BUDDHA RISING
Out of the monastery, into the living room

By Perry Garfinkel
Photographs by Steve McCurry

http://www7.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/0512/feature4/index.html

[Practitioner at Colorado’s Shambhala Mountain Center
use color to gain clarity and compassion]

[Looks like a hit: Monks at Nova Scotia’s Gampo Abbey
practice for their annual softball game against thje
local volunteer fire department. “We always get
trounced,” says Ngedon Sangpo, far left. “But all we
want is a good game.” The monks lost, 19-7, but
Buddhism is gaining western followers drawn by its
ideals of pacifism, selflessness, and social action.]


[People gather at the home of Paul Pryde (purple
shirt) in Washington D.C., practice SOka Gakkai, one
of many sects to flower from Buddhism’s source: the
2500-year-old teaching of Siddharta Gautama. “Whether
you’re happy or not has less to do with circumstances
than with how you perceive them,” says pryde.
“Buddhism offers a regimen to live a happier life.”]

The man who taught me the most about Buddhism was not
a monk with a shaved head. He did not speak Sanskrit,
and he did not live in Himalayan monastery. In fact he
wasn’t even a Buddhist. He was Carl taylor, a lifelong
San Franciscan who looked to be in his late 40s. at
the moment, he appeared cold, sitting upright in a bed
rolled into the gardens off the hospice ward a Laguna
Honda Hospital. It was a blue-sky summer afternoon,
but in this city that often means a bone-penetrating
chill. Carl was dying of cancer.

I was spending a week with the Zen Hospice Project, a
Buddhist organization whose volunteers assist the
staff of the 25-bed hospice unit at the hospital,
perhaps the largest public long term care facility in
the United States. The project, now emulated around
the world, uses two of Buddhism central
teachings—awareness of the present moment and
compassion for others—as tools to help bring a degree
of dignity and humanity to those in the last stages of
their lives. They are not easy lesson to learn.

I sat beside Carl, helping adjust the well-worn jacket
he used as a blanket. He wore his terminal diagnosis
with resigned bravado. I tried to make small talk, but
it was going terribly. What solace can you offer
someone who doesn’t have long to live and know it?
“So what kind of work do, er, did you do?” Long
silence. Slow drag on his cigarette. An eternity
passed as we watched a white tuft of cloud break the
blue monotony and move across the sky.

“I don’t really talk about my past.”
OK. Squirming to keep the conversation moving, I
mentally scrolled through my list of questions. If I
couldn't ask about the past and there was no sense in
asking about the future, that left only the present.
And in the present, I was learning, there are no
questions; there is just being. This made me feel
awkward at first: Stripped of his questions, the
journalist has no identity.

But Carl seemed content to have me just sit there, my
company alone helping ease some of his suffering. Once
I accepted that I had nothing to do and nowhere to go,
I relaxed. Carl looked sideways at me and smiled. We
both understood I had just learned a small lesson.
Together we watched another white cloud go by.

That week there were other lessons drawing on
Buddhism—lessons about the impermanence of life, about
our attachment to the way we want things to be, and
our disappointment when those things don't come to
pass. About physical and mental suffering and about
the value of what Buddhists call sangha, which best
translates as "community." But most of all I saw how
the lessons one man learned in India 2,500 years ago
have been adapted to the modern world.

Around the globe today there is a new Buddhism. Its
philosophies are being applied to mental and physical
health therapies and to political and environmental
reforms. Athletes use it to sharpen their game. It
helps corporate executives handle stress better.
Police arm themselves with it to defuse volatile
situations. Chronic pain sufferers apply it as a
coping salve. This contemporary relevance is
triggering a renaissance of Buddhism—even in countries
like India, where it had nearly vanished, and in
China, where it has been suppressed.

Buddhism is no longer just for monks or westerner with
disposable time and income to dabble in things
Eastern. Christian and Jew practice it. African
Americans meditate alongside Japanese Americans. In
the U.S. alone, some experts estimate, there are
roughly three million practicing Buddhist. And
according to a 2004 study, more than 25 million
Americans believe that Buddhist teaching have had an
important influence on their spirituality.

