So at this point Farting Man piped in, in a fatherly tone, like a learned Oxford don: "Don't worry, it will come...," he said, smiling broadly, "with enlightenment!" "with enlightenment!" I'm sure he would have patted me on the knee if I hadn't sat myself a safe distance away to avoid being ga.s.sed. I'm sure he would have patted me on the knee if I hadn't sat myself a safe distance away to avoid being ga.s.sed.

"Don't say that!" Jeremy snapped. "That's not it at all!"

This reprimand made absolutely no impression on Farting Man, who continued to smile beatifically. I'm not sure he even heard it. Judging by the smug, satisfied smile on his face, what he'd heard must have been something like, "Yea brother, verily you speak the truth which this young one has yet to meet."

Nishijima himself ignored all this and tried his best to explain the problem to me. I don't recall what he said but it didn't clear anything up for me. I listened respectfully and asked a few questions but he seemed to be talking in circles.

ENLIGHTENMENT is probably the single most written-about subject in all of Buddhism. But it's a d.a.m.n tricky subject. In Philip Kapleau's famous book The Three Pillars of Zen The Three Pillars of Zen there are several descriptions of people's "enlightenment experiences." This was a bold move on Kapleau's part, since such experiences are generally considered "secret" and not appropriate for talking about, and had rarely been published up until then. In that book there were stories of guys watching the sky open up and start laughing with them, and there were tears and shouts and drama all over the d.a.m.n place. This was one of the first books I read about Zen, so I walked around for the first year or two of practicing zazen waiting for the moment when something like that would happen to me. Once, while strolling around the campus of Kent State University, I thought I'd got it. I just suddenly got all giddy and laughed like an imbecile at everything. Later I talked to Tim, my Zen teacher at the time, saying stuff like, "Y'know, was that, like, um... there are several descriptions of people's "enlightenment experiences." This was a bold move on Kapleau's part, since such experiences are generally considered "secret" and not appropriate for talking about, and had rarely been published up until then. In that book there were stories of guys watching the sky open up and start laughing with them, and there were tears and shouts and drama all over the d.a.m.n place. This was one of the first books I read about Zen, so I walked around for the first year or two of practicing zazen waiting for the moment when something like that would happen to me. Once, while strolling around the campus of Kent State University, I thought I'd got it. I just suddenly got all giddy and laughed like an imbecile at everything. Later I talked to Tim, my Zen teacher at the time, saying stuff like, "Y'know, was that, like, um...it?"-again carefully avoiding the e e-word. Nope, he'd said, laughing like an idiot was just something that beginners in Zen sometimes did. Beginner?! Beginner?! I'd been practicing for almost two whole years, dammit! I'd been practicing for almost two whole years, dammit!

By the time I ended up at Nishijima's retreat, though, I'd had eight more years of practice. For the year or so prior to that retreat I'd even been pretty good about practicing. I was starting to believe in it again for some reason. But zazen is a pretty hard thing to believe in since the results appear so slowly. In fact, I'd be inclined to tell you these days that the results never appear at all. Well, it isn't that there aren't any results. Not exactly. The problem is in the concept of what const.i.tutes a "result." But let's not go there just now.

I've met people who've fallen a.s.s-over-teakettle in love with zazen after only a day or two, maybe even one lecture. Those people always strike me as airheads, the kind of goof-b.a.l.l.s who could just as easily go for crystal healing or angels. Enthusiasm is fine but too much is never a good thing. Folks who get too hot on zazen right at the beginning rarely stick with it long. Pretty soon the fervor cools, the crush pa.s.ses, and they lose interest. Me, I hated hated zazen from the start and still do sometimes. I did it the way people go on diets or give up smoking. It sucked, but I could tell it was somehow good for me. Hating zazen, on the other hand, is no impediment to coming to real understanding. In fact it's a time-proven method. zazen from the start and still do sometimes. I did it the way people go on diets or give up smoking. It sucked, but I could tell it was somehow good for me. Hating zazen, on the other hand, is no impediment to coming to real understanding. In fact it's a time-proven method.

