The Dharma

A Code You Can Live By

Ground yourself in the natural world --

guided by the light of practical reason.

See the world as it is. Watch how way leads on to way -- 

comprehend the play of cause and effect;

dependency, conditioned arising, contingency.

Let go of reactivity and fixations.

See how by letting go these things ease, slow, and sto[.

Experience the liberation in this.

Cultivate your path.

Maintain a view of the world that is broad and open minded,

inclusive and detailed.

Be mindful and attentive,

diligent and careful.

Practice concentration and discipline.

In all manner of things seek the appropriate response

in your thoughts, words and deeds.

Participate in the life of the world. Be honest. Be kind.

Abide in emptiness.

Dixi

Why Buddhists Must be Done with Buddhism

Why Buddhists Must be Done with Buddhism

In the second century C.E. the great Buddhist teacher Nagarjuna wrote Verses From the Center. Almost lost among twenty-seven chapters and 448 verses are four simple lines. They are among the most important four lines in the Buddhist literature.  

When buddhas don't appear

And their followers are gone,

The wisdom of awakening

Bursts forth by itself.

Stephen Batchelor, Verses From the Center - A Buddhist Vision of the Sublime

If Gautama Siddhartha's original message of liberation is anything more than an interesting development in the history of religious thought in Southeast Asia then it has to have a vitality that stands on its own, transcending incidentals of personality, time and place. And most certainly transcending the centuries of historical baggage that followed in its wake.

Nagarjuna clearly thought that it did.   

So let's put it to the test.

Let's be done with the Buddha and with buddhas. Let's be done with the followers and the teachers and the sages, the patriarchs, gurus, monks and nuns. Let's be done with all Buddhist scripture and commentary and the myriad Buddhist branches, schools and traditions, oral and written. Done with the cult of the cushion and the technologies of meditation, along with lineages and genealogies, titles, caps, robes, rituals, chants, mantras and koans, and all Buddhist beliefs. 

Let's dare to throw the baby out with the bathwater, the good out with the bad. Throw out what works along with what doesn't. Wash our hands of anything and everything that stinks of the word Buddhism and let the very word Buddha and all memory of it be long forgotten. Let it all go, Gate, gate, para gate, para sum gate. Done, finished, over. 

Now what?

What is this wisdom of awakening that will burst forth by itself?

First, what it is not. The wisdom of awakening is not a few rules of ethical behavior. It is not a prescription for a noble life or a strategy for living. People don't need religion or philosophy or some wisdom of awakening in order to lead a good life. About that there have always been reliable sources of sound advice including simple common sense and fundamental human decency.

The wisdom of awakening is also not about an abstract esoteric doctrine of emptiness, although that is getting closer to the chase. The Buddha's original message of liberation was not an otherworldly metaphysical vision of enlightenment designed to engage the attention of scholars, pundits, metaphysicians, priests, or the educated elites of the Indian subcontinent. The wisdom of awakening was an insight accessible by all regardless of their station in life, education or sophistication. The idea of emptiness was a way to unlock, to release the wisdom of awakening, not an end in itself.

So it must be with the new wisdom of awakening -- it must be a vision, a message, a simple insight available and accessible and understandable by ordinary human beings, living on the earth, concerned with earthly affairs, at all levels of society, regardless of sophistication. And it must be an insight of great power, not some easily dismissed nostrum.

This is what I think it will look like:

The wisdom of awakening that originally burst into the mind of Siddhartha Gautama and will burst forth again on its own in the mind of someone who looks, is simply this:  

There is no supernatural. 

There is no supernatural anything; there never has been; there never will be; ever. There are no gods or goddesses or deities or supernatural powers above you or below you or on either side; none are there to be found in the mountains, or the desert, the forest, the jungle, the grassland, the river, or the sea, or on the farm or in the village or city or in the schools or universities or temples or monasteries; none in statues or stone or in painting or on paper. Nothing supernatural can ever be found in any man or animal, vegetable or mineral, living or dead. None. There is no supernatural authority anywhere and no one wields any authority backed up by any supernatural anything. They never have had any such authority. There is none to be had.

In ancient India there were those who immediately understood the power of this profoundly liberating insight. India and the ancient world had soaked for tens of thousands of years in a suffocating supernaturalism that permeated every aspect of human life, from the cradle to the grave, a supernatural cultural current dominating the individual, the family, the village and all levels of political, economic and religious life.  

It was impossible then, and is impossible now, to be free in a world where you believe in any supernatural anything. The most ancient, the most powerful, and the ultimate in crippling authoritarian ideologies, is the belief in the supernatural.  

For the perceptive and receptive Indian mind steeped in the cultural background of the supernatural the revelation that the supernatural was simply an empty fantasy was a truth of overwhelming potency and liberating power.  

