Yesterday I had the need to consult the oracle – you know, divine the future. Ordinarily, I would use the tarot, but over the years, the true winner of forecasting particular outcomes is the I Ching. My question on the course of action to take was complicated. As a writer, I have been laboring behind the scenes to create some saleable works. It’s now time to market the book. The problem wouldn’t exist if it were just one book. The old saying that a dog can’t chase two rabbits is one to keep in mind.
Without giving away the store, here’s a snapshot of what I was deciding. Although it was unintentional, I had five books come together, simultaneously, after twenty years of obsessing over them like a parent dealing with a budding daughter on prom night. Which one should I choose? Whom do I send it to? An agent? Show me the money. You don’t need an agent because half the fun is selling the manuscript yourself! Anyone who won’t see your manuscript because you don’t have an agent is the same kind of mope who told Elvis to go back to driving a truck. You don’t need them because there are editors everywhere looking for their next income stream.
Of the five books, four are fiction, and one is non-fiction. They are good to go. The problem is over-thinking such a situation. Horror is hot right now. Although there are always exceptions, the market for self-help books based on healing and Buddhism is consistent, but not especially lucrative. Spiritual adventure, perhaps my favorite genre, is really a cross-genre between, suspense and fantasy, and therefore a little more difficult to place. What to do…what to do?
After a family meeting with my magickal wife, we elected to consult the supreme forecasting tool of the I Ching. Our in-depth query included the five books previously mentioned, another horror manuscript not included in the five as well as the query of whether a brand new book was the way to go. When we considered all of the reasons to submit each one, it was not clear, which way to go. For me, it’s a mystical time right now. Fortune, synchronicity, and benefit are the incalculable blessings described for those who embrace the Lotus Sutra. That awareness does not automatically bless whatever course or action I take, in fact, it is incumbent to make the right decision.
Some might believe that chanting daimoku with the intention of knowing the exact right thing, and the true anwser will just pop into our head. If I hadn’t made so many wrong decisions in life using just that “hope and a prayer” approach, I would never consider using divination. Skeptics, please, debunk my ass. Sorry, I’m quite the skeptic myself, so “do not pay attention to the man behind the curtain!” My wife, bless her heart, cast five I-Ching forecasts. Here are the books we divined, a slight description of each, and my interpretation of that forecast. (All are working titles – you can’t copyright a title anyway)
Mega Buddhist Healing: 75,000 word non-fiction, self-help book that further explores visualization to cure illness and becoming awakened. I Ching – Success, but modest.
The Prince of Wands: 75,000 word spiritual adventure novel of magickally-gifted youth who is forced to become the diviner for the mogul of an international pot smuggling enterprise. This book was written under the tutelage of famed horror and science fiction writer, Ray Faraday Nelson, of John Carpenter’s, “They Live” fame. I would describe it as post-pubescent Harry Potter on acid-laced steroids. I Ching – Success in the long run.
Pocketful of Curses: 110,000 word horror novel featuring ace reporter, Martha Pepper. I wrote this book through the eyes of the heroine – being a guy, that’s quite a stretch, but I did it because women are the most avid readers of books in the marketplace and this hero is a great character. It’s her modern-day battle with a very real family curse dating from her great grandfather, after he stole the boots of a black Yankee solider on his way back from the civil war. Lot’s of action, gore, and an ending “to die for.” I Ching – Great Success and a personal transformation.
The Glass Pulpit: 80,000 word mainstream fiction in the spirit of Elmer Gantry or Inherit the Wind. A professor Joseph Campbell like character takes to the airways in a battle with the televangelists. I started this the day I finished chemotherapy twenty years ago – that shows you how hard it is for me to part with my babies. But it’s all jacked up and ready to go. I Ching – Success if you wait. Thus far, that was the most specific prediction.
Mokuren: 90,000 word spiritual adventure about an SGI Buddhist who manifests supernatural powers after a near-death experience during the split with NST. This baby is my wild child, all revised to include my new perspective on the organization, the priesthood and the Lotus Sutra. Guaranteed to incite ever cultie in the world. I Ching - Complete Success after self-reflection. Oh, brother.
