I thought 25 minutes would be more than enough time to get my breakfast and still be to work on time. It only takes a few minutes to go from my home to Tim Hortons, and then another few minutes to get from there to the university.

When I arrived at Tim Hortons, however, I found huge line of cars in the drive-thru. I momentarily weighed my options: park and go in (which might have been quicker), or pull into the line of cars? I decided on the latter, remembering that when I had previously parked and went in, it actually wasn’t much quicker, because all of the workers were busy with the drive-thru.

The Shifting of the Mental Gears

As I pulled into the line, a slight shift in my mind took place, a clinking of the gears. Was I going to be late for work because of this huge line? I had left the house early enough, hadn’t I? Certainly I did, and if I was late, the blame would lay on these people in front of me taking too long to order, the workers taking too long to prepare those orders.

As I sat there, I could feel the minutes slipping by. Each car ahead of me seemed to take somewhere near half a decade to place their order, pull up, get their order, and leave. What was taking so long? I was going to be late to work because of this!

I then had another slight shift in my thinking; I realized this was all of my fault. If I hadn’t slept that extra 20 minutes, I could have made coffee at home, saving myself the trip to Tim Hortons. It was my fault that I was going to be late for work, it was my fault that I was going to perhaps be in trouble with my boss, having to have a “talk” with her about my being late. It was my fault that my day was going to start out terribly.

Just How Late Am I?

Finally, after what felt like a compact century in line at Tim Hortons, I had my bagel and coffee in hand. I pulled out of the lot into the traffic (which seemed to be moving far too slow for me), and headed towards the university. Of course, on my way, I had to run into every red light. That was my luck this morning, wasn’t it? “Overslept, stuck in line for an eternity at Tim Hortons, and now I’m behind these damnable red lights!” This did give me a bit of time to quickly eat my bagel (not enjoying it much due to my haste), but this is something I didn’t appreciate much at the time. I hate being late.

I finally pulled in at the parking lot, doing a haphazard job of parking the van. I got out, my bagel a hazy, unenjoyed memory, my coffee and bookbag gripped in nervousness. As I walked up the sidewalk to the library, I wondered: just how late am I? Half an hour? 45 minutes? I imagined a crowd of people around the reference desk, demanding help, which I was not there to provide. (This, of course, despite the fact that in all of my time at the reference desk, I have never had a “crowd” demanding anything.) I imagined walking in, with the eyes of my boss and coworkers falling on me, as if to say, “You’re late, and you’re going to pay for it.” I knew it was going to be a miserable morning.

The Truth

I walked into the outer hallway of the library, reached for the door that would let me into my doom, and pulled. Click. It was locked. How could that be? I was late. Had they decided to just not open because the reference assistant wasn’t there on time to help the clamoring crowd? For that, I was sure I’d be fired!

No. Of course, as I’m sure you have already realized, I wasn’t late. On the contrary – I was actually still a bit early, by at least 5 minutes. I had left the house in plenty of time, and while the line at Tim Hortons had been longer (and slower) than usual, it wasn’t that slow.

And yet I had made the last 20 minutes of my life, which felt more like a day, extremely miserable for myself. How? By telling myself stories in my mind, and believing them. As I became more nervous, more upset about being late – which wasn’t reality to begin with – the negative thoughts just snowballed. Damn the people in front of me for taking too long; damn the slow workers; damn the red lights; damn myself for sleeping too late. I even felt some physical discomfort, because as my nervousness increased, so too did my pulse, and most likely my blood pressure. All of this by telling myself a story, and taking that story as truth.

Lessons Learned

What then, does this tell us? It tells us that we need to pay very close attention to our minds, and what they’re brewing around the clock. The saying “the mind has a mind of its own” holds a great deal of truth. Our minds spin tales constantly, often without our realizing it, and if we’re not constantly vigilant (to borrow a phrase from Mad-Eye Moody), we can easily fall into the trap of basing our actions on stories that are out of alignment with reality, with how things really are. If I had just realized that I most likely wasn’t late, and even if I were to be late, it wouldn’t be that bad, I could have saved myself a good deal of inner suffering.