For those whose understanding was not so deep or immediate the wisdom of awakening was not just one more ideology to be taken on faith or simply believed. The invitation of the Buddha was simple: look and see for yourself. In fact, you have to look and see for yourself. Look at the world around you, the comings and goings, the natural processes, the forms contingent and interconnected and ever changing. And now look at the content of your own minds, reflecting those endless forms; now you see them, now you don’t; they come and go. 

So too, look at the sacred images within your mind, the gods and the goddesses, the devils and demons and all sorts of supernatural beings and forces and undercurrents that populate your conscious and subconscious thoughts. Simply look and see. They are not real. They are empty. There is nothing there to fear or worship or to respect or stand in awe of or to revere or to submit to. Look and see. The supernatural has no hold on you whatsoever. The supernatural does not exist. It never has. It never will. There is no supernatural power underlying your life or any aspect of your life.

For the ancient Indian mind the message was simple and direct: Simply stop believing in the supernatural and the direct and undeniable experience of the natural world is what is left. Live in that world, the only world there is.

The situation is not all that different for anyone today or for anyone living in a time when all memory of Buddhism will have been long lost. Belief in the supernatural is not a bug in the human mind, it is a feature. From infancy the human mind is overwhelmed by a natural world seemingly beyond understanding. Things happen and the how and why are at first a complete mystery and may remain so for all one's life. It is easy and natural to believe that supernatural forces are at work in the natural world. And societies are dominated by a bewildering variety of superstitious beliefs. Almost everyone, it appears, believes in some form of the supernatural. It is not so easy to break free of a suffocating culture. But it can be done.   

The wisdom of awakening that will burst forth on its own is freedom from the supernatural and all guises of the supernatural; freedom from all the promises of otherworldly understanding or insight or metaphysical enlightenment or special powers. And freedom from all those who claim authority based on the supernatural or their understanding or interpretation of the supernatural. All those people are simply human beings just like everyone else.

If Gautama the Buddha's insight liberated the ancient Indian mind mind from the stultifying supernaturalism of the ancient world, then Nagarjuna's insight liberates the modern buddhist from Buddhism, from the baggage and the mysticism, metaphysics, and supernaturalism that has steadily eroded and corroded the original message of liberation.  

Walk in freedom on the earth.  There are no gods above you and no demons below.  There are no spirits to the right or to the left, in the forests or mountains or deserts or in the sea. There is no supernatural power behind any secular or religious authority; nor is there any behind the priest or the guru or the saint or the sage or the metaphysical scholar.  

If it is true that the truth shall set you free, then the greatest truth is that there is no supernatural anything; there never has been; there never will be.

  

Now go about your business.

Dixi

LLP

How to Think

How to Think 

A Brief Review of a Book Cover.

Since I recently posted a comment that it was my mission in life to help humanity stop stupid shit thinking I thought it couldn’t hurt if I learned a bit about the topic. So I went on Amazon and found a cheap but highly reviewed book by Alan Jacobs (never heard of him) titled How to Think: A Survival Guide for a World at Odds.

It arrived yesterday. I started in on it this morning. It is a slim 2017 edition hardback, 5” x 7 1/2”, 157 pages, one illustration - a cartoon strip.

I first read the book cover since those often give a thumbnail of what to expect inside. To quote a few sentences that jumped out at me: 

“Jacobs has learned that many of our fiercest disputes occur not because we are doomed to be divided but because the people involved simply aren’t thinking.”

Right on dude! That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking.

“Most of us don’t want to think….Thinking is trouble….Thinking can force us out of familiar, comforting habits, and it can complicate our relationships…. Thinking is slow.”

And a caveat that there may be some unexpected gem  inside: 

“…it’s actually impossible to ‘think for yourself’.”

This could be fun!

LLP

Nostradamus Speaks -- Deep Time

Deep Time

Dr. Nostradamus had long promised to teach me time travel, "when I was worthy."  But recently he disclosed, or implied, or hinted ... (seriously, I still really am not sure) that he is not strictly speaking a time traveler, just very, very old -- over 500 years old in fact. He's a genetic "freak of nature" (his words, not mine) and while that fact is extraordinary, it is not supernatural. Dr. N gets touchy about this because he maintains that belief in the supernatural is at the core of human stupidity. He wants to make it perfectly clear that everything about him is completely within the laws of the natural world. Period. Full stop.

I think I was disappointed to learn that I wasn't ever going to be able to time travel in the way I had hoped to given all the movies I had watched. Okay, that was a childish fantasy, but still.

It was on this sort of a time travel reverie that I started thinking about time itself and since Dr. N had been around for a while he might have a unique perspective on the topic. It was worth a shot so I snuck in a question to Dear Dr. Nostra and attributed it to a sleeper cell coordinator I trusted would not rat me out -- Zappnin in SoCal.

"Dear Dr. Nostra," I read, "Zappnin in SoCal asks if you can talk a bit about looking back in time since you are so old."