We studied every aspect of the divinations and determined that the I Ching had indeed pointed us into the utterly ambiguous realm of quantum BS. But we had to divine an answer. Perhaps we were just too dense and lowly to understand what the oracle said. I went back to the Gohonzon and it came to me.
Both my wife and I were born in the year of the tiger. I am, in fact, a double tiger, having also been born in the hour of the tiger. We are in essence, cat people, that prefer the company of cats to people in most (if not all) cases. Our cats ARE “familiars” who are psychically bonded to us. Who better than one of our two mystic felines to divine the way? After all, the I Ching pointed the way, favorably, but in four directions – not exactly the clear-cut path we were hoping for.
What we needed was a form of divination that had all the right ingredients: a pinch of hoodoo, a smidge of juju, a double dollop of mojo, and of course, some Whisker Licken’s shrimp flavored cat treats. We took the name of each book and wrote it on five identical pieces of paper and turned them over – you don’t want to tip off the kitty. My wife placed a cat treat in each piece and called our little darlings. The right book would be the one from which she actually ate the treat.
Our oldest cat, Andromeda came out, looked at our set-up on the floor and turned away. She must have thought, “how cliché.”
Next it was our Norwegian Forest Cat, Kundalini. She is an amazing hunter and so mysterious. She pranced in and spied the treats. She went to one and sniffed it, pawed it, then turned her attention to another. She sniffed that one, rejecting it as well. She turned to her left and walked over to the second treat from the left, pulled it toward her and began eating it.
We thanked her and read the paper. Kundalini chose Pocketful of Curses. We’ll be sure to let you know when it finds a home. Until then, I must express my deepest thanks to our familiar, Kundalini, for showing us the direction that the I Ching was pointing. It’s hard to get good directions in the phantom city.
The May/June issue of Spirituality & Health recently hit the stands. It was my great honor to be included in a piece written by author, Jill Neimark, titled “What Can We Do About Suffering?” It is a fascinating article that investigates the science and spirituality of how people react to traumatic events. The segment that includes my experience is titled “Transformation Through Suffering.” It is a brilliant synopsis of my battle with forth stage cancer and near death experience. It also describes my subsequent efforts to promote mantra-powered visualization, a story well known to all of you who have read my books or essays on healing. Trauma, whether through illness, accident, warfare, or circumstance, can be a powerful transformational tool or the weight that sinks us to the bottom. Even if you are familiar with my story, I still encourage you to check out this issue and article. It’s a terrific article, featuring two other intriguing subjects, and the magazine is the gold standard for information on whole life wellness.
It was very interesting how the author came to include me in her article. She had read Modern Buddhist Healing, and found value there. At my request, my publisher sent her a copy of my 2005 book, Riding the Wheel to Wellness, to supplement her research. Like many others – and much to my dismay, she thought my first book was superior, so we concentrated on that story. Her discovery of my experience was another fascinating event in a long list of occurrences regarding my twenty-year march from deathbed to Publishers Weekly. Our interviews and subsequent discussions proved to be a joy and learning experience for me. Even if the article had never been published, Jill Neimark caused me to re-examine my life and mission. Even though I am currently writing another book on healing and counseling people daily with their individual fight with illness, I had become lost in my work – forgetting my original mission and even the good that I had done. When that interviewing and self-reflection process was complete, through her subtle influence, I had to admit, that I was, in fact, not just an author and Buddhist, who somehow managed to survive cancer, I was, in fact, a doctor of the spirit.
What was it that I had learned over the past twenty years? Sorting things out, there have been many lessons, both major and minor. Here are a few of the more important realizations that came through hard experience:
• There is no shame in dying. By that I mean, even though one chants, death will come, and it’s most likely not going to be a story book ending.
• Prayer, meditation, and visualization truly does influence the body – both your own and to those that it is directed, but why and how is still a great mystery.
• Based on the statement immediately above, prayers by those with your best interests at heart can cause you more suffering – especially if they are praying for you to live and your body needs to die.