The Zen Hospice project is one example of Socially
Engaged Buddhism,” a term coined by the Buddhist monk
Thich Nhat Hanh, who was exile from Vietnam in the
1960s for his nonviolent antiwar activities. Still
engaged at the age of 79, he traveled in his native
country for three months this year—the 30th
anniversary of the Communist Party takeover of
Vietnam—spreading Buddhist teaching where he had once
been a pariah.

In southwestern France, at his Plum Village meditation
center, he regularly hosts, among others, Palestinians
and Israelis in workshops on conflict resolution and
peace negotiation. These session often begin with
embraces.

“It all starts with a spin on an old adage: ‘Don’t
just do something, sit there,’” he says in a wisp of
voice. A rail-thin man with large ears and deep-set
eyes, Hanh is sitting on the porch of his cottage
overlooking verdant Bordeaux vineyards. “With all this
socially engaged work, first you must learn what the
Buddha learned, to still the mind. Then you don’t take
action; action takes you.”

*

Siddharttha Gautama, who later came to be known as the
Buddha, was born around 500 B.C. near the foothills of
the Himalaya, the son of a local king. In the
centuries after his death, as his reputation grew,
fact intertwined with myth, and a legendary Buddha was
born as well. In one version the Buddha toddled out of
his mother’s side at birth and took seven steps in
each cardinal direction, with lotuses appearing under
his feet.

Most versions agree, however, that at age 29 the
married prince, disillusioned with his opulence,
ventured out of his palace and for the first time
encountered old age, sickness, and death. So moved was
he by this brush with the painful realities of life
that he left his comfortable home to search for an end
to human suffering, for six years he sithstood all the
deprivation of his fellow seekers—he fasted, he
observed silence, he lived alone in a cave—until he
realized he had not found what he sought.

There must be another way, he thought, a “middle way”
between indulgence and asceticism. He decided to sit
in meditation under one of the broad pipal trees that
dotted the plain of the Ganges River until he found
his answer. He examined his thoughts to discover how
and why human beings often create their own mental
suffering.  He emerged from under the shade of the
trees as the Buddha, which simply means “enlightened
one.” (the tree, Ficus religiosa, is now known as
bodhi tree). Until his death at 80, the Buddha
traveled the corridor of what are now India’s Bihar
and uttar Pradesh states, sharing his insights with
all who listen.

His ideas were based not on faith, as in other
religions, but on empirical observation, starting with
his own outside the palace. He arrived at Four Noble
Truths: 
1.      There is suffering in the world, whether mental or
physical
2.      Suffering occurs because of too great an attachment
to one’s desires
3.      By eliminating the cause—attachment—you can
eliminate suffering
4.      There is a method to eliminating the cause, called
Eight Fold Path, a guide to “right” behavior and
thoughts.

The eight fold path is a moral compass leading to a
life of wisdom (right views, right intent), virtue
(right speech, conduct, livelihood), and mental
discipline (effort, mindfulness, concentration).

One of the key practices of the Eightfold Path is
meditation. Though the technique may differ from sect
to sect—alone or in groups, facing a wall or fellow
mediators, eyes closed or slightly open, in silence or
chanting phrases—many types begin by paying close
attention to your own breathing. There is nothing
mystical or other worldly about it, no levitation, no
out-of-body experience. With each in and out reach,
your awareness becomes more refined, more focused.

Breathing in…you become aware of the sensation of your
body, and of your most distracting organ, your mind.
Breathing out…..you experience a release of body
tension, and you struggle to bring your wandering mind
back to your breath. In….the air tickles the tip of
your nose. Out….the pain in your knees subside, the
mind still meanders. In……shouldn’t I be doing
something more useful with this time? Out…….who’s the
“I” in that last thought? With ever more subtlety,
eventually you come to understand, sometimes
painfully, sometimes joyfully, what the Buddha
realized. “We are what we think,” he said.

The Buddha did not intend his ideas to become
religion; in fact, he discouraged following any path
or advice without testing it personally. His dying
words as it’s told, were: “You must each be lamp unto
yourselves.” Nonetheless, within several hundred year
of his death, the Buddha’s teaching had taken strong
hold. Today, with 379 million followers, Buddhism is
the world’s fifth largest religion, behind
Christianity with 2.1 billion followers, Islam with
1.3 billion, Hinduism with 870 million, and
traditional Chinese religion with 405 million.