Dr. Nostra says: "Thanks for the question Zappnin in SoCal. You are obviously a very smart young fellow so I will share with you an insight that has troubled me since I first became acquainted with Galileo back in the day.

"When we look out into space we can see stars that are, say, 5 million light years away. This simply means that the light we see started traveling to us 5 million years ago.

"This is a common understanding of space and time within the scientific community and most of the educated public gets it.

"Now imagine that we have a telescope so powerful that we can see a planet orbiting a star 5 million light years away and can zoom in so close that we can see the surface of that planet and what's happening there. In detail.

"Are you following this, Number One?"

"I'm with you, Sensei," I said, "Go on."

Dear Dr. Nostra continued: "It is important to understand that we are not looking 'out there'; we are looking at the light that has 'come here.' 

"So the light that has come here, to us, has been traveling for 5 million years and what we see happened 5 million years ago on that distant planet.

"Hang on to your lug nuts Grasshopper, because the ride is going to get bumpy."

"I'm hanging, Boss, go for it." I said.

The Great Prognosticator went for it, "Now, imagine that in real time, right now, so to speak, that distant sun went supernova and that distant planet is utterly evaporated. Gone."

"Cool," I said, "Like the Death Star in Star Wars."

He ignored the comment. "Images of that great disaster will not reach our eyes until 5 million years have passed. That's 5 million years in our future. Are you with me, Dungbeetle?"

"I'm with you, Sensei," I said.

Dr. N continued, "In the meantime though, the history of that distant planet, all that happened from right now, our time, exists and will continue to exist, but only in the complex pattern of photons that are even now streaming out in it's light cone. A light cone from a planet that in physical reality no longer exists -- but will appear to exist in the images the photons create in our brains -- for the next 5 million years.

"These are the kinds of thoughts that would have you burned at the stake in the days I came of age. The church was a centuries old monster then and the mentality that supports that kind of oppression is alive and thriving today. But don't get me started.

"So that's enough for today. I hope my response will stimulate further thought for Zappnin in SoCal."

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Snickers

Snickers

"Mr. Ricketts," I said, extending my hand to the disbarred attorney and former occupant of my office space, "Can I call you Jim?"

"No," he said, "And it's Rockette, like the Radio City Music Hall Rockettes, without the 's'."

"How about Jimmy?" I said.

"No," he said.

"James?" me again.

"No," he again.

"Jamestown?" another try.

"It's Jameston, not Jamestown, no town in it."

"How about JR?" last chance.

"JR is okay," he said.

"Okay, Jimmy," I said, "What's your cute little doggie's name?" reaching out and then snatching my hand back from the snappy little shit.

"Snickers, her name is Snickers," Jimmy said, kissing the little rat right on the lips.

"Jimmy," I said, "I don't know if I can trust you because I don't know what unprofessional, unethical or illegal thing you did to get disbarred. You might steal my shit."

"I won't steal your shit and I wasn't disbarred; it's only a one-year suspension."

"What did you do?"

"There was a problem with a client's trust fund account."

"Whose?" I asked,

"Yeah," he said.

"Whose?" I asked again.

"Hers," he said again.

"Who is her? What is the client's goddamned name?" 

"Her name is Hu. H-u. She owns this mall," Jimmy finally confessed.

"I think I might know her. She's the nice young Vietnamese girl at the leasing office," I said.

"No, that's Chrisy, Hu's daughter. Don't try to hit on her. Her boyfriend might be a gangster and her dad is definitely a big shot."

"So, did you steal Madam Hu's trust fund money?"

"No, I didn't steal it and she got it all back or I would be dead and Hu is her first name."

"Are you going to tell me her last name? Maybe I know her."

"Ngo. And I doubt it."

"No!? Listen to me Jiminy Crickets or what the fuck, don't jerk me around or I swear I will kick your dishonest, disbarred, unethical, and unprofessional ass right out of this office. And your little dog too.

"Ngo. Her last name is N-g-o." Jimmy said.

"Shit!" I said, "I think I know her. Is she short, rattlesnake mean with a beehive hairdo, tattooed eyebrows and eyelashes, and long sharp red nails."

"That's her. How do you know her?" Jimmy said again.

"I had a run-in with her. The Dragon Lady."

"Which one?" Jimmy asked.

"What do you mean, which one?" I asked back.

"There are two of 'em, sisters, identical twins, no one can tell them apart. Each one meaner than the other."

I knew without a doubt, right then and there, that I was doomed to live out my life in some sort of Abbott and Costello 1950's comedy routine, and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it.

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Ubermensch

Ubermensch

For the record, I did go to the Los Angeles NBC office for the Today show with my proposal for an interview with Dr. Nostradamus. I was escorted off the premises sandwiched like PeeWee Herman between two 6' 5" 350 pound Samoan security guards, my feet dangling off the floor.

They dumped me outside the entrance, one of them warning me like Arnold Schwarzenegger, "Don't be back." They laughed and high-fived each other. 

