Critical Mass

“For Christ plays in ten thousand places, lovely in limbs and lovely in eyes not his.”
-Gerard Hopkins


Fig.1 Eggs are for omelets, silly rabbit

My little cousin was raised Catholic. She went to a Catholic private school until eighth grade, serves at mass, goes to many church functions and camps and jokes about the priests’ varying sermon-giving skills with my grandma around the Easter dinner table.

One Easter Sunday we sat around and discussed the resurrection story, spun it into contemporary language, and in the end, realized that it was actually the craziest Spring Break “Disciples Gone Wild!” vacation story ever.

Just imagine Jesus explaining it to his mother:

“I don’t know what happened. One minute I was at a party, drinking with my buddies, the next, I wake up in a cave wrapped in a shroud. Then I looked at my hands and went, ‘Whoa, where the hell did those come from? And all these scars on my back and my head and this gash in my side… I swear, I had no clue what went on between Passover dinner and the cave, so I called Father and he moved the stone out of the doorway for me and went to find the guys.

“I asked Peter and Paul what happened. They were all like, ‘Dude, we thought you were dead,’ and I was like, ‘You morons!’ Son of God here! I am one with the Father and the Holy Spirit! Get with the program!

Fig.2 TTYL

“They said that after the dinner we went to Gethsemane and got into so much trouble. Judas sold me out and the police came and arrested me and took me to trial and made me drag a cross through town and crucified me! Can you believe that? Wait, you saw all that? Holy shit. I don’t remember a thing.

“I mean, gese, listen: we came into Jerusalem, got A-list treatment at first, did some seriously awesome miracles… we were on a roll. Sure, Thomas forgot to book the restaurant I wanted for Passover, and the new place only let us all sit on once side of the table, but he came through. We were having fun! And then all this crap happened. *sigh* Tell you what. Life down here sucks. I’m out of here in 40 days. No, really, I’m gonna go live with Dad for a while. I think it’ll be the best thing for everyone.”

I apologize to Jesus for that, but I don’t think he sweats the small stuff.



Fig.3 Bad carpentry

As I mentioned above, I have Catholics in my family. My grandmother grew up on a tobacco farm in Puerto Rico and has been Catholic all her life. I’ve been to mass a few times for happy and sad functions, and my cousin, with whom I am very close, is very active in her Catholic youth groups. My brother-in-law grew closer to his Catholicism while abroad in the Army. It’s not foreign to me at all, and frankly, compared to my protestant Christian upbringing, it never seemed all that different from what I saw at the Methodist church.

Stephen Colbert showed me the difference, though. My in-depth Catholic education sprung from him, and trickled into several pools and eddies along the way.

It began with one of Stephen’s favorite guests: Father James Martin, SJ, a.k.a. “The Colbert Report Chaplain.” He first came on the show to discuss the newly discovered letters of Mother Theresa that outlined her lengthy “dark night of the soul” and struggle with her thoughts on the “absence of God” in her life. Stephen, in his uppity and ironically iconoclastic “Stephen” guise, instantly condemned her for her lack of faith and Father Martin defended her, explaining the difference between not believing in God and believing in God’s absence.

The conversation was conducted in a manner that fans have come to expect from Stephen Colbert: hard-lined but respectful. His words and reactions are almost always hard-lined on the surface, but the questions and retorts actually display Stephen’s deep understanding of and respect for religion, especially the nuances of Christianity.

Fig.4 If Edward Norton doesn't play him

in a biopic, I don't know who else will

Father Martin, gamely playing along with Stephen’s otherwise inflammatory inquiries, displayed that winning combination of spirituality with a sense of humor and I couldn’t resist. I went to the library and checked out his book, My Life With The Saints. With this book, he sets out to provide a bit of a primer on why Catholics revere the saints, one of the biggest sticking points in the tension between Catholicism and protestant Christianity. Written in a warm, inviting, and good-natured tone, his stories of how several different saints informed touchstones or turning points at various periods in his life beautifully revealed the great value in this tenant of Catholicism that I had never really considered before, and it inspired me more than I could have imagined.