In my years of zazen nothing like what was written in Kapleau's book had ever happened to me. I kept waiting and waiting, but no dice. There's an old Zen tale about a monk who got enlightened when he heard the sound of a pebble hitting a tile. So every time I heard a sharp little sound like that I'd think, "Okay! Maybe I'll get it right now. Wait for it, wait for it-.... Nope. Nuthin'. c.r.a.p! c.r.a.p!"

REALLY THOUGH, I've come to see it's useless to talk about "enlightenment" at all. Our man Dogen said it best by saying that zazen itself zazen itself is enlightenment. For a long time I hated that statement with a real pa.s.sion: is enlightenment. For a long time I hated that statement with a real pa.s.sion: Yeah, right! Sitting in zazen is pain and boredom, that's what it is. Yeah, right! Sitting in zazen is pain and boredom, that's what it is. It's your head hitting the wall in front of you when you can't fight off sleep any longer. It's your brain full of thoughts so asinine you hate to believe they're really yours. It's feeling like your knees are going to seize up permanently at any second and thinking you'll never walk again. It's looking at your watch when you thought you'd been going for a solid twenty minutes and finding out you've only been at it for three. If that's enlightenment, I thought, then maybe I signed up for the wrong course. It's your head hitting the wall in front of you when you can't fight off sleep any longer. It's your brain full of thoughts so asinine you hate to believe they're really yours. It's feeling like your knees are going to seize up permanently at any second and thinking you'll never walk again. It's looking at your watch when you thought you'd been going for a solid twenty minutes and finding out you've only been at it for three. If that's enlightenment, I thought, then maybe I signed up for the wrong course.

For everyone-everyone-who first takes it up, zazen is tedious and awful. Your brain is in constant motion like there's a hive of angry wasps in your head. There are moments when you're certain you're going to have to leap right off your cushion and run around the room singing the chorus of h.e.l.lo, Dolly! h.e.l.lo, Dolly! just to keep from going utterly bananas. Anybody who doesn't feel that way about it, at least sometimes, is not doing the practice very sincerely. Zazen isn't about blissing out or going into an alpha brain-wave trance. It's about facing who and what you really are, in every single G.o.dd.a.m.n moment. And you aren't bliss, I'll tell you that right now. You're a mess. We all are. just to keep from going utterly bananas. Anybody who doesn't feel that way about it, at least sometimes, is not doing the practice very sincerely. Zazen isn't about blissing out or going into an alpha brain-wave trance. It's about facing who and what you really are, in every single G.o.dd.a.m.n moment. And you aren't bliss, I'll tell you that right now. You're a mess. We all are.

But here's the thing: that mess is itself enlightenment. You'll eventually see that the "you" that's a mess isn't really "you" at all. But whether you notice your own enlightenment or not is utterly inconsequential; whether you think you're enlightened or not has nothing to do with the real state of affairs.

We all have a self-image and we call that self-image "me." I do. You do. Dogen did and so did Gautama Buddha. Their enlightenment didn't change the fact that they had a self-image. Nor did they stop referring to that image as "me" when trying to communicate to someone else. Obviously you can't talk about anything at all without socially accepted and understood words to use to refer to it. The problem with our self-image is that we don't see it for what it really is: a useful fiction. The idea that our self-image is something permanent and substantial is so basic to us that we would probably never even think to question it. We believe believe in it; we believe that because it's such a useful fiction it's really real. It may be the in it; we believe that because it's such a useful fiction it's really real. It may be the only only thing most of us actually believe in. The truth comes when you can see that your self-image is just a convenient reference point and nothing more, and that you as you had imagined yourself do not exist. thing most of us actually believe in. The truth comes when you can see that your self-image is just a convenient reference point and nothing more, and that you as you had imagined yourself do not exist.

This is another way Buddhism differs from religion. Every religion in the world starts off from the premise that the self is a substantial ent.i.ty and builds from there. They all start off on a foundation that isn't just wobbly, it's entirely absent! It's like trying to build a house by stacking bricks in the sky.