I flipped them the bird and said, "Fuck you assholes, I'm going to 60 Minutes!"

I drove to the CBS offices and as I was cruising by the front three of those massive Samoan cartel security guards came out and eyeballed me. No doubt having been tipped off.

I drove all the way back to my dump of an office in Little Saigon, having lost about $150 in potential Uber fares that day. 

I lay down on my shitty sofa and started thinking about beautiful Vienna and beautiful Ingrid.

Rousing myself from a self-pitying wallow, I googled and found numbers for reality show producers. A lady from My 600 Pound Life asked me if Dr. Nostradamus would be willing to put on some weight. Click. I told whoever it was that answered for Dr. Pimple Popper that I was willing to eat a lot of chocolate if I could get a slot. She said, "Good luck with that, pizza face." I had not been called that since middle school. Click.

I was in a serious funk in need of an intervention. I called Ingrid. "Ingrid, sweetheart, I miss you so much and Vienna too."

Ingrid said she was in Paris already, at the Hotel Les Bains. She was a resident assistant for hotel management, had a nice room all to herself, with meals and other accommodations. She had been assigned to learn French, work on her memory, and learn to write.

She also said we were right, Dr. Nostradamus was indeed, very rich. In fact, he was a leading member of a group of Dutch bankers that owned the hotel. The staff knew of him, but nothing about him, other than he should not be treated any differently than anyone else who probably owned half of Paris. She thought he owned the Sorbonne too.

I told her that as Nostradamus Speaks' senior editor I looked forward to a 10th floor corner office in an exclusive high rise in Newport Beach, California, complete with small attached living quarters, all expenses paid. She said she would come visit when she could.

I hung up feeling like a world-class Uber loser.

The office front door bells jingled, signaling the arrival of a customer. I went out and Jameston Rockette, Esq., the disbarred lawyer who had previously occupied this dump was there, a snarling little chihuahua in his arms. He wanted to know if he could stay for a while until he got back on his feet -- just a couple of days.

What the hell, I really needed someone to talk to.

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Hiding in Plain Sight

Hiding in Plain Sight

Dr. Nostradamus was at Starbucks when I arrived the next Wednesday and he resumed the storyline of his life. 

He mentioned the Wikipedia pages that chronicle what is known, or thought to be known about the historical Michel de Nostradamus.

"Most of what you read is fairly accurate with a few significant exceptions -- the date of my recorded death, the state of my health, and the character of my writings.

"In June of 1566, I was 66 years old, living in Salon-de-Provence, in the south of France just north of Marseille. Contrary to the historical record, I was in excellent health, as would be expected of a man in his early thirties, not his sixties. But mine was increasingly a life of deception. As a medically trained person I had years earlier started to feign the appearance and ailments appropriate for a man of my supposed age. I added grey to my hair and beard and could walk the walk and limp accordingly. I adopted the facial expressions, gestures, and speech patterns of an older man. I learned how to act. 

"My purported prophetic writings which are now famous were simply musings and diversions fashionable at the time. I have read many of them on line and don't recognize any, even those that have some claim to authenticity. So let me say it for the record, and you can quote me: 

Most of the quatrains, prophecies, and quotations attributed to me in books and on the internet are complete fabrications. Signed/ Michel de Nostradamus.

"My wife Anne died in early 1566. My children were grown and had their own families.

"On June 30, 1566, I took leave of my household and left for a horseback  day trip into the forest southwest of my home.

"On July 2, 1566, a riderless horse found its way back the stable. Dr. Michel de Nostradamus' saddle bags were intact and contained alI he had packed for his trip. 

"A week later a young man of obvious wealth and good family sought lodging at the best Inn in Marseille. He stayed for three days and then left by carriage. His name is lost to history. 

"From the port of Marseille I sailed to Barcelona. From there I made my way down the Iberian peninsula and up the Western seaboard, through Portugal, and France and from there to Normandy and beyond to the Netherlands where I settled and became a banker.

"I amassed a fortune and learned how to hide it. I lived under various names, as circumstance required. I traveled widely and studied. I found a home at the Paris-Sorbonne which has since served as the hub of my life and travels.

"The details of my life since I left my home and identity as Dr. Michel de Nostradamus would no doubt be of intense interest to historians but for me they are only a background from where I was able to observe and understand the patterns that ebb and flow in the natural world and in human history. That is what I am about.

"For some time now I have returned to using my birth name. It is a fairly common French name and no one apart from crackpots will dare fantasize that I am the original. Serious readers will consider my use of the Nostradamus name as an innocuous literary device.

"Thus I now hide in plain sight."

"But you are not hiding, Sensei." I said, "You are publishing all this -- even this very conversation -- under your true name, in Nostradamus Speaks. I don't understand.

"Do you want to really come in from the cold? I can arrange interviews. We might start out small but in no time you could be on the Today show; maybe 60 Minutes. The reality show people will snatch you up in a heartbeat.

