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

Dashboard Buddha: Conan O'Brien Edition

"Starbucks says they are going to start putting religious quotes on cups. The very first one will say,
'Jesus! This cup is expensive!'" --Conan O'Brien

Fig.1 Tao of Coco

We begin with a koan:

One day, a monk went to the Zen Master as he was sitting in his room one morning. The monk, who had spent several years at the monastery studying under the Zen Master, was finally allowed to speak to him alone. The Master was sitting alone, staring at the floor. The monk assumed he was in a meditative state and bowed, backing away to leave his Master alone.

"Come, sit down," the Zen Master said softly, his eyes never blinking. "What is it you wish to ask?"

The monk, thrilled to have this chance to ask a question of the Master, stepped back into the room and asked, "What can we expect from life?"

The Zen Master still stared at the floor in front of him. The monk walked over, hoping to get the Master's attention by taking a seat on the floor in front of him. The moment he sat down, he felt he had sat upon something. It squished under his bottom. He blushed, surprised.

The Zen Master said, "There is a burrito on the carpet."


Okay, it's not a real Zen koan. But if you've ever read a number of real koans, it's almost indistinguishable in its impenetrable, seemingly useless lesson in Zen technique. And I got the idea from Conan O'Brien.

Fig.2 Keep lookin' up

Conan, of course, has been on many peoples' minds lately. He's been in my heart for close to a decade. I taped him on VHS every night while at college. I named my parakeet after him. I lapse into snorting laughter whenever I watch him. My friend Elissa and I got to visit Studio 6A for a taping of Late Night and got to sit in the front row. So, my deeply emotional reaction (wallowing in grief) to his latest career issues (UNFAIR!) is to be expected. For a good chunk of my life, I hadn't gone more than a few weeks without seeing my Conesie Bone on a regular basis. I had taken it for granted that I'd get my fix for another ten years or so without interruption. I was looking into an abyss bereft of the random, Harvard-trained childishness I'd come to love.

Naturally, I focused my regular meditations on my specific suffering. It's not often that one of my beloved TV gods of choice encounters a crisis, so I was in uncharted waters of concern and helplessness.

After a week of diligent focus during my meditation sessions everyday, a lightbulb popped in my brain. I remembered the Buddha's words:

"All conditioned things are subject to change."

Fig.3 Everything changes... except Conan's crazy hair

One of the most important teachings in all of Buddhism is the truth of impermanence, and that it only sucks if you expect anything different.

"Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get," Conan said in his farewell speech.

Buddhist monk and teacher Thich Nhat Hanh once said,"We should not complain about impermanence, because without impermanence, nothing is possible."

If a flower bud remains a bud, it won't show the beauty of the bloom. If the Ancient Egyptian pharaohs were still around, I doubt the pyramids would be half as wonderfully mysterious. If Conan remained at Late Night, we wouldn't know the epic gags and elaborate comedy bits of his reign on The Tonight Show.

Conan's own eccentric comedy style constantly gives us what is least expected, and it's fun, not tragic: a Fed-Ex Pope, a Gun-totin' NASCAR-driving Jesus, a Rocket Raccoon, absurd, cartoonish predictions for the Year 2000, If They Mated pairings of beautiful people that turn out the most hilariously hideous children, State Quarters that commemorate embarrassing events and people. And after all that, the Masturbating Bear jumps out.

Fig.4 Driving the desk straight into my heart

Once upon a time, I clearly remember Conan pointing out a certain foodstuff on his floor. "OH MY GOD! There's a burrito on the carpet!" he exclaimed. I don't recall the context, but I apparently thought it sufficiently hysterical enough to quote it in my LiveJournal several years ago.

That burrito, in its deliciously arbitrary location, is something special. It's strange, but useful and nutritious. But if we are not mindful of it, if we lose our focus and overlook it, either because it's so common or because it's simply unexpected, we'll sit on it.

A monk accidentally sitting on a burrito is funny because we realize the monk's mistake in not paying attention. We laugh because we see ourselves in the monk: distracted, unmindful of surroundings, sitting in an uncomfortable position atop a burrito. Who can say they haven't done something just as silly in their life?

As the last week of Tonight Show episodes aired one by one before my eyes, each conveyed a greater sense of scarcity than the last, until the nacre of rarity coated the last moments in a pearlescent lustre of awesome. Would the January 22nd episode of the Tonight Show With Conan O'Brien have been as precious without its limited edition status?

Impermanence teaches us beauty. If we would just look at every episode in that way, all would be precious. If we could look at everything in life that way, all would be precious.

Conan--who is arguably the one person who most realizes this whole NBC debacle is NOT the end of the world--has taught me to be humble, especially in the face of the unexpected. His self-deprecating manner and clownish antics have endeared him to me in a way no arrogant comic ever could.