Which brings me to the end of this post, and to these questions: are you suffering somewhere in your life? Is that suffering due to reality, or due to a story you’ve told yourself, or one that you’re still telling yourself? Would life be better if you’d just see things as they are, rather than how you think they are?

Yesterday, some pressure was reapplied. After we’d left the service and exited the building, one of the preachers came out and flagged us down. He said he wanted to “get together with me” sometime this week, to just talk with me.

I know where this action came from. I had been talking to my mom about Christianity, asking her questions, one of which I wanted her to pose to this particular preacher. Specifically: If God is all-knowing, and always has been, why did he have to take human form as Jesus to “know what it was like to feel human suffering?” If he knows everything, shouldn’t he have known that long before?

She asked him this question at one of her church classes, which led to him wanting to talk with me, one on one. Which is fine, by the way. Here’s the rub: I don’t want to insult him. While I don’t agree with his set of beliefs, I do respect the guy, and I really don’t want to put him off. I know he’s going to ask me my thoughts on religion, God, etc., and I have some concern that my responses, regardless of how polite I share them, may bother him or make him mad, e.g.:

Him: “What’s your take on Jesus?”

Me: “I think that it’s likely that the Jesus figure is a copy, a reiteration of previous ‘hero’ figures. He shares many similarities with prophet types who supposedly lived before him – bringing salvation, father of a god, death, resurrection after 3 days, etc.”

I have similar thoughts on a lot of things about Christianity, which I won’t get into in this post, because it’s not the point; the point is, I just really, really don’t want to insult the guy. I respect him, and I also know that he likes my mom quite well, and I don’t want to disrupt their relationship. On the other hand, I don’t want to say “No, I don’t want to meet with you”, because that’ll come across as rude, too.

And thus, faithful readers, I pose this question: Any ideas? Keep in mind, he knows I consider myself Buddhist, so perhaps I’m getting worked up for nothing. Perhaps he expects such responses from me.

One thing that his talks cleared up for me is the fact that you don’t need a perfect environment for mindfulness meditation. It doesn’t have to be quiet; it doesn’t have to be the “right” temperature; you don’t have to find the absolute perfect posture, where you’re not uncomfortable at all (even though posture is considered important).

Instead, when something occurs that might “interrupt” your meditation, simply make that the focus of your meditation. Is the dog next door barking madly at some cat? No problem. Be aware of the barking, focus on it. Is it simply too hot in your room, or the meditation hall, or where ever it is you’re sitting? Just be aware of the heat. What does it really feel like; as in, what does heat actually feel like, without all of the thoughts that your mind creates about your situation?

In a similar vein as dog barks, heat, and other such things: itches! Itches are something I’ve taken a rather peculiar interest in since I started listening to Zencast and sitting daily. Previously, if I had an itch during a meditation, I’d just scratch it. Now I just sit with it and observe what my mind does. I think all of us have, at some point in our lives, been in the situation of having a bad itch that we either can’t reach, or can’t scratch right then. Usually what happens is that you find yourself thinking you’re just going to die if you don’t scratch that itch. It’s terrible; you can’t function in your life with such an awful itch.

Similar thoughts bubble up during meditation, but if you just sit with them, or “hang out with them”, in Gil’s words, you’ll find that it’s not so unbearable at all. The itch itself isn’t the unbearable thing; what can be unbearable are the thoughts that we generate about the itch. Sitting with the itch, focusing your awareness on the itch, the thoughts tend to dissipate, and you’re left with the simple, unadorned experience of the itch. When you’ve reached that pointt, experiencing it without any added thoughts, it’s interesting to discover that it’s not so bad after all. Perhaps that sounds silly, meditating on an itch, but I recommend you try it (if you want); you don’t need a meditation cushion or anything. Just have a seat, sit with your breath, and wait for an itch to appear (and they will, trust me). Then just hang out with it and watch what your mind does.