I'd been searching for enlightenment for all those years without realizing that the "I" who wanted to be enlightened wasn't real. I was looking at the problem in completely the wrong way. I was expecting some great change to happen to "me." It doesn't work that way at all. But nor is it the case that realizing the self isn't real somehow destroys you. In the Shobogenzo Shobogenzo Dogen says, "Realization doesn't destroy the individual any more than the reflection of the moon breaks a drop of water. A drop of water can reflect the whole sky." Dogen says, "Realization doesn't destroy the individual any more than the reflection of the moon breaks a drop of water. A drop of water can reflect the whole sky."

SO I SPENT THE FIRST NIGHT at that temple avoiding Farting Man and being baffled by what Nishijima said about enlightenment, then it was time for bed. Just as I was about to roll over for the second half of a good night's sleep, there came a tremendous clanging, like cold ice picks being driven into my ears. The kid with the thankless job of doing the morning wake-up ritual was making the rounds of the temple shaking a noisy bra.s.s bell. This is what pa.s.ses for a friendly call from the reception desk in Zen. Nishijima was up and folding his futons in seconds, with Jeremy quickly following suit. Farting Man yawned, stretched, then got to work on folding his up too. I lingered in bed a bit longer trying to fend off the inevitable but gave up after the rest of them had stepped over me a few times.

I went through the rest of the retreat remaining thoroughly unenlightened. Farting Man remained oblivious. And Jeremy remained, well, bald and Buddhist-looking. But I was pleased when once, after Farting Man left the room, Nishijima whispered to me and Jeremy, "You know, he is a very strange man."

It would take several more years of struggle and frustration before I got any glimmer as to what the answer to the whole enlightenment question might be, or to even properly understand the question itself. I'd formed a pretty clear image of what enlightenment ought to feel like and I kept waiting for that image to become reality. Unsurprisingly, it never did. Now I'm sure it never will.

D.T. SUZUKI, the first really popular Zen Buddhist writer in the Western world was a Rinzai man all the way. His books are chock full of references to satori satori, the j.a.panese word for enlightenment. Rinzai teachings stress the importance of enlightenment experiences and students in the Rinzai school strive very hard to achieve them. The Soto school has a completely different view of the subject.

A lot of Soto school Zen teachers refuse to even talk about "enlightenment." It's pointless, they'll tell you. All it does is muddle the issue. The Soto view is that these so-called enlightenment experiences just aren't really all that and a bag o' chips. And yet Soto teachers do acknowledge there is something, something, a kind of experience that eventually occurs and that has been mistakenly and misleadingly called "enlightenment." Nishijima likes to call it "solving the philosophical problems." Sometimes, if you catch him in a good mood, he'll call it " a kind of experience that eventually occurs and that has been mistakenly and misleadingly called "enlightenment." Nishijima likes to call it "solving the philosophical problems." Sometimes, if you catch him in a good mood, he'll call it "second enlightenment." The first enlightenment is, of course, zazen. enlightenment." The first enlightenment is, of course, zazen.

The experience that Nishijima calls solving the philosophical problems is undeniably real-but it should not be overemphasized or overvalued. A lot of people have the idea that enlightenment will be a kind of retirement from life. They figure that once they get it, everything will just flow easily and they'll never have to make any more effort. They look at the Zen life like a kind of marathon race. You have to run real hard for a real long time but once you cross the finish line, you're done. You win. You can sit back and sip lemonade for the rest of your life. It really isn't like that at all. If anything, the opposite is true. Once you've solved those philosophical problems it's your duty to put those solutions into effect. It doesn't get easier, it gets harder.