The Buddha said:

"To the extent that a fool knows his foolishness, He may be deemed wise."

And the Universe knows how many bajillions of times Conan has said, "I'm an ass."

"Isn't that right, Cactus Chef playing Billy Joel's 'We Didn't Start the Fire' on a flute?"

Sure is, Conan. Sure is.

Fig.5 Celebrate the unexpected

Dashboard Buddha: Doctor Who Edition

"Mankind doesn't need warfare and bloodshed to prove itself. Everyday life can provide honour and valour. Let's hope that from now on this country can find its heroes in smaller places. In the most ordinary of deeds."
--The Doctor

Fig. 1 The Doctor is most definitely IN

In the series three finale of the new Doctor Who, the “Master”—a powerful Time Lord gone completely mad—seizes control of the planet Earth and rules with no mercy for an entire year. During that time, the Doctor is imprisoned, but he tells his trustworthy companion, Martha, to roam the world in order to develop a weapon against the Master: a special injection gun that will kill him instantly. The Master finds her and destroys the gun, but Martha is amused that the Master would think the gun was their entire plan.

“As if I would ask her to kill?” the Doctor says from his cage, displaying his usual reluctance to take life, even in such an extreme situation. Killing was the Master’s way of doing things, but that’s not the Doctor’s style.

Turns out the real plan was to the spread the word of the Doctor’s powers in order to get everyone on Earth to call out his name at a certain moment—a prayer of hope, if you will—which magically breaks the Doctor’s bonds and renders the Master powerless. Up until that moment, for the entire year, the Doctor had said time and time again that he had one thing to say to the Master. The Master knows what it is, and he takes it as a threat.

“I forgive you,” the Doctor says, embracing the fearful Master as a friend.

Despite all the Master had done to hurt and kill humans, the Doctor had no intention of harming him. The Master, after all, was the only other Time Lord in the entire universe, and the lonely Doctor didn’t wish to lower himself to a level of hatred and malice that would cut his population in half.

After the Doctor reverses time and the world goes back to what it was before the year of tyranny, Martha, upon looking out at all the people in London, says, “A time was, every single one of these people knew your name, now they’ve all forgotten you.”

“Good,” the Doctor says without hesitation, as he is happy to be perpetually uncredited for his part in saving lives.

Fig. 2 Make nice with your enemies

That Doctor Who episode reminded me of the tale of Ungali Maal and the Buddha. Ungali Maal was a fearsome man who wanted to sacrifice a thousand people to a goddess. He got his name, which in Sanskrit means “finger necklace” because he would take his victims’ fingers and string them together and wear them around his neck. After killing hundreds of people, Ungali Maal encountered the Buddha in a jungle and wanted to kill him as well.

The Buddha was fearless and said, “Take a leaf from that tree there, buddy.” Ungali Maal humored him and plucked a leaf from the tree. The Buddha then said, “Now put it back on the tree.”

Ungali Maal said, “Pfft, that’s impossible. You can’t put a leaf back once you’ve taken it.”

The Buddha said, “Then if you can’t put it back on, you shouldn’t pluck it off in the first place, my friend.”

Ungali Maal realized the real meaning of the Buddha’s lesson and immediately bowed down to him, the Buddha forgave him, and Ungali Maal the murderer went on to become a saint, one of the Buddha’s most devoted followers. The Buddha would never take credit for Ungali Maal’s transformation because he didn’t force him to be good, Ungali Maal himself made the decision to be good.


Practicing forgiveness and modesty is a very Buddha thing to do. It’s a very Muhammad thing to do. It’s a very Jesus thing to do. What if we treated all people like they’re the last of our kind?

Fig. 3 A little sonic screwdriver for the soul

Dashboard Buddha: Dune Edition

The universality factor is not one limited to Buddhism. Followers of every religion see aspects or images of their faith in everyday situations, culture, literature, and sometimes even tortillas and cinnamon buns. These “sightings” often end up telling us more about ourselves than about the religion, i.e. seeing the beauty of a blooming flower as evidence of a supreme being’s love of beauty or that we truly bask in the wonder that God would take time out of his busy daily schedule to manipulate the heating elements in toasters to create vaguely Jesus-shaped burn marks on bread.

But what is most telling about such visions is that we want to believe. We want to believe that the words of our gospels, hymns, pujas, mantras, and prayers apply to our lives in a fundamental and thinly veiled manner. This is natural and to be expected if we are ever going to push ourselves through toward heaven or enlightenment. Unfortunately, this expectation has to potential to limit our spiritual vision. If we only look for what is obvious as a sign that we are on the right track, we miss out on the infinite subtleties of the Universe. An outsider may not understand the spiritual significance of a Native American peyote ritual or a sweat house, simply because Jesus didn’t talk about it. Or someone may not understand the simple antiquated existence of Mennonites because they live in a metropolis and can’t imagine not having a Facebook account.