I’ve done similar meditation on pain and discomfort. Where I’ve not sat regularly for very long, one of my legs invariably fall asleep – but before it goes to sleep, it hurts, aches, and has some massive tingling going on. I used to just change my position to try and get rid of the pain. I also used to try to avoid the pain, to focus on something else, even though the pain was often overpowering. This never worked. I’ve found, however, that if, instead of avoiding it, I focus on the pain, and just try to be present for it, the pain isn’t overpowering. It’s certainly not enjoyable – it still hurts, I’m not claiming otherwise! – but it isn’t as disrupting as it would be otherwise.

~

Our group met two evenings ago, on Tuesday, at the conference room of a hotel, where one of our members is the general manager. It was the first time we met at this location. In the past, we’ve met in the conference rooms at a local library. The switch from a library conference room to the hotel conference room would be a good one, if we had to stick with it, which we don’t (more on that shortly).

The meeting went quite well. One thing I was quite happy about was that four of us made it – in the past, we’ve generally had either two of us sitting, or perhaps three, if our schedules fell into place correctly, all of the planets were aligned, etc. We sat for 15 minutes, took a short break and discussed a few things, then sat for another 15 minutes.

Before the other two fellows arrived, Jeff (the general manager) and I spoke about the group, where we’d like to see it move, and so on. We were in agreement that we’d like the group to meet more often for sits. In the past, we’ve been limited by the library’s rules, specifically the one which states that you can only use one of their conference rooms once a month. Being a small group and having no funds available for group stuff, we’ve thus been meeting for sits only once a month. For discussions and general get-togethers, we’ve met a bit more often, using a local café.

The hotel conference room was nice, and fine for a meditation session. The only problem with it (if one can even really classify it as a problem) is that it’s not exactly close to any of us. It’s on one of the highways heading out of town, and for the three of us who live in town, it’s about a 20 minute drive. For the other guy, who lives out of town, on the other side of it, it’s more like half an hour. Certainly, we’re not talking huge commutes, but something closer would be nice. Jeff realized this, and was nice enough to offer up his home, in town, for our meetings. Using his house, we’ll be able to meet weekly.

Before I could bring up the topic of our group actively studying Buddhism, Jeff brought it up. He thought that perhaps incorporating a brief reading into our sits would be good, maybe a sutra that we could all meditate on. I thought it sounded like a good idea. We also discussed the issue of feeling like we’re on an ocean with no guide. None of us are very advanced in our practice, which has led to us just kind of floundering about in the water, wondering where to go. Again, Jeff had a solution. Apparently he’ll be frequently going to a larger city near us in the coming months, in which there’s a long-running Buddhist study / meditation group. He’s going to see if one of their more advanced members could come down to our town occasionally, perhaps once every month or two, to have a “class” of sorts. I thought this sounded great.

I suppose I keep thinking about something Drew, my professor, told me. He told me that he read in a newspaper that four people started a small meditation / study group (I can’t recall where it was, sadly). Initially, they met where ever they could – library rooms, parks, whatever.

Fast forward two years: they now have a meditation hall, around 50 regular members, and are a non-profit organization. They have services throughout the week, regular classes, etc.

Small steps, Josh. Small steps.

~

During our break between sitting sessions, we discussed a few things:

• I commented that when I first start a sitting session, I often feel like I’m leaning – a lot. Usually, I feel like I’m leaning to the left, almost to the point of falling over. If I try to correct this posture problem, I find that I’m not leaning at all. No one else had experienced that. After 5 minutes or so, the sensation goes away. How about you folks? Are any of my readers meditators? If you are, do you often feel like you’re the Leaning Tower of Pisa?
• Chris experienced something different, but similar. He said he often feels like he’s rocking back and forth slightly. When he goes to correct it, he finds he’s not actually moving.
• We talked a bit about whether or not we keep our eyes open during meditation. Some of us do, some of us don’t (I don’t). Jeff, who keeps his eyes partially open and focuses on something about 6 feet away from him, remarked that if he isn’t diligent in being aware of what’s going on, he’ll find himself seeing all sorts of things that aren’t there. For example, he said that while looking at the carpet Tuesday night, he started seeing faces, animals, etc. in the carpet pattern. Drew, who was facing the television in the conference room, said he felt like he was watching TV, then realized that it wasn’t even on. I suppose those two experiences show what your mind will do when you try to calm it down. It’s a bit like when you’re trying to get a small child to go to sleep: they’ll do anything they can think of to stay awake. Slap themselves, babble, kick, etc.I personally keep my eyes closed because of similar issues. I don’t necessarily “see” things like that, but I do find that if my eyes are open, my eyes have a tendency to wander, seeking out objects. Before I realize it, my mind’s off in left field (or not even in the stadium anymore), thinking about something that was vaguely related to something I looked at.
• We talked briefly after the second sitting session about how odd our perception of time can be. Both sessions were 15 minutes long. The first session felt like it lasted more like 20-30 minutes; the second session felt like it lasted 5 or 10 minutes, tops. This was something that we all generally noticed. No idea why.