"Face it, Dr. N, the numbers you get from your sleeper cells are minuscule compared to what they could be."

Our meeting concluded with a jumble of thoughts rushing through my head. This could be big, really big.

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Writer's Block

The Writer's Block

"Hi, my name is Clarise and I'm a writer," thus spoke Clarise, Chair of the Little Saigon chapter of Writer's Block SoCal, a network of budding and accomplished writers seeking to hone their craft and get rich and famous.

"We have a newcomer tonight, so let's get ready to rumble!"

The excitement was palpable. Clarise left the lectern and nodded me forward.

I made my way to the front clutching a how-to-do-it card in my very large hand: 

"Hi, my name is (insert your name here), and I am a writer." 

Tell the group a little bit about the writing side of you.

"Hi, my name is Number One, and I am a writer." I dutifully read and said, "And I'd like to tell you a little bit about the writing side of me.

"I am the Chief Spokesperson, communications chief and writer for an international think tank." 

This was basically true, I think, even if I puffed it up a bit.

"I write a semi-irregular bulletin called Nostradamus Speaks that transmits the message of the think tank's head, Dr. Michel de Nostradamus."

A voice from the back interrupted, "This is a gathering of writers, not stenographers."

Another voice chimed in, crisply British, "Yes indeed, dear boy, are you a scrivener, a scribe, a mere clerical note taker, or are you a writer?"

Let the rumble begin.

Perhaps it was the British accent that triggered a long forgotten association. "I see my role as a modern day Boswell."

This prompted a condescending sneer. "Surely you jest," the Brit sniffed, "And your man is Dr. Johnson, I presume?"

"Yes." I said, "I think he is, and if you had heard my man give a week-long standing room only seminar at the Paris-Sorbonne, you might back off a bit. And don't call me Shirley."

I think my ready defense couched in the historical reference to the famous 18th Century Boswell - Samuel Johnson collaboration did back off the attack dogs a bit. English Lit to the rescue.

"But," I added, "Boswell based his biography of Johnson on the copious notes he took while traveling with Johnson on a grand tour of Europe and Scotland." 

I waited -- a suspenseful moment prompting my erudite audience to take pause: this Number One guy might actually have some educational chops.

"Unlike Boswell, I do not take notes. None, nada, zilch. Neither written or mental. I rely entirely on memory in preparing Nostradamus Speaks."

They were impressed. Me too. My audience was listening.

Another man spoke up. "How do you keep it all together? You don't even take mental notes?"

"Introduce yourself, Howard," Chair Clarise interrupted.

Howard obliged, "Hi, my name is Howard and I am a writer. I am a screenwriter and have filing cabinets full of notes. One night I had the complete storyline of a Harry Potter all worked out in my head but didn't write it down. I deeply regret that........

Clarise interrupted again, "We've all been there, done that, Howard. Go on, Number One."

"That's right Howard," I repeated, "No notes, written or mental. I don't try to remember what happened, I try to pay attention. Taking even mental notes distracts. Then, when I write up what happened with Dr. Nostradamus or in related events, I try to re-live and re-create in my mind the entirety of what was said and done."

"That's impossible unless you have an eidetic or photographic memory. Do you?" said name tag George.

"No. I’m working on it though." I said.

George countered, "I'm sorry, Number One, but memory is not reliable. It doesn't take a scientist to point that out. 

"Yes, memory is highly unreliable and malleable. How do you get it right?" Edith name tagged older woman asked.

"Introductions people, introductions," reminded Chair Clarise.

"Honestly, Edith, I am not sure that I do always get it right. But I think that I get it right enough."

Okay people," Chair Clarise announced, "Number One has given us a little bit about the writing side of himself but now it is time for -- The Talk.

"Nigel, would you do the honors tonight?"

The snobbish Brit made his way to the lectern, "With pleasure, Madame Chair." 

"Hi, my name is Nigel, and ....

"Just get on with it, Nigel," Clarise interrupted.

"Very well then, getting on with it:

"Why Do We Write?

We write to learn how to think.

We write to give voice and impose discipline and structure on the images, abstractions, and emotions that rattle around in our minds.

We write to learn how to understand.

We write to effectively communicate to others.

We write because writing is our passion, our joy,

And because writing is the power and the glory forever and ever!"

With that Chair Clarise led the group in a standing ovation, "Bravo, bravo, bravo!" I too jumped to my feet and joined in the collective accolade.

I'm gonna like this place.

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Confession Day

Confession Day

Today was Wednesday, Dear Dr. Nostra day, when the Great Prognosticator Dr. Michel de Nostradamus humanized himself by answering sleeper questions about love and romance and relationships and the occasional one worthy of his talents.

Dr. N hated it. I liked it. I had relationship problems of my own now and then and a little good advice couldn't hurt. So I would sneak in a question now and then, disguising it as from Virginia Virginia or Alice from South Dakota who always had some misery to share.