In the book, he details his childhood, his conversion from a business career in corporate finance to Jesuit seminary, his missionary trips to Uganda and Jamaica, his pilgrimage to Lourdes and spiritual retreats, and all along the way, he is introduced to different saints’ life stories. Each story somehow corresponds with a struggle or miracle in his own life, and in this way, he befriends them, coming to know them and all their flaws and profound faith in God as close companions in his heart and soul. As a Jesuit, Father Martin interprets this experience of the saints as just another way to see God in everything, and to learn from such visions and visitations.

Fig.5 I bring you Peeps

As I read My Life With The Saints, I came to realize how much we shared in our spiritual experience. None of my saints appear on silver medallions or on prayer cards or will ever be canonized by the Pope, but in that they pop up at advantageous times in my life and help guide it toward enlightenment. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are as good as Ignatius of Loyola and Thérèse de Lisieux. Charlie Chaplin is my Patron Saint of Creativity. Michael J. Fox is my Patron Saint of Persistence. Dr. Temperance “Bones” Brennan is my Patron Saint of Logic. Paula Deen is my Patron Saint of Indulgence. Connie and Katrina are my patron Saints of Nerdiness. Elissa Hunter is my Patron Saint of Exploration… and Manatees.

It’s a distinctly Society of Jesus trait to “love God in all things—and all things in God,” which is a challenge to see God everywhere and learn from it. It’s a lesson not unlike that of Buddhism. If God is Wisdom, Truth, and Love, then Wisdom, Truth, and Love must be sought in all things. I see them in my saints everyday.

Happy Easter!

The Hanukkah bush is still burning

“Does Hanukkah commemorate events profound and holy?
A king who came to save the world?”

“No. Oil that burned quite slowly.”

--Stephen Colbert & Jon Stewart singing “Can I interest you in Hanukkah?”


Fig. 1 My sister, hungry for Hanukkah

You gotta hand it to Christians. They really have a lot of pizazz in their holiday celebrations. Whatever it means to you, you can’t deny the jocularity of the Christmas season. Pageantry, singing, sparkling lights, tinsel, brightly colored presents and party costumes and dresses--it’s no wonder the English language has developed the expression “Gay as Christmas.”

The Jews, on the other hand, are comparatively “meh” about the old “sensible alternative to Christmas,” Hanukkah. That’s not to say they haven’t tried. I mean, eight days of presents certainly trumps one day, but it’s often described as an exercise in delayed satisfaction instead of a week of gift-giving bonanzas. The food is great, though! What’s more deliciously American than oil-soaked potatoes and jelly donuts? I’m surprised they don’t use that in their marketing campaign more often.

Fig. 2 Jon tries to convince Stephen that Hanukkah is cool

For me, celebrating Hanukkah has meant profoundly understanding every nuance in a finely-crafted jokes Jewish comedians make about it. The subtle but illustrative dropping of Yiddish terminology and references to the Maccabean battles of old have proven extremely hilarious in the right context. And I get stares from people who are obviously not Jewish “it-getters.”

Two years ago, I went menorah shopping in preparation of my upcoming Hanukkah festivities. Did you know that you could spend as much on a menorah as you do on a Christmas tree? They last longer though, and many become heirlooms, which certainly sticks with the Hanukkah theme of conservation. Can you imagine having the same artificial Christmas tree in your family for generations? Didn’t think so.

Menorahs are nowhere near as messy, though instead of kvetching about pine needles and preventing the dog from drinking the tree water, I had a festive time scraping melted candle wax off my mantel. A handy tip: to get the wax off the menorah itself, put it in the freezer for an hour, then chip off the frozen wax. Much easier on the lower back than hauling the tree into the attic.

Fig. 3 The Jewish equivalent of an artificial Christmas tree

The first time I insisted on giving Hanukkah a try, my family already had years of trained experience making latkes. My mom, the multi-talented cook who always loves trying new recipes from all walks of life, taught us the joys of shredding potatoes and squeezing out their copious amounts of water to make the pancakes stay in one piece in the pan. They are, by far, one of the greatest contributions to culinary art ever. Smothered with sour cream and chives (or applesauce, if you’re traditionally-minded) with a side of Hebrew Nationals and some carrot coins… oh baby. It gives you the energy for days worth of dreidel spinning.