One of the more disturbing phenomena that I am studying has to do with the illness and deaths of members of my sect. Since I am now removed from both the mainstream and periphery, getting accurate details and facts is proving more and more difficult. I have been forced to rely on 30 years of direct anecdotal experience, embellished accounts, and copious amounts of second hand information.
What is so disturbing to me is the frequency and severity of illness of believers of alleged high attainment or have given their all for many years. Further, I have observed lives cut short – some would say ended in their prime, with so much more to give to the kosen-rufu movement. Some of the bitter ends were truly terrifying like one that comes to mind of advanced cancer and being kept alive on a ventilator. As I mentioned earlier, death, if you have much experience with it, is rarely the well-timed dramatic wave goodbye, just prior to assembling all the loved ones around for some final stoic wisdoms. It often comes unannounced like a serial killer without conscience to turn off our lights and leave the survivors to pick up the pieces.
These conclusions are based on my own experience and my observation of others, both members and non-members. My own father walked out of a diner and dropped dead right in front of my mom. I know of one close personal member/friend that had devoted their entire life to the SGI who dropped dead at work; then his equally devoted wife died a horrific death from cancer less than a year later – they were both in their mid fifties. In my own case, I was a gonzo-cultie, without question or pause, yet I endured forth stage cancer, bankruptcy, and nearly died. It’s natural that cancer, illness, and premature death, strikes indiscriminately across all demographic lines. No one can avoid illness or death, no matter what you believe.
What is troubling to me is the plethora of flawed logic that favors one sectarian dogma over another. For example, when a sect member dies suddenly or tragically, or in pain, they were transforming their karma, or their mission was complete. When a member of the icky-bad sect met a similar fate, it is construed to be punishment for slander. I have found this odious reasoning especially prevalent during the course of the SGI/NST split, when tragedy happens to priests and temple followers. This form of smug judgment is repulsive to me, but I have heard it many, many times.
It has become my experience thus far, since removing myself from the movement and becoming an independent, that my mental and physical health has vastly improved. Every manner of financial, domestic, and health related difficulty seemed to have crawled all over me, as if I had stepped on a colony of fire ants. Once I broke that dogmatic, doctrinal, and psychological link, every aspect of my life began to heal. I don’t suggest that anyone do as I have done, but I strongly recommend that people get their critical thinking skills back and to ask the big questions when there are gaping holes in doctrine and one is urged to suspend logic in favor of unsubstantiated belief.
When I eventually do get sick and cash it in - for whatever reason, there will surely be a chorus of holier-than-thou soka spin-doctors to use my demise as a warning to others of the dire consequences of deviance from the party line. Belive me, resistance is NOT futile. Don’t believe them. My spirit is joyful and free. If a man can have a sense of peace of spirit, I have it for the first time in my life. What happens to me or you is between us and the Buddha. Having taken refuge in the Lotus Sutra, and being one with the spirit of Nichiren, I am free of fear like a lion king. To me, that’s true healing. Do I fear illness and death? Not as much as I did twenty years ago.
I have never charged a fee. I do not care who you are or what you believe. I am not alarmed by how sick you are. If you need someone to confide in, I will listen. If you are in pain, I will share it. If you are dying, I will comfort you. And finally, I will never tell you to change your faith. This is what I've learned. Cancer was my medical school. Suffering was my teacher. Near-death was my fellowship. Yes, I have become a doctor of the spirit.
Finally, I will soon be launching a blog on my website http://www.spiritwell.net devoted exclusively to Buddhist healing and dialogue on same. It should be up and running by next week.
The fact that Buddha was not a Buddhist is not news. As far as we know, Shakyamuni studied under a series of teachers, finding them and their niche philosophies and practices underwhelming. The Buddha’s master was the dharma that he realized – and that dharma was not his invention, nor was it of this world. In fact, from what we can gather, Shakyamuni is but one of countless Buddhas throughout time and space. There has been an asogi of dust particles kicked up over time, both here and elsewhere in the frivolous debate of whether Shakyamuni is the “eternal Buddha,” or if Nichiren is the Buddha of beginningless time. This speculation is equivalent to a religious reach-around.