First of all, I’d like to say something to everyone who has started groups, led groups, etc.: you have my respect! You had quite a bit of it before, but you have even more now that I’ve tried it myself. Starting and helping lead a group is much more difficult than I ever imagined.

I had envisioned our Buddhist group meeting regularly, with an agenda – what we would discuss, what resources we would use, etc. I also envisioned regular meditation meetings.

The latter has worked out fairly well. While we don’t meet as often as some of us would like, due to variety of schedules, we were meeting about once a week, up until the end of last quarter, at which point things kind of fell to hell. (I’m trying to rectify this problem now, by the way.) Our meditation sessions would usually last about an hour, and we would mix sitting and walking meditation.

I posed the question back in December, “What’s it like to meditate with other people?” I can now answer this question. The experience is different from meditating alone. Despite the fact that all participants are sitting, mostly not moving, and being silent, one is quite aware of your fellowmeditators . Before we started meditating, I was curious as to whether or not the other people would be a distraction. On the contrary, they actually help me focus on my meditation. Why? Because I know if I stray, if I shift and fidget, or even if I just get tense, others will know, and their meditation will be affected. It’s also reassuring to have others sitting, not “doing” anything, etc. I’d love to say that I always feel like I’m doing the “right thing” when meditating at home, but I’d be lying. I think everymeditator runs into the question of, “Just what the hell am I doing, sitting here like this, counting my breaths?” When all is said and done, I enjoy our group meditation sessions a great deal; they’ve not helped me solidify my at-home practice much, but that’s not the group’s fault – it’s mine!

The other aspect of the group, which I’d hoped would grow and flourish – that of studying Buddhist thought, doctrines, etc. – hasn’t gone so well. It is certainly not a matter of outright disagreement. Our group is rather small – there are four or five “regulars”, including myself – and we all get along splendidly. The problem is instead a lack of consensus, a lack of someone going, “Okay, this is what we’re doing.” In other words, the leadership is lacking – or perhaps, one could say that the leadership is just as confused and lost as the other members of the group!

The other members of the group often look to me and my professor for guidance, because we’re the ones who started the group. But honestly, I am personally not very good at that position! Why? Because I want to please everyone. (I believe my professor suffers from this as well.) For example, we talked about studying one school of Buddhism, and then moving on to others later. Some of us wanted to study Tibetan Buddhism; others wanted to take a look into Zen Buddhism. Who should make the call on what we go for? Luckily, no “executive decisions” had to be made, because we all agreed to study Zen Buddhism. But then what? Are we just going to meet and discuss Zen Buddhism? Study a particular book? Alter our meditation practice? What aspects of Zen Buddhism are we studying? We didn’t know; we had an idea of what we wanted to do, but we didn’t know what move to make next. We knew where we wanted to go, but weren’t entirely sure about the directions on how to get there.

It would be ideal if the group as a whole could simply decide on the next move, but it’s unfortunately not that simple. Buddhist or not, we’re all individuals, and we all have different takes on things. Some of us will want to use this book; others won’t want to use any book at all; others will still have an underlying desire to look into something totally different. What does all of this lead to? Inaction. I think that since we’re all a bit confused about how to move forward, we just don’t move forward. I’m certainly not saying that I dislike our meditation meetings, or find them useless – on the contrary, as I mentioned above, I find them helpful, and I enjoy the companionship. But our study sessions, when we’re supposed to be meeting, to discuss and learn about Buddhism and our practices – these sessions have sort of been dead in the water from the get go. And for that, I feel I need to take my fair share of the blame. I don’t think I (or my professor) foresaw the problems we’d run into, and we certainly didn’t plan accordingly.