We also challenged ourselves to giving eight gifts to each other every evening after lighting the candles. We were already bogged down with buying Christmas gifts, so they usually amounted to very small tokens involving inside jokes and edible treats. My dad, the creative one, came up with an unexpectedly complex plot to crush us with his gift-giving and storytelling prowess. At the time, I’m not sure he fully appreciated what he had gotten himself into, but I’m glad he did it.

Each night, sitting on the sofa in the living room, he revealed a small chapter of a Hanukkah story he had conjured, and each night he gave us something related to the story, much like how Kindergarten teachers use props to read children’s books to their students. It was a story about a young man with a magical “Gelt Horse” and a magical basket that filled up with coins every night so he could save enough money to marry a young lady. Dad gave us each a small plastic toy pony with a Star of David Sharpied onto its rump, then a small basket, then an increasing amount of golden Sacagawea dollars appeared in the baskets. They doubled every night. You can imagine that we ended up with a handsome sum when we ran out of candles.

Fig. 4 The purebred Gelt Horse

Best lesson in saving money EVER.

Thank you, Dad, for making your little girl’s first Hanukkah a memorable one.

As for the real reason people celebrate Hanukkah, its details are thought provoking in their outward mediocrity. Judah Maccabee led the Jewish revolt against the tyrannical Antiochus in Judea around 164 BCE. When the Maccabees took back control of the temple, they found only one day’s worth of the consecrated oil needed for daily ceremonies, but during the eight days it took to make more oil, the oil they had never burned out. The story was considered too recent and inconsequential at the time of compiling the Jewish testament, so it didn’t make the final edit. Hanukkah as a commemoration ranks as a minor holiday compared to Pesach (Passover) or Yom Kippur.

So why has it risen to the rank of the most popularly known of Jewish holidays (in America, at least)? The tradition of gift-giving and the focus on childhood activities may have been installed to give the holiday more chutzpah and a means of Jewish immigrants to assimilate into American culture during the country’s nation-building era. But as Jon Stewart tends to say regarding his own interfaith family’s holiday observations, “Christmas blows the doors off of Hanukkah.”

Fig. 5 Even our dog Harmon got into the spirit

Most fascinating to me, though, is how each traditional image we associate with Hanukkah still steadfastly embodies reference to the Maccabbean story. The dreidel, something so innocuous and seemingly random, has the Hebrew letters Nun, Hay, Gimel, Shin, which stands for the Hebrew phrase: “Nes Gadol Haya Sham” (A Great Miracle Happened There”), referring to the miracle of the eight-day oil. The nine-armed menorah (as opposed to the ancient traditional seven-armed menorah) is actually called a Hanukkiah (related to the Hebrew word for “to dedicate”), denoting its use as a lamp for “dedicating” the new temple that Judah had captured from Antiochus.

Hanukkah, as a minor holiday, is simply not built to be the kind of all-encompassing epic celebration of anything as world changing as a messiah coming to Earth, which is part of the reason why it’s got flyweight muscle in the pop culture match between it and that heavyweight champion, Christmas. Hanukkah basically had the unfortunate luck of occurring adjacent to Christmastime and is compared to Jesus’ birthday by virtue of proximity, which is totally fakakta.

Fig. 6 If Martha Stewart were Jewish...

Hanukkah was designed for something else entirely. It’s a small holiday that has, in the grand history of things, made the others still possible. Hanukkah commemorates the little miracles that make all the difference. Little miracles like oil-fried latkes with sour cream. Mmmm.