The Maestro was pensive. "Number One," he said, "Do you remember when you first signed up?... Paris?...The Sorbonne?"

"I do, Sensei. The more I recall the sharper my memories."

"Take care, Grasshopper," Dr. N said, "Recalling past events can easily create false memories that seem more real than what actually happened."

"Yes." I said. He had warned me of that before and by experience I found it to be so.

Dr. N returned to Paris. "In those days I could fill a good sized room to standing room only."

"I remember that, Doctor." I said.

"Now I seem reduced to pumping out a weekly advice column. If I didn't know better I would say it is humiliating. But I do know better. I have been through this cycle many, many times."

I listened carefully because it was unlike Dr. Nostradamus to reflect in this way

"You know that I am not a real time traveler, don't you Number One?"

I actually did not know that. I thought he was.

"I am not a time traveler in the way you probably understand or think you understand it. I can travel back in my mind to every minute of every day in my life from the time I turned 7 years old. I can re experience everything that I experienced then in exactly the same way. I can remember every word of every book I read and every conversation I ever had. But my time travel is in my mind, not in the external natural world."

I was troubled by what he was saying because it felt like an illusion falling away. I knew of his prodigious memory but surely he was a time traveler. How else to explain so much? 

But I wanted to be agreeable. "I know, Sensei, I can still remember the first time I saw you and Mrs. Nostradamus at the orphanage. That was 30 years ago and seems like yesterday. "

"I'm not talking about looking back 30 years Number One, I am looking back over more than 500 years."

I didn't know what to say. Actually, I couldn't say anything.

"I'm a freak of nature," Dr. Michel de Nostradamus said. "I am like a tortoise or a bristlecone pine tree. I age, but very, very slowly. When I was 30 years old my body stopped aging like normal. I now look like I am about 60 so I have probably biologically aged only about 30 years in the last 500."

"What happened to you?" I asked.

"I don't know. I am pretty sure I was born this way. I had a geneticist look at my blood a few years ago. He said I had an unusual genetic mutation but since it didn't seem to cause me any problems I shouldn't worry."

"When did you first think you might be different?” I asked.

"It was the year 1534.... I was 31 years old. The plague had taken my first wife and two children. As you can imagine I was heart broken. But in those terrible days death was so common, suffering was the one sure thing about life.

"I stopped by the house of an old woman who had a reputation as a fortune teller -- a dangerous profession in those days where a careless rumor could get a strange old woman burned at the stake. 

The church was a monster.

"The old woman took care not to predict the future because of the danger it posed, but she was free to speak of health and love and children.

"She looked at my hand then took me aside to where no one could overhear. She told me I would live for 1000 years and see the end of the world. She then mumbled a few words in a strange tongue. I remember everything but not those words.

"The old woman became my mentor. Over the next 25 years she taught me the tradecraft of the prognosticator. My visits with her became fewer and the last time I went I was told she had died more than a year before."

This conversation bothered me more than I would have thought, and I had many questions.

But Dr. N drew today's discussion to a close. "Let's continue next Wednesday, which will give us an excuse to delay another ordeal of Dear Dr. Nostra.

"In the meantime read my Wikipedia page."

"I already have," I said, "And if anyone were to go through my google search history they would think I was a Nostradamus nut."

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Return to Normal

Return to Normal

I came back to the United States and California and my dump of an office in Little Saigon feeling really down in the dumps. Already I missed Ingrid and whatever the charms of Little Saigon were, it could hardly compare to Paris. And still, I had done nothing of significance in my job as Dr. Nostradamus' spokesman and front man for Nostradamus Speaks.

As generous as Dr. N was in Paris, I saw no sign such largess would continue in SoCal. Since I definitely was not about to go groveling to the Dragon Lady Madame Ngo, aka, Madame "No!", I decided to get a real job. But what, and where?

Mind you, I was not quitting my day job as Number One, it's just that I needed more than spare change to keep my self respect up to snuff.

Thus I became an Uber driver. It was like the Navy where you join up and see the world. With Uber you join up and see Orange County and Los Angeles County, and if you are lucky, Riverside County. I got a decent car cheap and went through all you have to go through to be an Uber man.

My first fare was a local pick up in Little Saigon with a destination to another location in Little Saigon. If you saw this coming then you are smarter than I was…. the Dragon Lady.  

I resigned myself to my fate. I was obviously in way over my head and probably doomed to be a lackey for the Nostradamus Speaks cartel for the rest of my miserable life. 

Dragon Lady Madame Ngo acted like she had never seen me before in her life and that suited me fine because I wished I had never seen her before in my life. 

I dropped her off at the beauty and nail salon and drove straight back to my dump and lay down on the couch. I missed Ingrid and Paris and Vienna.

