the long hair, threadbare clothes, was always wearing Birkenstocks and bumming food off of people while fighting with his father. “Dad, I’m gonna die for these people whether you like it or not!” I believe is what he said while he was dragging the cross through those thirteen stations.

Jesus is the ultimate treehugger. Don’t tell Greenpeace about that one time he cursed a fig tree for not bearing fruit and it shriveled into a barren twig.

“I curse you for not bearing me any fruit!” *poof*

His apostles all trade looks, then one asks, “Dude, what did you do that for?”

*cough* “Well, umm… Anything is possible when you believe in God!”

Fig. 3 Jesus caused the first Fig Newton shortage in history

Even Buddhists squash ants in forgetful moments, so no one is about to fault the Savior of a third of this planet’s population for having a black thumb. The rest of his hand could heal water of its non-wineness, which, understandably got him invited to a lot of parties.

Fast forward a couple thousand years and he’s still on the top of the A-list, but he’s one of those people who has so many friends from so many walks of life that some of them can’t be in the same denomination together.

This makes for sometimes awkward housewarming shindigs. The Baptists roll their eyes at the Catholics for paying too much attention to the Virgin Mary. Fundamentalists sneer at the Episcopalians for bringing that gay guy into the clergy. Methodists stare at the token Jehovah’s Witness who stands in a corner and tells himself that everyone else is just jealous because he doesn’t have to go into debt every December buying Christmas presents. But even the Witness is surprised when a Mormon shows up and most everybody is pretty sure no one sent him an invite.

No matter what the party, some people tend to forget that Jesus sends everyone an invite.

Fig. 4 Jesus loves viniculture

In Acts 10:34-35, Peter says “I see very clearly that the Jews are not God’s only favorites! In every nation he has those who worship him and do good deeds and are acceptable to him.” I also recall some stuff about Jesus having sheep that are not of his fold, and that they will hear his voice (John 10:14-16.) Jesus knew God spoke to people outside the Euphrates River Valley. It wouldn’t make sense not to somehow clue in the rest of your creation, after all. Talk about lazy.

This is the Jesus I love. The Jesus who informs a Christianity of the red letters, not the accusatory finger. The Jesus of the healing hand, not the fist and the sword. Buddy Jesus from Kevin Smith’s Dogma. The smiling, thumbs-up Jesus who walks and talks with you.

Fig. 5 Jesus loves you, man!

Jesus, like all spiritual figures, is a Rorschach test. In my eyes, the inkblot represents a man of revolutionary compassion who reaches out to the impoverished, condemned and criminalized people of the world, then lifts them up with all the strength they already possessed within themselves. The strength of God. The strength of the Universe. The strength of human kind.

My Faith In Pop Culture

Lisa: Mom, Dad, my spiritual quest is over... I'm a Buddhist! Homer: What? That's it -- no more chat rooms for you! The Simpsons

Fig. 1 Batholomew's angel

In the beginning, there were movies and TV: the sacred texts of the great American secular religion. Hollywood is the Holy Land. The stars are our charismatic gods and goddesses. The movie theatres, our temples. Popcorn and Coke the body and blood of our Savior: sweet, sweet Entertainment.

There is much wisdom to be found in the discourses of Lama Chaplin, His Holiness Hitchcock, or Saint Spielberg:

When things get desperate, eat your shoe.

A boy’s best friend is not always his mother.

No matter how prepared you think you are, you’re probably going to need a bigger boat.

When I was a kid, the most religious thing I did was watch Mr. Wizard every morning before school while my grandmother struggled to brush my knotty, curl-infested hair. I conducted experiments on basil seeds and ivy vine clippings on my bedroom windowsill, corralled grasshoppers and tadpoles just to catch a glimpse of their life cycles, collected rocks, and had a serious crush on Bill Nye The Science Guy (and I still do, but he now shares nerd-swoonability with Neil deGrasse Tyson).


Fig. 2 & 3 Science Guys


In 1996, I turned thirteen and my Christian confirmation was on the horizon. I also discovered my two favorite TV shows of all time: The X-Files and The Daily Show. This year is as prominent in my personal pop cultural fossil record as the iridium-laced KT-boundary in Cretaceous rock strata. I believe that multitudinous moments and experiences contribute to and lead up to what we call peak moments in our lives, but those two shows have definitely had a significant and enduring effect on my current adult mindset. To say they inspired me is like saying Jesus made a fairly good point to a dozen of his buddies around a dinner table. My Confirmation, appropriately enough, also marked an essential attitude adjustment toward religion in general.


Fig. 4 Crackpot

I went to confirmation classes, and you better believe it was reluctantly. More than anything else, it was a ginormous waste of my precious after school Bill Nye time. I knew there was more to life than Sunday School. I mean, come on. How could you not watch The X-Files? Because it’s got satanic subject matter? Aliens aren’t in the Bible? Neither are chocolate Easter bunnies, but you believe in them, don’t you?