How to win the cosmic war on Christmas

"... the only way to win a cosmic war is to refuse to fight in one."
--Reza Aslan


Fig. 1 Season's Greetings, Earthlings

At Thanksgiving dinner this year, my uncle made a curious observation about my aunt's shopping behavior. She, my little cousin and my grandma have made it a tradition to wake up at 3 am every Black Friday and rush off to a major mall to take advantage of the bajillions of holiday doorbuster deals that surface every year right after Thanksgiving. I thought it was a harmless tradition, giving those three some time together doing what a large percentage of folks do this time of year. Nothing special. But my uncle mentioned that my aunt would buy one or two of that year's "hot" and "hard-to-find" item for the sole purpose of bragging rights, then return it a few days later. She did it to prove that she had the shopping skillz to grab a certain DVD or toy before anyone else, then get a refund after the stampede of shoppers was over.

I said to my aunt, "You know there are desperate people who would probably commit a hate crime against you for doing that."

She said, "I know!" and laughed.

Fig. 2 The Cathedral of Shopping: The Mall of America

Earlier, while waiting for the turkey to be sliced, I was in my cousin's room, assisting her with decorating some black t-shirts with fabric paint and glitter. She had three of them, each with their names on the back and "Black Friday 09" plastered across the front. They claimed that they all wore the same thing so it was easier for them to find each other if they got lost in the "running of the crazed consumers." I thought it was fairly practical at the time, but in light of my uncle's comments, I saw this Black Friday activity for what it truly was: a sport. They had uniforms and a healthy sense of competition. Well, maybe not so healthy. Shopping for Christmas has become a full-contact sport requiring a certain level of cynicism and defiance with a full-throttle ego boost that accompanies success.

I love my aunt, cousins and grandma dearly, and I'm certainly not judging them for commiting a mild offense against other early bird wacko types who place way too much value on obtaining half a dozen Zhu Zhu robotic hamsters, but seriously... is this the real problem with Christmas?

Fig. 3 Worship the almighty Flying Christmas Presents

The mainstream media outlets (and Stephen Colbert) have been reporting on the so-called "War on Christmas" for years. They focus mainly on Wal-Mart greeters' usage of "Happy Holidays" over "Merry Christmas" and overly PC people shoe-horning in holiday wishes that include Chanukah, Kwanzaa, Eid, Festivus, etc. into their holiday office parties and gift-giving activites. Because God forbid we respect all the less-than-overcommercialized sacred festivals of other religious traditions celebrated by citizens of this country. This hyped-up paranoia about Christmas supposedly getting usurped by other holidays is patently absurd, of course, since the real threat to Christmas is the deep-seated materialism that surrounds it. The true meaning of Christmas, in my opinion, is not at war with outside aggresors, but from within.

Yes, this argument has been raised as well, and by the very same people who bring up the anti-PC argument. I only invoke the argument because as a Buddhist convert, I've had to recently reinterpret my reasons for my continued observance of many holidays, as well as summon a mission statement regarding my observance of Hanukkah, Diwali, Passover, Samhain, Holi, Yom Kippur, etc. in an effort to further my multipraying quest.

Fig. 4 Jon can't believe dreidels can't compete with Santa Claus

I could have woken up one day and played the "I'm not Christian" card and declared that I didn't have to participate in anything that wasn't related to my new spiritual path. Hey, it would save me a shitload of cash and headaches every year, wouldn't it? I could have sat back and amused myself by anthropoligically analyzing all the fun out of these gauntlets people perrenially embark upon in order to please their money gods. It would have been too easy to just excise myself from the holiday fray and meditate on the futility of materialism.

The year I converted myself, that first year I had to experience Christmas without the churchgoing obligations or the latent guilt of not really believing the nativity story and how to reconcile that with the obsession over Santa Claus and elves and fruitcake and inflatable lawn decorations and credit card debt, I was free. I was free to understand.

I understood for the first time how other religions effected Christmas. And despite what I've heard from a particular cynic who shall remain anonymous, it's not a bad thing that Christianity has been touched by religions that came before it. Jesus wasn't born in December, but more likely around the time Jews celebrate Sukkot in the fall. Or perhaps in the spring. Christians today celebrate in winter because that's when pagans celebrate Yule and Saturnalia and other winter festivals, and Emperor Constantine cleverly moved the date to make it easier for pagan converts such as himself. Santa Claus is derived from the Turkish Saint Nicholas and the popular back story of his life is drawn from Germanic folk traditions. Dragging an evergreen tree into your house and lighting it up to remind you that life persists through the bitter winter? How totally pagan of you!