Some people argue that the Buddha was right, that
Buddhism should not be categorized as a religion but
as a philosophy or form of psychology. After all,
unlike other religions, there is no supreme being, and
it encourages you to question—even
challenge—authority.

There are those in my generation, growing up in the
latter half of the 20th century, who were attracted to
these traits of Buddhism. It was non dogmatic (we
distrusted authority); it relied on evidence you could
test with you own senses (ours was the age when
science became the new god); it suggested that you,
not some external force, hold the answer to your own
happiness (we were on the front lines of the me
decade); it saw your mind as both the obstacles and
the key to truly understanding yourself (enter Dr.
Freud and psychoanalysis).

While many Europeans and Americans are drawn to the
ornate and complex rituals of Tibetan and Japanese Zen
Buddhism, others seem to prefer the simplicity of
southeast Asia’s Theravada Buddhism. From that
tradition, I practice vipassana, “insight” or
“mindfulness” meditation. This has not brought me
enlightenment—yet—but it has helped bring sharper
focus some of the questions I grapple with: Who am I?
Why am I here? How can I achieve lasting happiness?

In a tribute to Buddhism’s adaptability, the same
meditation technique I use has become the centerpiece
of an innovative prison reform program spreading
throughout India.

“I’m not doing time, I’m doing vipassana,” says
prisoner Hyginus Udegbe. Having waited four and a half
years for his cocaine possession case to be heard,
Hyginus, who is Nigerian, has been kept at Tihar Jail
Complex in New Delhi. It’s one of Asia’s largest
prisons, with almost 13,000 inmates, more than twice
its capacity. The overcrowded conditions, inadequate
sanitation, and a staff that sometimes resort to
oppressing and dehumanizing prisoners make it a
living, incarcerated hell.

But for Hyginus and thousand of other inmates in
India, practicing vipassana has transformed prison
into an oasis for self-reflection and rehabilitation.
There are  silent ten-day retreats every other week in
a section of Jail No. 4 cordoned off as a permanent
retreat site. Prisoners can repeat the sessions every
three months, and many do.

“I had high blood pressure and couldn’t sleep,” says
Hyginus, a barrel-chested, bald six footer who looks
more like prizefighter than the meditating type.
Behind us, painted on a high wall is a yellow wheel,
the traditional symbol of the Buddha’s teaching, or
Dharma. “After my first retreat here,” Hyginus says, “
My pressure dropped, and I slept ten hours. I used to
have quick temper. Now I feel like a dove, very
peaceful. I am so much happier.

I am struck even more by conversation with a man who
has been a Tihar prison officer for 14 years. He’d
done three retreats here, all voluntarily. “I just
wanted to experience for myself this thing I had heard
about, vipassana, “he tells me. “Before the course, I
used to beat the prisoners. I felt so much stress it
turned me into a monster. After the course, I felt
more human.” Now prisoners come to him for counseling.

[Bearing witness to the Holocaust, Grover Gauntt
meditates during an annual Buddhist-led retreat at the
Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp, where more than a
million people, mostly Jews, were killed by the Nazis.
Where does such evil come from? “It’s in each of us,”
says Gauntt, co-leader of the interfaith retreat.
“Each of us has to face it, own it, deal with it.”]

“we are all prisoners—of our minds,” says Satya
Narayan Goenka, an 80-year-old Burmese businessman
turned meditation teacher who has spearheaded the
vipassana resurgence in India. “Where better to
recognize this than behind bars?” Indeed, in prison
around the world, meditation groups now meet
regularly. Practicing these techniques, studies show,
prisoners ease their own suffering and inflict less on
others.

“I’m not teaching Buddhism,” Goenka tells me
emphatically when I meet him at his home in Mumbai, he
is a big graceful man, with a booming bass voice. “I’m
not interested in converting people from one organized
religion to another organized religion. I’m interested
in converting people from misery to happiness, from
bondage to liberation, from cruelty to compassion.