If we look at the Lotus Sutra, we see that in an unimaginably remote time, he and his fifteen other brothers attained annuttara-samyak-sambodhi through the teachings of their father, Daitsu, Great Universal Wisdom Excellence Buddha. His father, over countless lifetimes served myriad other Buddhas. The Lotus Sutra, in an incalculable number of forms was the dharma of dharmas – the supreme force of Buddhahood. I find it curious that there are people and schools of Buddhism that take these tales of a remote past, from some remote galaxy or dimension as some kind of historical text, when it’s clear that they are mythos for a condition of being, and a scope of time, that is unknowable to we quasi-primate yahoos of the saha world.
Buddha rejected Brahmanism, reliance on gods, graven images, and all forms of religious flim-flam. Buddha taught that all life is inevitable suffering. He taught the emptiness of all phenomena, the delusion of the self, as well as our thorough misunderstanding of the three realms of existence – desire, form, and formlessness. For this reason, it is mystifying as to why we continue our need to reconstruct a monastic or even a lay support culture. It is also perplexing why we pray for divine intervention from legendary saints and purely fictional deities, pay homage to mandalas, talismans, and invoke the lord of free parking spots.
I, myself, am somewhat a victim of these dubious superstitions. Over time, I have allowed these ideas to cling to me like barnacles on a sea faring vessel. There is no question in my mind that a mandala can aid in concentration, but Shakyamuni Buddha did not use a Gohonzon. In fact, Nichiren achieved his own great awakening without the Gohonzon, and by way of inference, without chanting daimoku. Further, it seems apparent to me that all the spiritual dinosaurs became awakened on their own. Krishna, Moses, Jesus, Mohammed, et al, somehow became aware of their higher self – transcending the abyss posed by the kabalistic premise of the daath, to lay the foundations for their teachings.
The past sages just mentioned, had no masters, and where it was necessary, they seemed to invent them to give divine credence to their teachings. Some took dictation from archangels, others were taught directly by God, and so forth. Thereafter, their movements emerged and became more refined giving structure to the lives of followers.
As I grow older, I become more impressed with the realization that every person has this greatness within, but their full enlightenment is thwarted by the very doctrine and practice that set their feet on the path to awakening. Is it possible that our own beliefs and religion are our biggest impediments to enlightenment? Am I a cynic or a person of incorrigible disbelief? Hardly. My father, in one of his blue collar, three martini philosophical discourses said to me, “He don’t care! God don’t care what happens on this little planet. Just look up at the stars, Chuckie, then think about all the hate and war, and you’ll know that He don’t care.” Being the hard line, YMD, Gakkai warrior that I was, ready to argue the moment anyone countered my conditioning, I still kept my mouth shut. If I didn’t, he might have slapped me upside the head, due to the fact, that in all my Buddhist wisdom, I really didn’t know Jack-squat.
Over the years, I have come to realize that in many respects that my Dad was right about a great many things. With regard to organized religion – especially Catholicism, he said to make the sign of the double cross and run. Regarding priests, he suggested that I never trust them, as their dark side is darkest of all. When the spilt between the SGI and the temple occurred, he laughed and asked me if I had lost any sleep over it. And most of all, my Dad, in his hard ass Chicago style taught me that if there is a God, he’s been taking a nap – most likely on the other side of the galaxy. He did admit that NSA and Buddhism saved my life, but he thought Buddha had it wrong – although he never told me what that error was. Maybe now that he’s gone (11 years now), he knows.
Where does that leave me? Although I am fascinated by religion, and realize that many people believe they can’t live without, I am drawn to the dharma without precepts, without masters, without spiritual blackmail. To all others, do as you will in your quest. As for me, the dharma of the Lotus Sutra is my teacher.
I'm tired of writing about such serious topics, so here's a change of pace.