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Ingrid

Ingrid

My assignment in Paris was ending. The seminar was over and there appeared no reason for me to remain. Dr. Nostradamus stopped by the hotel for a last meeting and Ingrid and I met with him for coffee on the terrace.

Dr. Nostradamus did not engage in idle socializing, at least not with me, and our meeting appeared to be not much ado about anything. 

As nothing much concluded, Dr. N rose to leave. Then Ingrid suddenly spoke, "Dr. Nostradamus," she just blurted out, "Dr. Nostradamus, can I come work for you?"

The Maestro looked at her, pausing for what seemed such a long moment. I looked at Ingrid, then at Dr. N.  I did not see this coming.

"Go back to Vienna," Dr. N said. 

Ingrid's face fell.

But then he continued, "Go back to Vienna; keep your job at St. Anna for the time being but stay light and flexible. Learn how to write and train your memory.

"You work for me but will coordinate through Number One. In the beginning." 

Ingrid was beside herself. "Ach du lieber Gott! Danke, danke, danke!" she shouted. And then, regaining her composure, "What's my job going to be?"

"Ingrid," Dr. N said, "Apply the lessons from my lectures. Settle your affairs in Vienna and in six months come to Paris. There will be a responsible position for you at Les Bains.

In the meantime, both of you take a week or so and enjoy France. Drop in to my birth town of Saint-Rémy-de-Provence. You will find there a whole cottage industry of Nostradamus fortune tellers.

"This will cover your immediate expenses," he said, handing both us envelopes. "If you run short, Number One, contact Madam Ngo. Enjoy your holiday."

Dr. Nostradamus then took his leave and departed.

What had just happened left us both in a confused spin.

"Who is Madam Ngo?" Ingrid asked.

"Madam Ngo is the Dragon Lady. I'm beginning to think she might be the real boss. We can't be reckless with our expenses."

"Does he hire people just like that? What about background checks, interviews, screening?"

"Trust me Ingrid, you were vetted."

"Did you see this coming?" Ingrid asked, "That was me and I myself didn't see this coming. I sure as hell didn't leave Vienna thinking I was going to be applying for a job with your weirdo rude boss. He even knows where I work."

"No, Leibling, I didn't see this coming, any more than you did."

"Dr. Nostradamus is very rich isn't he?"

I couldn't argue with that.

We did go to Saint-Rémy-de-Provence and just for fun consulted the Nostradamus impersonators. Ingrid's Nostradamus was a bearded man dressed in 16th century garb. He predicted she would be highly successful, have a long and happy marriage, two children and many grandchildren. 

My Nostradamus was a gypsy lady who called herself Madam Nostradamus. She took my hand and and looked at my palm. She remarked that I had the longest life line she had ever seen. Then, continuing to scrutinize my palm for the longest time, looked up at me for even longer, then back to my palm. Finally, mumbling to herself, the gypsy lady asked to be excused because she was not feeling well. 

Ingrid and I returned to Paris for a sweet farewell weekend at the Hotel Les Bains, all expenses paid. With tears and promises to stay in touch and see each other when we could she took the train to Vienna, and I left for Little Saigon.

Dixi

Why Buddhists Must be Done with Buddhism

Why Buddhists Must be Done with Buddhism

In the second century C.E. the great Buddhist teacher Nagarjuna wrote _Verses from the Center_. Almost lost among twenty-seven chapters and 448 verses are four simple lines. They are among the most important four lines in the Buddhist literature.  

When buddhas don't appear

And their followers are gone,

The wisdom of awakening

Bursts forth by itself.

Stephen Batchelor, _Verses From the Center_ - _A Buddhist Vision of the Sublime_

If Gautama Siddhartha's original message of liberation is anything more than an interesting development in the history of religious thought in Southeast Asia then it has to have a vitality that stands on its own, transcending incidentals of personality, time and place. And most certainly transcending centuries of historical baggage that followed in its wake.

Nagarjuna clearly thought that it did.   

So let's put it to the test.

Let's be done with the Buddha and with buddhas. Let's be done with the followers and the teachers and the sages, the patriarchs, gurus, monks and nuns. Let's be done with all Buddhist scripture and commentary and the myriad Buddhist branches, schools and traditions, oral and written. Done with the cult of the cushion and the technologies of meditation, along with lineages and genealogies, titles, caps, robes, rituals, chants, mantras and koans, and all Buddhist beliefs. Let it all go, Gate, gate, para gate, para sum gate. Done, finished, over. 

Let's dare to throw the baby out with the bathwater, the good out with the bad. Throw out what works out along with what doesn't. Wash our hands of anything and everything that stinks of the word Buddhism and let the very word Buddha and all memory of it be long forgotten. 

Now what?

What is this wisdom of awakening that will burst forth by itself?

First, what it is not. The wisdom of awakening is not a few rules of ethical behavior. It is not a prescription for a noble life or a strategy for living. People don't need religion or philosophy or some wisdom of awakening in order to lead a good life. About that there have always been reliable sources of sound advice including simple common sense and fundamental human decency.