“There’s no mystery to it,” he continues with a
chuckle, his ample belly shaking. “Vipassana means ‘to
see things as they really are.’ After watching your
breath for a few days, you begin to pay close
attention your sensation. You realize very quickly
that you are obsessed with cravings—food, warmth, all
sorts of desires—and aversion to unpleasant things.
Then you realize the impermanence of it all.
Everything changes. From these simple understandings,
discovered by each person starting with Buddha
himself, an entire doctrine eventually unfolds.”

As Buddhism migrated out of India, it took three
routes. To the south, monks brought it by land and sea
to Sri Lanka and Southeast Asia. To the north, they
spread the world across Central Asia and along the
Silk Road into China, from where it eventually made
its way to Korea and Japan. A later wave took Buddhism
over the Himalayan to Tibet. In all the countries,
local customs and cosmologies were integrated with the
Buddhist basics: the magic and masks of the
demon-fighting lamas in Tibet, the austerity of a Zen
monk sitting as a rock in a perfectly raked Japanese
garden. Over centuries, Buddhism developed an
inclusive style, one reason it has endured so long and
in such different cultures. People sometimes compare
Buddhism to water: It is clear, transparent and it
takes the form and color of the vase into which it’s
poured.

And yet from the start, the spread of Buddhism—a
peaceful process in itself—has periodically, met with
hodtility. In china, in A.D. 842, the Tang Emperor
Wuzong began to persecute foreign religions. Some
4,600 Buddhist monasteries were annihilated, priceless
works of art were destroyed, and about 260,000 monks
and nuns were forced to return to lay life.

History repeated itself with the Chinese communist
party’s attempt to suppress Buddhism—most visibly in
Tibet. According to the international campaign for
Tibet, since 1949 more than 6,000 Tibetan Buddhist
monasteries, nunneries, and temples have been
destroyed and at least 500,000 Tibetan have died from
imprisonment, torture, famine, and war. But today
Buddhism in China, like the lotus flower that emerges
from mud, is resurfacing. With more than 100 million
practitioners, it’s one of the country’s fastest
growing religions.

On the surface, Chen Xiaoxu is a most unlikely poster
child for this renaissance. At 39 she heads one of
Beijing’s top advertising agencies, but she’s better
known as former Chinese television star. She started
her agency in the early 1990s, when advertising in
China was in its infancy, soon earning success beyond
her dreams. “Once I got the taste, I always wanted
more and more, bigger and bigger status symbols,” she
tells me, as we sit in the conference room of her
company, Beijing Shipang Lianhe Advertising, in a
modern Beijing high-rise. Her long neck and delicate
feature evoke Audrey Hepburn, whose portrait hangs on
the wall behind her, but her warm, empathetic eyes
mirror painting and sculptures I’ve seen of Guanyin,
Chinese Buddhism female representation of compassion.

Gradually, she says, it took hold—that feeling of
emptiness so many people experience when they have all
the material possessions they desire. In Buddhism this
desire has nickname: the hungry ghost, an appetite
that can’t be filled.

“Though I had it all—big car, beautiful house, travel
wherever I wanted, surrounded by fame and luxury with
plenty to share with my family—I was still, somehow,
unhappy.”

Then someone gave Chen a book about life and teaching
of the Buddha, and she became serious student of
Buddhism. Now one wall of her teacher, Chin Kung, as
well as Buddhist statues and paintings. Her employees
know to hold the phone calls during lunch hour, when
she takes a break to meditate and chant.

A Buddhist in a profession whose goal is to whet the
appetites of the hungry ghost? What’s no less
remarkable is that so public a figure as Chen Xiaoxu
is openly practicing Buddhism in communist China.

While Buddhism comes back in China, it’s been losing
appeal in Japan, long considered the wellspring by
westerners.

“If it doesn’t meet the changing needs of modern
society, Japanese Buddhism will die,” says rev.
Yoshiharu Tomatsu of the Jodo Shu Research Institute
of Buddhism in Tokyo.

A third-generation priest in th 800-year-old Jodo Shu
Pure Land sect—which emphasizes faith in the saving
grace of Amida, another enlightened being, rather than
through meditation—the boyish 50-year-old is the head
of the Shinko-in temple. We sip green tea in the small
16th-century wooden temple, situated at the base of
Tokyo Tower, Japan’s iconic image of technological
modernity. A Club DJ in college, Tomatsu harbored
dreams of becoming a music industry executive, but he
instead earned a master’s degree in divinity from
Harvard University. When he’s not in suits or black
robes, he wears khakis and pastel crewneck sweaters
draped around his neck with the sleeves tied, ivy
league style.