This new series is about important people and events that have shaped my life. Whether those influences temporarily warped my mind, or made my chakras align, it’s hard to say. Each person and every influence, in some way, was instrumental in my spiritual development. As you probably know, I was born on the near west side of Chicago, not far from that hypertensive anomaly known as the Chicago loop. One set of grandparents lived on the southwest side while the other grandparents lived in Wrigleyville. After the war, my parents moved to the suburbs for a better life, and we would spend our summers in the city. When asked where I come from, my answer has always been Chicago. Not only was Chicago where I learned about love and how to fight, it was my social and spiritual training ground.
The first person and series of events that I want to share involve my uncle Earl. The great depression and the hardships that ensued spawned some very interesting and industrious characters. My dirt-poor grandparents lived across the street from St. Ann’s Catholic Church in Brighton Park, where my grandfather attended Mass every morning. Through the Church, they took in two foster kids, Earl and his sister Patsy. They could only keep one, so they raised Earl like their own kid. In the 1960s, Earl became a Chicago legend that is still written about to this day. Most every Chicagoan over 50 has heard about his pub, The Earl of Old Town. Its location, directly across the street from the Second City Theatre Company was, as Roger Ebert wrote, “ground zero for Chicago’s folk music scene.”
Any time any of his adopted family would stop by for a visit, cheeseburgers and beer would soon follow. And our money was never any good there. He treated us all like royalty. Around 1970-71, during an intense occult phase in my life, I would spend every weekend in the City, purveying the various occult bookstores and curious shops that peppered Old Town. Piper’s Alley, a cluster of arcane shops featuring hippie arcana, rare incense, and the full spectrum of popular music was adjacent to Second City and across from the Earl. Old Town was populated by artists of every ilk, especially musicians. It was teeming with acidheads, narcs, and a vast underground of revolutionaries against the Vietnam War, the brain police and establishment.
One of the times that I went to the Earl of Old Town, I saw Steve Goodman sing a brand new song he had just written, titled, “The City of New Orleans.” My next visit, my uncle Earl, who knew I fancied myself a poet, encouraged me to go on stage and recite some of my verses during their open mike night, for buzzed out hippies, yippies, and local characters. His advice to me was to get me a guitar and put those lyrics to music. When I expressed an interest in comedy, he called his pals across the street at Second City and got me immediately enrolled in their improv training class. What a thrill.
A few weeks into my training, I stopped by after a class and sat down at the bar for a burger and beer. Earl introduced me to two Second City people, John, and some foxy looking blonde, whose name escapes me. We shot the shit for a few beers and they invited me to a party somewhere off Wells street. We all piled into my 65 Ford LTD, ending up in the ground floor apartment of a three flat, not far from the pub. There were joints of some hardy Jamaican being passed around, and we all snorted a big line of alleged psilocybin powder. We all worked the party in different directions and sometime after 3:00 am, now back to baseline, we went our own ways. It was a few years later then that I saw my old acquaintance John again. He was on a new TV show that was not quite ready for prime time. His name was John Belushi.
My uncle Earl seemed to know everyone. All the Chicago bred Saturday Night Live alum, that cut their comic teeth at Second City, like Bill Murray, George Wendt, and all the rest. Depending on who was in town to play, Earl might get a visit from Bob Dylan, Willie Nelson, or any one of a hundred other big names that needed to park their weary ass on one his bar stools, drink a cold one, and listen to some top-notch folk music without being bothered. I never made myself a pest or overstayed my welcome. Learning quick that I was not really a comedian, I began to spend more time hunting through the occult bookshops. On one visit, I remember picking up the entire Israel Regardie collection in hardbound. Sweet.
Why my uncle Earl was so important in my development was because he taught me how to think big – how to rub elbows with celebrities and to realize that they all sat on the crapper just like you and me, no matter how big you (or they) thought they were. Earl is still around too, although he has long retired from being an entertainment icon. A few months ago, the Chicago Sun-Times ran a full-page piece on him and his once famous pub – the place where Mike Meyers proposed to his “like butter” wife. Earl is still a Chicago legend and one of the most powerful influences on my life. Thanks Earl!