The good news is that one of the biggest philosophical problems you clear up is the confused belief that being lazy is somehow better than working hard. Being saddled with the whole universe to take care of is better than winning the lottery or having Miss November or Mister Universe knock on your bedroom door one morning and flash you their goods when you open it. Solving those philosophical problems does does mean you've won-but nothing so piddling as the marathon race of life. You've won all creation. It's yours to do with as you please-and you discover what pleases you most is doing the right thing for all creation in moment after moment. mean you've won-but nothing so piddling as the marathon race of life. You've won all creation. It's yours to do with as you please-and you discover what pleases you most is doing the right thing for all creation in moment after moment.

As I've said, talking about enlightenment is risky-and leaving it to people's imaginations is equally risky. So nonetheless, leaving the e- e-word aside, I'll tell you about my own experience of solving the philosophical problems. I GUESS IT WAS EARLY FALL, maybe five years after my encounter with Farting Man. I was walking to work alongside the Sengawa River, just like I did every day, when in an instant everything changed. In old Buddhist stories there's always some catalyst, like that guy who heard the pebble strike the piece of bamboo, or else someone reading a certain verse, or getting whacked by some teacher's stick. But I really can't recall anything unusual. I was just walking to work.

About a week earlier I'd finished yet another summer zazen retreat, so my brain was maybe a bit quieter than usual. Although I can't recall what I was thinking about at the time, I'm sure I was was thinking, and probably about what I needed to do at the office that day or some similarly ba.n.a.l thing. I wasn't worrying or mulling over anything very deeply-just the usual stream of images bouncing around up in my head. thinking, and probably about what I needed to do at the office that day or some similarly ba.n.a.l thing. I wasn't worrying or mulling over anything very deeply-just the usual stream of images bouncing around up in my head.

What I do recall very clearly is the geographical spot where it started to happen. There's a narrow road along the Sengawa River and in order to get to where I work I need to cross the river on one of the many small bridges built over it. The shortcut I like to take has me crossing one particular little bridge every morning. I was walking along the road and just about to cross that bridge when all my problems, all my complaints, all my confusions and misunderstandings just kind of untwisted themselves from each other and went plop plop on the ground. I'm not talking some of my problems, I'm talking about on the ground. I'm not talking some of my problems, I'm talking about all all of them, every last one. of them, every last one. Plop! Plop!

Every d.a.m.ned thing I'd ever read in the Buddhist sutras was confirmed in a single instant. The universe was me and I was it. I looked up at the sky and that experience was exactly like looking at a mirror. I don't mean that metaphorically either. You know the feeling of recognition you get when you look in a mirror? "That's me," you think to yourself, "My hair needs to be combed and, hey, there's a pimple on my nose!" Well I got that same feeling no matter where I looked. I looked at the asphalt road and it was my face. I looked at the bridge and the bridge was me staring back at myself. It was a physical sensation, as if the sky had my eyes and could see me staring up at it. There was no doubt that this state was "true." It was far more true than the state I had considered to be normal up until then. I had no need to confirm it with anyone.

It's all me.

Even if I want to put this realization down I can't. Sometimes it's excruciating. You know those morons that rammed those planes into the World Trade Center? That was me. The people that died in the collapse. Me again. Every single person who ever paid money for a Pet Rock? Me. I don't mean I identify with them or sympathize with them. I mean I am am them. It's impossible to explain any more clearly than that, but this isn't a figure of speech or bad poetry. I mean it absolutely literally. them. It's impossible to explain any more clearly than that, but this isn't a figure of speech or bad poetry. I mean it absolutely literally.

But the universe is sooooo sooooo much bigger than any of that. The sky is me, and the stars too, and the chirping crickets and the songs they make; sparkling rivers, snow and rain, distant solar systems and whatever beings may live there: it's all me. And it's you, too. much bigger than any of that. The sky is me, and the stars too, and the chirping crickets and the songs they make; sparkling rivers, snow and rain, distant solar systems and whatever beings may live there: it's all me. And it's you, too.

Was this the same state that Gautama Buddha experienced that early December morning 2,500 years ago? Yes it was. It is. Absolutely.

Is there anything special about me? Not a d.a.m.ned thing.

Has it changed my life? Yup.

Was it a big deal? Buddy, everything's a big deal, but yes, this was a big deal.