I’m not sure what to do now. Perhaps we need to have a meeting specifically to talk about where we’d all like the group to go, what we’d like to do, and how we’d like to do it. Perhaps someone – me, my professor, anyone in the group – needs to grab the reigns and say, “Alright, everyone, here’s where we’re going, and this is how we’re getting there.” I’m especially hesitant about this, though, because I don’t “own” the group; no one does. Without the members, the group wouldn’t exist. For this reason, I hate to come across as dictatorial. Perhaps I need to email a Cybermonk and ask for his guidance.

In short, the experiences with this group have taught me that it’s one thing to say, “let’s start a group to do X”, and quite another to start that group and actively lead the group to growing, flourishing, expanding. Even if all of the members like each other, get along, have similar (but not identical!) ideas about how the group should work – even if all of these factors come together (which, in our case, they have) – it’s still not easy to steer the ship out of the harbor, and head off to where you want to go. It’s quite likely that you’ll have your crew on board, with everyone scratching their heads, saying, “Um, what do we do now?”

If you’ve been in a similar situation before (or not), I’d love your comments, and any ideas you might have that would help me jump-start our group’s activity. Thanks!

I have some ideas I would like to test with you.

What do you find useful in Buddhism which you do not find or not as useful in Christianity?

No, I am not taking up the defense of Christianity, but just curious why Buddhism has found favor with supposedly intellectuals of the West, some minority of them but visible.

While I am sure there must be also a visible number although a minority of Buddhists also going over to Christianity.

And I would like to ask them similarly what they find in Christianity that is better for them than their own born into Buddhism.

I told him I’d respond in a post, since I thought my response would be a bit too long for the comments.

I think what I find useful in Buddhism, which I don’t find in Christianity, is that with Buddhism, I’m not forced into believing anything.

In Christianity, it is set forth that there is one God, and that you must believe in that god. It is also set forth that God sent his only son, Jesus, to this earth, to die for all of our sins. Basically, if you don’t believe in these two things, then you can’t be a Christian: the entire religion is built on those two things. You can’t build up your Christian tower without those two foundation blocks.

In Buddhism, there isn’t any of this. There are no gods that one must believe in; there is no story of divine beings coming to the earth. In a previous post here on my blog, I even commented that I think that, most likely, the historical Buddha didn’t exist. And that’s okay! Whether the fellow existed or not ultimately doesn’t matter. The fact is, the Four Noble Truths still exist, the Eightfold Path still exists, and these things make sense to me. They sync well with my personality, with my mind, and my life.

On the flip side, if I read about the story of Jesus, his life, his work, and his death, and then decided that I doubted all of it as actually happening, where does that leave me? How could I move forward with my faith in it? I don’t see how I could. Without solid belief in the Christian God and Jesus, one can’t be Christian. It just isn’t possible, at least not in any way that I see.

Traditionally, it is said that the Buddha taught that all followers should test what he said. He advised all of his disciples to really try what he said, to sit down and try and find the self, to really look at how their minds worked and what caused their suffering. He said he wasn’t divine, he wasn’t sent by a god, that he was just a normal human, just like everyone else. It is this message of “try it, don’t believe just on faith” that appeals to me. Many religions, when you question them, simply respond with “you must believe this, solely on faith.” I, personally, am not fond of that. I don’t know how to make myself believe anything, regardless of how bad I’d like to.

Looking at what I’ve written, the major trend I’m seeing is this: my preference towards Buddhism over Christianity is based on the issue of faith. Buddhism doesn’t call on me to believe in anything “out there”, Christianity does. If I decide that I believe there is a God or gods “out there”, I can still be Buddhist. If, on the other hand, I decide that I don’t believe in anything out there, that there is nothing supernatural “out there”, I can still be Buddhist. Christianity doesn’t give me that freedom.

Hope that helps, mdejess.