Fig. 5 Jesus wishes he were born on Christmas

Christmas is not "diluted" by these non-Christian influences, but enhanced. It has been enriched by the numerous converts through its history, converts who brought their own flavors to the big melting pot of Christmas. Gift-giving, baking, decorating, visiting with family, and parties have basically become secular activities in December, and this captures the distinctly American influence on Christmas: sharing it with everyone, no matter the race or creed. With this in mind, it's difficult to put stock in the paranoia, the superficial culture war borne out of fear and ethnocentricism. The problem the warriors for Christmas have is with themselves, and unable to appreciate or recognize the beauty of the Christmas collage, they lapse into self-loathing without even knowing it.

Fig. 6 Who's to say the Festivus Pole doesn't enhance Christmas?

I now fully understand what Christmastime means to me: family gatherings, seeing far-flung friends, creating homemade gifts, lighting my menorah, baking Martha Stewart cookies with my sister, watching holiday classics like National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, Lord of the Rings, and Doctor Zhivago, playing A Colbert Christmas music on an endless loop, enjoying the laughably mild winters of Florida, but still freezing my ass off to see the Geminid meteor shower on a clear cold night.

If Christmas to you means a false sense of "purity" over a rich medley, or if it means casting aside all other holidays in an effort to "preserve" a homogeneous past that never existed, then you're participating in a cosmic war that cannot be won by anyone involved.

I choose not to participate in the cosmic war. I choose to participate in Christmas. It's the more Buddhist thing to do. It's the more American thing to do. It's the human thing to do.

Fig. 7 Totally Kosher.

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.

The Church of The X-Files

“A dream is an answer to a question we haven’t learned how to ask.”
--Fox Mulder

Fig. 1 My lifelong mantra

Aliens and monsters and science fiction don’t strike most people as religious subjects, which is unfortunate, since science fiction has provided human culture (especially American culture) with a modernized means of exploring the intangible, the improbable, and especially the spiritual. The essential foundation of all science fiction is a profound sense of the unknown, paired with an insatiable craving to explore it. Whether it’s Star Trek, Star Wars, Dune, or Doctor Who… the world of Sci-Fi has copious denominations to follow, and while I dabble in many, The X-Files was my first and foremost.

When I started considering my new path, it had been years since The X-Files had ended. David Duchovny left the show and I denounced seasons eight and nine as extra-canonical and ultimately apostate. Seeing people on the internet hail the Mulderless episodes as “way better than the old ones” was a sign of the "a-pop-calypse" (copyright Stephen Colbert). The few times I tuned in those last two years I was met with disappointment or depression. When they killed off the Lone Gunmen—those lovable conspiracy theorists—I felt the way I did when I accidentally killed Mulder in the X-Files computer game: absolute horror. I held a funeral service for them in my heart. When I heard the last episode ever was going to air, I watched out of pure morbid curiosity, and my heart sank like never before. It was a death in the family.

In the darkness of all this, I missed the comfort I had from being an "X-Phile:" the knowledge that a bajillion other people were happy to be just as enthralled as I was. I wanted back that absolute knowledge of “we are not alone,” and that the Lone Gunmen weren’t truly dead and somehow lived on in spirit. I needed that same coziness again.

The Mega-Cons in Orlando gave me an annual rejuvenation. Thousands of people answering the call to share their love for all things sci-fi, mingling with followers of various fandoms, and getting a bit of trade done while they’re at it—it’s a classic Meccan Hajj-like experience. I’ve attended with my friends and my cousin over the years, and I cannot deny the warm fuzzy sense of brotherhood and sisterhood I feel each time. It is as thick as the stagnant aroma of the unbathed shoving and dodging through narrow aisles as they search and haggle for discontinued Dungeons & Dragons gear. Spiritual connection through the exchange of trading cards, movie props and action figures. After going there, the Jedis’ wish to be recognized as an official religion doesn’t strike you as all that crazy.