Most Japanese are “funeral Buddhist,” he says, meaning
they partake in Buddhist rituals only when someone
dies. With the fast pace and competitive of Japanese
society, young people in particular find little
emotional support or sense of community in the ancient
rituals of traditional Buddhist.

“It’s ironic indeed: many westerners first heard of
Buddhism through Zen, the Japanese derivative of
China’s Chan Buddhism. Zen was popularized by the
American Beat Generation of the 1950s: novelist Jack
Kerouac, author and radio host Alan Watts, and poets
Allen Ginsberg and Gary Snyder, among others. Soon you
could take adult education classes in Zen art forms
like calligraphy and ikebana (flower arranging) or
rituals such as tea ceremony or archery. Once Madison
Avenue discovered Buddhism’s selling power, Zen became
synonymous with cool, giving birth do dozens of
products name Zen, from a skin0care line to an MP3
player.

Tomatsu offers to show me signs that the heart of
Japanese Buddhism is at least still beating.

One is an organization he helped establish in 1993.
calles Ayus, meaning “life”, it channels about
$300,000 a year to national and international groups
working for peace and human rights, two-thirds of the
300 contributing members are Buddhist priests.

There’s also the sect called Rissho Kosei-kai, founded
in 1938 and now boasting 1.8 million household. While
family firmly planted in the Buddha’s teachings, this
organization is different. It’s a lay group—and it
emphasizes service to others. Members forgo two meals
a month, donating the money to the sect’s peace fund.
Rissho Kose-kai has given about 60 million dollars to
UNICEF in the past 25 years.

At the sect’s world headquarters in Tokyo, the
imposing central meditation hall has a ceiling-high
pipe organ and stained-glass windows—more like a
Christian church than a Buddhist temple. Tomatsu and I
sit in on a hoza, or dharma session, focusing on the
social problems that beset Japan but remain
conversational taboo: divorce, drug addiction,
depression, suicide, in a large, brightly lit
multipurpose room, casually dressed participants,
mostly women, sit in metal folding chairs in a loose
circle around a facilitator, sharing personal
dilemmas, such as marital problems, disrespectful
kids, and aging parents. After each story, the groups
issues a supportive round of applause. It’s a reminder
that the new Buddhism doesn’t always have to address
global issues; the kitchen table can be a war zone
too.

Tomatsu also introduces me to Rev. Takeda Takao, a
Buddhist priest who I’d seen leading a protest in
front of Japan’s parliament building in the heart of
Tokyo. Hundreds of demonstrators had gathered to
oppose the national self Defense Force’s involvement
in Iraq. Amid the chaos, Takao, in a monk’s vest,
stood at curbside with several other priest carrying
bullhorn drums, and a banner.

Takao belongs to Nipponzan Myohoji, an international
Buddhist organization founded in 1918 whose monks and
nuns conduct long peace marches, chanting and beating
their drums all the way.

“Peaceful protest is the only way to make a peaceful
planet, ”he says. It’s a conclusion he came to after
participating in demonstrations against the
construction of Tokyo’s Narita Airport. In the 1970s
several policemen and protesters were killed, and
thousands injured, defending the rights of vegetable
farmers whose land had been taken by the government
for the runway. As a monument to the tragedy, the
Nipponzan Myohoji Order erected a peace pagoda in 2001
just outside the airport fences.

Later that afternoon, as my plane takes off from
Narita, I catch a glimpse of the tiny white pagoda. It
stands out against the gray industrial sprawl, a
bright memorial to the Buddha’s timeless message.

Indeed, from Tokyo to San Francisco, from the prison
class, a world-wide community of socially engaged
Buddhists assures that the tradition remains a
powerful force. Back in San Francisco, someone else
now occupies the hospice bed that was once Carl
Taylor’s. And beside that person is another Buddhist
volunteer, just sitting.


Source : 
National Geographic [December 2005]
“Sea Monsters” 
Scientists Bring ‘Godzilla” Back To Life

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