The wisdom of awakening is also not about an abstract esoteric doctrine of emptiness, although that is getting close to the chase. The Buddha's original message of liberation was not an otherworldly metaphysical vision of enlightenment designed to engage the attention of scholars, pundits, metaphysicians, priests, or the educated elites of the Indian subcontinent. The wisdom of awakening was an insight accessible by all regardless of their station in life, education or sophistication. The idea of emptiness was a way to unlock, to release the wisdom of awakening, not an end in itself.

So it must be with the new wisdom of awakening -- it must be a vision, a message, a simple insight available and accessible and understandable by ordinary human beings, living on the earth, concerned with earthly affairs, at all levels of society, regardless of sophistication. And it must be an insight of great power, not some easily dismissed nostrum.

This is what I think it will look like:

The wisdom of awakening that originally burst into the mind of Siddhartha Gautama and will burst forth again on its own in the mind of someone who looks, is simply this:  

There is no supernatural. There is no supernatural anything; there never has been; there never will be; ever. There are no gods or goddesses or deities or supernatural powers above you or below you or on either side; none are there to be found in the mountains, or the desert, the forest, the jungle, the grassland, the river, or the sea, or on the farm or in the village or city or in the schools or universities or temples or monasteries, none in statues or stone or in painting or on paper. Nothing supernatural can ever be found in any man or animal, vegetable or mineral, living or dead. None. There is no supernatural authority anywhere and no one wields any authority backed up by any supernatural anything. They never have had any such authority. There is none to be had.

In ancient India there were those who immediately understood the power of this profoundly liberating insight. India and the ancient world had soaked for tens of thousands of years in a suffocating supernaturalism that permeated every aspect of human life, from the cradle to the grave, a supernatural cultural current dominating the individual, the family, the village and all levels of political, economic and religious life.  

It was impossible then, and is impossible now, to be free in a world where you believe in any supernatural anything. The most ancient, the most powerful, and the ultimate in authoritarian ideologies, is the belief in the supernatural.  

For the perceptive and receptive Indian mind steeped in the cultural background of the supernatural the revelation that the supernatural was simply an empty fantasy was a truth of overwhelming potency and liberating power.  

For those whose understanding was not so deep or immediate the wisdom of awakening was not just one more ideology to be taken on faith or simply believed. The invitation of the Buddha was simple: look and see for yourself. In fact, you have to look and see for yourself. Look at the world around you, the comings and goings, the natural processes, the forms contingent and interconnected and ever changing. And now look at the content of your own minds, reflecting those endless forms; now you see them, now you don't, they come and go. So too, look at the sacred images within your mind, the gods and the goddesses, the devils and demons and all sorts of supernatural beings and forces and undercurrents that populate your conscious and subconscious thoughts. Simply look and see. They are not real. They are empty. There is nothing there to fear or worship or to respect or stand in awe of or to revere or to submit to. Look and see. The supernatural has no hold on you whatsoever. The supernatural does not exist. It never has. It never will. There is no supernatural power underlying your life or any aspect of your life.

Simply stop believing in the supernatural and the direct and undeniable experience of the natural world is what is left. Live in that world, the only world there is.

The situation is not all that different for anyone today or for anyone living in a time when all memory of Buddhism will have been long lost. Belief in the supernatural is not a bug in the human mind, it is a feature. From infancy the human mind is overwhelmed by a natural world seemingly beyond understanding. Things happen and how and why are at first a complete mystery and may remain so for all one's life. It is easy and natural to believe that supernatural forces are at work in the natural world. And societies are dominated by superstitious beliefs of a bewildering variety. Almost everyone, it appears, believes in some form of the supernatural. It is not so easy to break free of a suffocating culture. But it can be done.   

The wisdom of awakening that will burst forth on its own is freedom from the supernatural and all the guises of the supernatural, from all the promises of otherworldly understanding or insight or metaphysical enlightenment or special powers. And freedom from all those who claim authority based on the supernatural or their understanding or interpretation of the supernatural. All those people are simply human beings just like everyone else.

If Gautama the Buddha's insight liberated the Indian mind mind from the stultifying supernaturalism of the ancient world, then Nagarjuna's insight liberates the modern buddhist from Buddhism, from the baggage and the mysticism, metaphysics, and supernaturalism that has steadily eroded and corroded the original message of liberation.  

Walk in freedom on the earth.  There are no gods above you and no demons below.  There are no spirits to the right or to the left, in the forests or mountains or deserts or in the sea. There is no supernatural power behind any secular or religious authority; nor is there any behind the priest or the guru or the saint or the sage or the metaphysical scholar.  

If it is true that the truth shall set you free, then the greatest truth is that there is no supernatural anything; there never has been; there never will be.

  

Now go about your business.

Dixi

LLP