Fig. 2 Nerd Hajj

Turns out, because of The X-Files, I had a lot more to go on than I thought.

In retrospect, The X-Files informed my spiritual framework more than anything else. I was always most enamored with the heady intuitive philosophies Mulder would spout every week. Partnered with Scully’s wonderfully rational scientific perspective, the FBI agents schooled me on open-minded, multi-faceted exploration. Mulder’s belief in the paranormal and Scully’s Christian faith informed their investigations, along with Mulder’s search for proof and Scully’s scientific analysis. Superimposed, Mulder and Scully are not opposing forces, but the archetype of Seeker—one who searches for Wisdom and Truth wherever it is to be found.

I had that going for me, but no tried-and-true method of applying it to my life. I desired a salve that preferably lasted beyond the restrictions of studio contracts, Nielsen ratings, and myopic idiots who call themselves “fans.”

Luckily, I still had Comedy Central-style fake news. Through this trying period of my spiritual life, I could still depend on Jon and Stephen for insight.

Fig. 3 The God Machine

On February 22, 2006, the acclaimed American author and spiritual teacher Lama Surya Das visited The Colbert Report. Stephen always conducts interviews while in his overzealous and stentorian right-wing character, and these encounters are infamously awkward, no matter whom he wrestles into the chair across from him. But not that day.

Lama Das so politely shilled his new book—Awakening The Buddha Within—that I made up my mind right then that I had to read it. He also managed to match every one of Stephen’s verbal thrusts, as silly and reactionary as they were. Not once did the Lama drop his good-humored smile. I later learned that this was the smile of the Buddha.

Buying used books off of Amazon was my Olympic sport, so it wasn’t long before I was devouring these new pages. I loved Lama Das’ simple, genteel tone and how he didn’t proselytize anything but being happy. His little tips on meditations and everyday language had me entertained while I learned some basic Buddhist teachings.

Fig. 4 Life's alarm clock

The improbable happened: I was jazzed about a universally acknowledged religious subject, and it was no coincidence that it was Buddhism. The Buddha, before he was The Buddha, embarked on a historic and legendary path that challenged his perceptions, introduced him to the unfamiliar, which ultimately enlightened him. He took the classic path of Seeker.

Mulder and Scully were the first Buddhists in my life.

When I found out that His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama believed it possible for there to be extraterrestrials in the universe, I was on board.

Fig. 5 Take me to your Buddha

Following the Buddha’s “come and see for yourself” attitude toward education, I soon wanted to know the holidays, the rituals, the cultural details and the thousands of years of human stories behind all religions. I had stepped in the path of the automatic sliding door at the Sam’s Club of World Theology and I suddenly had unlimited credit and countless aisles to peruse. I took the Buddha’s open-armed welcome into the stream of consciousness as an invitation to research everything and to understand—not just tolerate—all the religions on Earth. Or at least as many as people could post on the internet and put into TV and movies.

This mechanism for seeking put my feet upon a ginormous Möbius strip, a path that twists and exists in a constant state of interdependence. The further you go, the more it folds back on itself, revealing new connections along the way, without ever meeting an edge of separation. This is and always has been my path, but I finally recognized its origin as a legitimate one.

The light in my life had been shining on me always… from a screen.

Multimedia is the Brahma, the Vishnu, and the Shiva of my education. It birthed it, nurtures it, and will ultimately end it whenever my spirit merges into the Universe. The Universe, or "The Vibe" as a friend of mine likes to call it, is synonymous with "God" in my vocabulary now, as something so all-encompassing I could never imagine being outside of it. I want to spread my fingers towards the very perimeter of ignorance, and then reach past it.


Fig. 6 Hubble "saw" 10,000 galaxies in a portion of the sky 1/50th the size of the full moon

In that spirit, I invoke Ganesh's blessings, for he removes all obstacles. And I recall the words of Rumi, the Sufi poet, so I can begin this little forum with an open mind and heart:

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing or rightdoing, there is a field. I'll meet you there.