Oh, by the way. I feel it necessary to say this, so as to keep things civil here: I’m not attacking Christianity. I don’t have any problem with Christians. I don’t believe the same things they do, and that’s okay. We can agree to disagree and still be nice about it. If you have criticisms for me or Buddhism, that’s fine (and in fact, I welcome it – such things make me think!) However, I do ask that if you respond to this post, be civil! Attacks or general meanness will be sent off into the void.

What I’m talking about is Rangjung Rigpe Dorje, the sixteenth Gyalwa Karmapa. As can be seen on the Wikipedia page, under Karmapa’s death, it is claimed that after he died, his body, as per Tibetan tradition, sat up in the meditation position for three days. It is further claimed that during that time, his heart remained warm, and his body never underwent the effects of rigor mortis. At the end of the paragraph, there is remark that says:

Chief of staff Radulfo Sanchez had no medical explanation for this.

Now, what is a skeptic supposed to make of that? Hearts should, if they follow the typical pattern of death, not remain warm after the person has died. Remaining warm after death, unless you’re by a heat source of some kind, is not natural. Furthermore, bodies in a typical environment should undergo rigor mortis. And then, of course, there’s this line from the Wikipedia page:

During the seven weeks between his death and his cremation, Karmapa’s body spontaneously shrank to the size of a small child.

See my comment in the first paragraph, namely: bodies should not shrink drastically.

Of course, I’m extremely hesitant to believe the Wikipedia article based on the references that are cited. It appears that the references mostly come from a Dutch book, called Het Boeddhistische boek van Wijsheid van Liefde, which is a translation of the French book, Le livre bouddhiste de la sagesse et de l’amour. (For those of us who don’t speak Dutch or French, Babelfish reports that this translates to: The Buddhist book of love and wisdom.) If the reports about what happened after his death were in a non-Buddhist book, I’d be more inclined to believe it. As it is, Buddhist or not, that’s a bit more bias than I can swallow, at least with something so strange. I tried looking around on the internet for other sources, particularly with references to Radulfo Sanchez, but I had no luck in finding anything else at all, except on Buddhist websites. Again, nothing wrong with Buddhists (I consider myself one, after all!), but I’d like some “proof” from a non-Buddhist source, like a medical journal.

I suppose the issue that is more interesting as to whether or not it really happened, is how I would feel if I could verify for sure that it did happen. I don’t really know, truth be told. Such an occurrence is something that could (and most likely would) alter my world view; not hugely, but my views would certainly be shaken up a bit. A corpse sitting up for three days and remaining warm doesn’t really fit into my view of death. Corpses shrinking drastically also doesn’t really fit into how I view the world.

Ironically, while I’m Buddhist, I don’t really feel bad at all about having reservations in “buying” this story. The story goes that the historical Buddha advised his followers to not believe anything based on faith, whether it was passed to you through a teacher, a book, whatever. He said the ultimate teacher was experience. So, I suppose I don’t really have to believe the story, until I have a chance to sit with a dying Buddhist meditation master, and then also have the chance to see if his heart stays warm after death…

How about you? Do you think such things are possible? If so, what’s your take on it?

Update: Thanks to my friend Fig for pointing out some stupid mistakes I made.

What’s this 52 Books in 52 Weeks thing about?

This is actually the second time I’ve read this book, but the first time I’ve written a full entry for it. When I read it before, I mentioned it briefly on this post, saying that it came across as a bit “new agey”, but that I enjoyed it a lot anyway.

After my second reading of it, I’m not so sure I stand by my initial impression. I don’t know if it’s really new agey, or perhaps it’s just that Lama Surya Das is so at ease and genuinely happy about what he’s teaching. I’m leaning more towards the latter at this point.

Awakening the Buddha Within is one of the most popular introductory texts to Buddhism available right now, and, after reading it twice, I can see why. Lama Surya Das, a native American, has spent roughly half of his life studying the Dharma, mostly in foreign countries such as Nepal. He writes in a very natural style, making it extremely easy to understand what he’s saying. I’ve read a few books on Buddhism that were a bit too technical for my tastes, but this isn’t one of them.