At one of the classes, we watched a video featuring a young man describing his atheism. He went on about his beliefs and sounded pretty convinced that there’s no God. Unexpectedly enough, he still went to church with his family and subsequently expressed his contempt for the people he saw there who only showed up once or twice a year for the big holidays. He sounded mildly disgusted by such behavior and continued voicing his opinions about being atheist.

At the end of the video, my confirmation crew asked, “Does he really sound like an atheist?” Internally, I replied (in more 13-year-old language), “Sounds like a bored, apathetic teenager tagging along with his folks because he enjoys making dry ironic observations about hypocritical society.” But of course, the faithful interpreted his comments as a closet Jesus lover trying to express himself. I’m still not entirely sure what they were trying to accomplish in that session, but when you introduce a video like that, it makes confirmation feel like some self-pitying agnostics anonymous program.

At the end of the whole thing, my “secret sponsor” gave me a tack-pin with a mustard seed inside and a card explaining the Bible verse associated with it. It’s a cool verse, and appealed to my burgeoning English major heart. For a moment, I held that pin, re-reading the verse over and over, feeling a little part of me drying up and falling off: my umbilicus to freedom. Something said to me “This is it. You’re Christian now. Deal with it.” Obviously, that’s not what you should feel about your religion. But what the hell did I know?

I soon noticed that my tiny gold cross necklace I was given as a baby matched the one Dana Scully wore on The X-Files, so that never left my neck except to shower. Every night before bed, I prayed a standard obligatory form prayer with blanks that I filled in with hopes for protection over family and friends. Church was still boring, and I began to get self-righteous about all the self-righteous church-goers who judged non-church-goers as being unfaithful or lazy. I decided that I could be faithful whether I spent my Sunday mornings bored to tears or not.

To prove my righteousness, I pointed out an episode of The Simpsons in which Homer stays at home while Marge and the kids go to church. God still hangs out with Homer even though he isn’t “in God’s House” on Sundays. I thought that was awesome. If God couldn’t love me enough to appreciate that I could bask in his glory by sleeping in and watching rented movies on Sundays, then I would give up. If my church were as quirky as Reverend Lovejoy’s, I would have attended more often than not. Still, Methodism had nothing on the entertainment factor of my science or my Hollywood religion. God has Moses. Hollywood has Charlton Heston. No contest.

Fig. 5 Let there be matzos

When I started studying at UF, I felt totally freed from any iota of nagging obligation whatsoever to go to church. My umbilicus to freedom regenerated and I stuck with my televisual roots. I schlepped boxes of X-Files recorded on VHS tapes into my already cramped dorm, clinging to them like Linus’ security blanket. I found that my generation took up watching The Daily Show as standard practice, and Jon Stewart was as ubiquitous a sight in the common room as greasy pizza boxes and dirty dishes.

Ten days after 9/11/01, I consulted the one spiritual adviser every American knows will make them feel some modicum of normality no matter what: television. I sat in front of my thirteen-inch dorm room TV-VCR combo unit and I saw Jon Stewart get choked up during his unexpectedly touching return-to-air speech. It was the first moment I felt the oftentimes invisible connection between tragedy and comedy and how one deeply informs the other. I reached for the nearest tissue and told myself that this man was now worthy of my worship. Another god in my pantheon of show biz.

I was a born-again TDS viewer. Just let Jon into your heart and be saved!

Fig. 6 Moment of Zen

I never had a problem with Jesus. I never had a problem with my parents. I'm not one of these self-loathing-formerly-Christian-church-bashing twentysomethings who go Buddhist just because it's not my parents' religion or because it's hip. I live in Hernando County, Florida. There's no pressure to be hip. Spring Hill would never be prefaced with the adjective "hip."

I was simply never a very institution-oriented person. I loved empiricism, but I wasn't cynical. I had a great family life, great friends, and had fun. I wasn’t on drugs, I wasn’t unintentionally pregnant or festering with STDs. I got educated and got a respectable job. My friends and family loved me and I loved them. I was satisfied with my non-denominational moral compass. It worked for me.

Then one day, I realized I had no idea how or why my compass worked. It wasn’t broken, but my brain needed an upgrade to understand how to read it.

In the December 2005 issue of National Geographic, along came an article about Buddhism’s recent spread across the world. All I knew about it before I started reading that first paragraph was that it involved meditating and it came from a place in which Brad Pitt once spent seven cinematic years hanging out with the Dalai Lama. The article outlined a basic overview of the Dharma with its calm Vulcan-like reverence for logic, and how it’s been manifesting in Western culture. It was very appealing to my Bill Nye-loving brain. I read another shorter article on growing Muslim populations in the world and felt a small pang of regret that I didn’t really belong to a spiritual group I felt I could be intellectually honest with myself about following.

I knew that guilt about someone dying for my sins was not my slice of key lime pie, but I had no trustworthy paradigm to put my beliefs in context. My comparative religion education consisted of little more than Ancient Egypt class and Fiddler On The Roof. The only things I chose to recall from church was eating freeze-dried ice cream at an outer-space-themed Vacation Bible School and ringing spotless gold bells so shiny and expensive you had to wear white gloves to touch them.

I had to re-assess what I had in my spiritual bindle.



To be continued...