April 25, 2005
In The Beginning
Every Buddhist has a story about the beginning of their practice. These are universally fascinating tales. Brimming with naiveté, we sought to transform circumstances and ourselves. Some of us sought rescue from self-destructive behavior. Some carried with them great personal pain from abuse or a broken heart. Poverty, spiritual emptiness, rebellion from our parents or birth religion moved us down the path to the phantom city. Some were not looking for anything at all when the dharma rain began to fall. Few sought the selfless, bodhisattva way.
There were some who came to Buddhism for the express purpose of attaining higher states of consciousness. I was searching for the philosopher’s stone and found the Mystic Law instead. It is with some reluctance that I share this with you. Nevertheless, here’s my story.
I began chanting in December 1973. Several of my good friends had received the Gohonzon and dozens more were experimenting with daimoku. Chanting seemed silly compared to the occult austerities and practices that I had been involved with. At that exact time, I was in big trouble with a magickal exercise that required me to train the body, speech, and thought process I called, “Lancing the Tiger.” The austerity called for me to systematically eliminate a body movement, remove a commonly used word from usage, and finally, banish a prominent thought.
The austerity required a written oath signed in my own blood, that would specify the strict conditions of the trial and declare my vow to compete it. Each stage of the austerity was comprised of three segments. I would need to go 48 hours, three days, and then seven days without making an infraction. If a mistake were made on sixth day just prior to the midnight hour, the entire section would be started over from the beginning. For every infraction, I would take an anapestic razor blade and make a long cut on the flesh on my forearm. At that time, the section would begin anew.
The body movement I chose was crossing my legs – even in sleep. For my speech, the oft-used personal pronoun of “I” was eliminated from conversation or writing. This was a formidable challenge in any social setting. The thought that was eliminated had to be difficult but like all the other selections, could not cause harm. I chose my on-again, off-again fiancé who at the time was screwing with my head like a CIA interrogator. For each infraction in the 48, three day, then seven-day trial, a razor cut would be made and the entire section would be repeated.
Interesting enough, I had successfully completed this austerity in 1972, taking about nine months to finish it. By the time I finished the regimen, my arms had hundreds of scars, but my spirit had been empowered by the pranic thrill of victory, which has been likened to penetrating the deepest levels of eight-limbed yoga. Having practiced Kundalini yoga for three years at that point – and bored with it’s slow lane benefits, I had jumped at what I perceived to be the express lane of psycho-spiritual practices. Greedy for more power and arrogant enough to think that I could handle it at my young age (22), I began to “Lance the Tiger” once again. That tiger did not want to be tamed. This time the results were far more humbling. I had kept the first two conditions in place by not crossing my legs, then removing “I” from my vocabulary. Since my fiancé had run off with an older man, I chose removing all thought of my mother. All you arm chair Freudian psychologists should have a field day with that one.
Months went by and I suffered in a quiet agony. No more then two people knew of what I was doing. By substituting the word “thee” for “I,” people thought I had finally taken too much acid. That was the time that Nam-myoho-renge-kyo began to spread in my hometown of Algonquin, Illinois. My friends really pushed me to chant and began taking me to meetings. Our women’s division district leader was Korean and prepared all kinds of Asian goodies for us hungry boys to eat after the meetings. For the first month, I thought a daimoku toso meant to chant and eat. And what glorious eating it was.
Because of the tremendous growth in our area, many senior leaders visited, trying to convince us to receive the Gohonzon and become NSA members. I held out because of my problem with the austerity. One night, a leader implored me to join. It was at that time that I finally explained what I was going through. He explained that if I chanted daimoku and received the Gohonzon, I would definitely get through my austerity. There was no dismissive talk, just a guarantee that I would get through it in the shortest amount of time.
Come to think about it, this person must have thought that I was insane. I had a beard and my hair hung down to middle of my back. At the time, I was taking LSD or some other psychedelic substance on a weekly basis. And yet, out of nearly 200 youth division that sprung from the earth in 1973-74, only three of us have continued a life long practice. I had introduced the only two members that continue to this day – one became my wife (now ex) who is currently a territory leader.
Taking that leaders advice, I began to chant constantly. I received the Gohonzon. Because I was a homeless veteran, my Korean leader had mercy on me and sowed a thick, green quilted pouch with a long cord for my Gohonzon, which I rolled up, and wore around my neck. It was the dead of a nasty Chicago winter and I was sleeping in a friend’s station wagon, eating canned sauerkraut from my grandparents to survive. Each morning, I would rise at daybreak, nearly frozen from the night before and walk the Fox River to a hidden spot on its wooded banks. There, I walked in a long figure eight through deep snow, packing down a path the wind might blow over again that night. Holding my beads, I held my hands in prayer position and chanted at the top of my lungs. Waves of emotion swept over me. I felt determination, anger, inspiration, self-loathing, and peace. I felt like I was crossing the abyss described by Adepts. The crows gathered and gawked. The air froze the snot in my nose. The wind cut through my shabby jacket and my toes were numb. I marched that figure eight chanting, trying to figure out life and change my wretched state.
The power of daimoku proved supreme. In two weeks, I managed to complete all the stages of my austerity. There was no surge of the previous energies that had given me a false sense of mastery. Instead, there was the awareness that something wonderful had transpired. Nam-myoho-renge-kyo rescued me from the grips of an inferior path that had blinded me with magickal rewards. I recognized that the Mystic Law was The Way.
It took a year to transform my situation. For the next 30 years, I devoted my life to the SGI. Several days ago I was going through some old papers and discovered a list of goals that my senior leader asked all of the youth division to write down, then look at in ten or twenty years. Some of my goals reflected my immaturity and fascination with the occult. Here is the gist of those goals: To understand death; to be a physical clairvoyant; to write books; and to live in Wisconsin.
As for accomplishing these goals, after three decades of practice, I have only managed to realize the one of writing books. As far as understanding death, one should be careful what they wish for. My near death experience when fighting Hodgkin’s disease taught me only one thing – “I don’t know.” To see and even experience death in an NDE is beyond any description or understanding, therefore my Zen-like position of, “I don’t know?!”
As far as being a physical clairvoyant, ha! This ability is more like a curse than a blessing. This desire was spawned from my experiences skrying and occult based spirit travel. Upon reading this old list of goals, I’m glad that it didn’t come to be.
The only goal achieved, of the four I have listed, is writing books. Interesting enough, I had to endure cancer and near death to accomplish it. Living in Wisconsin might sound silly, but I have deep roots there. Far up the coast of Lake Michigan just north of a small harbor town are the secluded shores where I spent my childhood summers on my parents' land. My spirit longs to sit on those sands, watching the sunrise, and in the twilight behold the moon’s sacred dance over the waters. I have tried to cut attachment to this dream without success. Perhaps, when I let go, that dream will come true too.
April 09, 2005
RIDING THE WHEEL TO WELLNESS
RIDING THE WHEEL TO WELLNESS
A Buddhist Perspective On Life’s Healing Gifts, Meditation, Prayer & Visualization
Nicolas-Hays ISBN: 0892541121 - $12.95 US
September 2005 Release
My friends at Fraught with Peril, I’m pleased to give you the exclusive, first look at the cover of my new book, Riding the Wheel to Wellness.
None of us can escape aging, sickness, and death. This book is one of inspiration and practical healing methods for adults and children who are facing illness. Presented are tales of hope and courage from those who’ve valiantly challenged illness and death. Included are ancient and modern methods to fight illness with visualization, prayer, the mind, and the limitless powers of our life.