The book has all of the things that one would expect from an introductory book about Buddhism: a brief story about Siddhartha Gautama, the historical Buddha; examining the Four Noble Truths; and exploring the Eightfold Path, which takes up about half of the book. There are also many meditations that you can use for your own practice. Throughout the book are stories from the author’s life, as well as from the lives of his teachers and others, which illustrate the principles of Buddhism.

My only real complaint with the book is that it needs to be longer. Often, Surya would start a section on a new topic, and (in my opinion) not devote enough space to it. About the time he’d be getting into the topic he’d started, the section would end. While this can be frustrating, I suppose the bonus is that the topics he doesn’t thoroughly explore give you something to look into. A few of the topics which he skimmed (such as Lojong and Tonglen practice), I checked out online, and they both have plenty of more in-depth material available. And, of course, I’m sure there are books on the topics as well.

All in all, I really like this book; I actually ended up buying it the last time I was at a Borders in Charleston, West Virginia. It certainly doesn’t explore Buddhism in an exhaustive manner, but I doubt there’s any book that does that.

This was a fairly quick read which I mostly enjoyed. In it, Joseph Goldstein compares and contrasts a few of the well-known Buddhist traditions, namely the Theravada, Tibetan, and Zen traditions. Along the ride, you also get an introduction to the universal ideas behind Buddhism, including a decent guide to getting started with meditation. The author went at it at a peculiar way (to me, at least). All of the previous books on Buddhism I’ve read have had a rather clearly laid out section about the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path. While the general gist of these two things were in the book, they weren’t laid out in the traditional way. It wasn’t a problem, just more of a peculiarity.

The one major problem I had with the book was the length: considering what Goldstein was trying to do, I thought the book was too short. If the book had been two or three times as long, I think he could have explored the similarities and differences between the traditions far better. As it is, just as you start to get pulled into comparing the traditions, you’re moving on to another section. One bit I did find quite interesting was the section on the various ideas on the nature of mind. On the one hand, some traditions see it as something that needs to be purified of defilements through different means, mostly meditation. On the other hand, some traditions such as Zen see the mind as innately pure and clear. It’s an interesting paradox to say the least.

I think he did fairly well in distilling the traditions of Buddhism down into an “essence” of Buddhism, but I don’t know if this woud be a good book for beginner’s to look into. I think it would be far better to explore one tradition at a time, in depth, before you read this short “glance” at three or four of them. I know from personal experience that, if you’re looking for a Tibetan perspective on things, Awakening the Buddha Within is an excellent book.

What’s this 52 Books in 52 Weeks thing about?

A professor of mine and I started a Buddhist study / meditation group a couple of months ago. We created the group because there weren’t any Buddhist organizations in the area, and we wanted to have some people who were also Buddhist to discuss with, and perhaps even meditate with. After having a few meetings, we decided we wanted to start meeting weekly (we’d been planning on meeting monthly). A few weeks ago we talked about starting weekly meditation sessions. My professor volunteered to look into places we could meet and meditate together; after a bit of digging, we thought we’d found a place. Unfortunately, the board of folks who run the place met and voted us down. Oh well – we’re still searching! We think we have another place lined up, and we’re just waiting on the details and hopefully, the green light.

I’m looking forward to it, and my curiosity is certainly piqued. What’s it like to meditate with other people? I’ve never done it. All of my meditation experience has been by myself, sitting on my cushion in a quiet room. Does meditating with other people alter the experience any? I’m inclined to say that it would have to change the experience, but I can’t say how. If you’ve meditated with other people before, please chime in – I’m interested in your thoughts!

Unfortunately, none of us are really qualified to lead a meditation session; a few of the members have had some formal meditation training, but not nearly enough to teach. If one of us were qualified to guide the meditation (or if we could get a qualified person to come and do so), I’m sure it would alter the experience even more. It would be entirely new to me, because I’ve never taken part in a guided meditation session, nor have I received any formal meditation training. I’ve simply followed the meditation instructions I’ve read in many different books. Perhaps if our group grows to be a decent size, one of the larger groups from a nearby city could have a teacher visit us on occasion.