In my Dashboard Buddha entries, I will chronicle my attempts to lay the template of my beliefs over commonplace things. It could be any number of sci-fi fandoms, a weekend activity, a movie, a book, a TV show, or a single act of a person that struck me as an enlightened thing to do. I’ll make a concerted effort to turn my spiritual gaze toward the ubiquitous and the unintentionally profound. As George Clooney once said in O Brother, Where Art Thou?, I will “see the lilies of the goddamned field.”

I christen this column with a piece about that most famously misunderstood and deeply geeky of sci-fi adventures: Dune.

I must not fear.


Fear is the mind-killer.


Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.


I will face my fear.


I will permit it to pass over me and through me.


And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.


Only I will remain.

--Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear, "Dune," Frank Herbert

Fig. 1 You know you've made it when you're immortalized in Lego

I’m probably one of the few people who saw the original 1984 David Lynch film version of Dune and was positively mesmerized instead of utterly dismayed. I only saw it because I had been watching Twin Peaks re-runs and had a crush on Kyle MacLachlan and I did what any self-respecting teenage girl does when she has an actor infatuation: I watched everything I could find no matter the known quality or lack thereof. What resulted was affection more powerful than that between a girl and her Hollywood boyfriend. The world of Dune had been unleashed upon my impressionable, youthful sci-fi nerd brain and I was dutifully impressed.

When my dad told me I should read the book I was wholly gobsmacked. “There’s a book?! I must read this book!”

Soon after I started reading Dune, I had the privilege to be retroactively disappointed in David Lynch’s movie. This is the complete opposite experience for most people who love Dune. I believe my example proves more the undeniable genius of Frank Herbert than any backwardness on my part.

Dune, which is richly saturated in all manner of religious allusions, has become an exceptionally abundant goldmine for me. The flakes of Buddhism are shiny and plain to see.

At the beginning of the novel, Paul Atreides, the son of the Duke of Caladan, must undergo a special test. It’s a test that will help determine if he is the Kwisatz Haderach—a prophesied messiah in the “Duniverse” who is said to have the power to bridge time and space and inherit the memories of all his ancestors. The test, which involves placing your hand into a black box and feeling it burn with incredible unbearable pain, is designed to test one’s ability to see through fear, and therefore determine your human-ness (as opposed to “a machine created in the likeness of the human mind”—the ultimate sin). The box itself is nothing more than a box, but through “nerve induction,” you are made to believe that your hand is burning up inside.

Fig. 2 Walk without rhythm, you won't attract the Worm

During the test, Paul repeats the Litany Against Fear over and over in his mind and passes the test, never jerking his hand out of the box because he realizes that his fear is unfounded. He is the first male in history to pass this test, which makes the Bene Gesserit suspect that he is the Kwisatz Haderach.

The fear Paul experiences is just an altered perception of reality. Buddhism suggests that all of reality is perception. The key concept of the Diamond Sutra—so-called because it cuts through illusion as sharply as a diamond—is that nothing is what it seems.

Fig. 3 The Diamond Sutra is the Buddha's best friend

The Diamond Sutra invokes the example of a rose. What is a “rose?” It’s made up of thorns, petals, a stem, water, chlorophyll, some perfume. But each of these things alone is not a “rose.” That object we call “rose” is actually an amalgam of parts that constitute a “rose.” Just as we are not fully ourselves without our body parts and a soul or an ego and the people who surround us and call us by our name, a “person” is a combination of things. Nothing, except perhaps subatomic particles—and we can’t even be sure of that—is independent of other things.

We meditate upon this and discover a simple, yet weighty philosophical equation: a “rose” is a “rose” because it is not a “rose.” That’s Buddhist math for you.


Fig. 4 Kyle MacLachlan IS the Messiah because he is NOT the messiah... especially if he can't beat up Sting

A through-line theme of Dune is that the mahdi “Messiah” or “God-Emperor” involved is not simply a messiah or a god-emperor. Frank Herbert writes of “a world being the sum of many things.” The prescience and “other memory” of all the messiah’s past ancestors makes the messiah everything and everyone, dependent on everything and everyone. Muad’dib is Muad’dib because he is not Muad’Dib.

Muad’Dib, being the wise and prophetic man he is, would have agreed with Buddha implicitly: “There exists no separation between gods and men, one blends softly casual into the other.”

The preceding essay is in no way exhaustive of Dune’s spiritual ore. I promise it will surface again and again in the future, like a tea leaf stirring around and around, up and down in a hot teapot. Mmm spice tea...

Fig. 4 Dune in-joke du jour