I'd been driving through a dark tunnel for countless years when all at once I emerged into the sunlight along the sh.o.r.e of a lush tropical island. Yet there were no bells, no whistles, no gongs; no thunder, no earthquakes; no peals of laughter, no tears, no drama.

And then I went to work and did my job.

It was all very ordinary and normal. But in that very normality and ordinariness was something more wonderful than anything special I could ever have imagined. All imagination pales into nothing compared to what your real life is right here and right now. There's not a single dream you can have, no matter how pure or beautiful, that's better than what you're living through right now no matter how lousy you think right now is.

WHY SHOULD YOU BELIEVE in any of this? Why should you care? No reason. No reason at all.

There's nothing I can possibly tell you that could communicate this state to you. Because human language by its very nature just isn't up to the task. If I say "k.u.mquat" or "droopy granny b.o.o.bs" or "Johnny Ramone on stage at CBGB's circa 1975," you have an idea what I mean. But there's nothing I can say that can communicate the reality of that experience.

Do a lot of zazen though and you'll see it for yourself. I can promise that, without doubt and without reservation.

But what happened to me won't happen to you. At all. And yet it will. Exactly.

Sounds like nonsense doesn't it? I empathize.

Here's as clear as I can be about this stuff: The only enlightenment that really matters is right here and right now. You have it right in the palm of your hand. It shines from your eyes and illuminates everything you see.

Oh, and one last thing: People imagine enlightenment will make them incredibly powerful. And it does. It makes you the most powerful being in all the universe-but usually no one else notices.

WHY GENE SIMMONS IS NOT A ZEN MASTER.

Doing zazen, you become king of the world.

GUDO NISHIJIMA.

I'm the king of the night time world!

GENE SIMMONS.

WHEN I HEARD THAT KISS was coming to Tokyo for what they were billing as their final tour (again), I had to be there. KISS was one of my favorite bands when I was in junior high. They were the closest thing our generation had to The Beatles. I kept following them even after they committed the cardinal music sin of going disco going disco. Soon after that, though, I discovered The Ramones, The s.e.x Pistols, The Misfits, and other bands who had the power and visual style of KISS, but whose lyrics spoke more to my state of mind than songs about getting laid.

But now I was a grown-up and here was a chance to actually meet one of my childhood idols. The G.o.dzilla's-feet boots that he wore in the late '70s were ample proof Gene Simmons was a major fan of j.a.panese monster movies. I'd even seen photos of them on one of their '70s j.a.pan tours next to a T. rex T. rex costume that had been built by Tsuburaya Productions for an American made-for-TV movie called costume that had been built by Tsuburaya Productions for an American made-for-TV movie called The Last Dinosaur. The Last Dinosaur. I figured maybe if I invited Gene Simmons to come down to the filming of an I figured maybe if I invited Gene Simmons to come down to the filming of an Ultraman Ultraman episode I might just be able to score some good P.R. points for Tsuburaya Productions while getting to fulfill a childhood fantasy. episode I might just be able to score some good P.R. points for Tsuburaya Productions while getting to fulfill a childhood fantasy.

I wrote to Gene through the KISS website, suspecting that probably wouldn't get me far. To my utter astonishment, I walked in a couple days later to see a message on my desk saying that someone named "Jean Simons" had called for me. It turned out he wasn't so interested in seeing the Ultraman Ultraman set but he was trying to put together a KISS animated cartoon. He knew Tsuburaya Productions' work and thought we might be able to help out. Would I like to come by his hotel and talk about it? set but he was trying to put together a KISS animated cartoon. He knew Tsuburaya Productions' work and thought we might be able to help out. Would I like to come by his hotel and talk about it?

It was almost as good as the first call I'd gotten from Tsuburaya Productions!

Gene was even nice enough to get us good seats at one of the sold-out shows. The meeting was set up for the following day at the Tokyo Four Seasons Hotel-only the best for KISS. I brought along a producer who was interested in the animation project, one of his staff people, and Atsushi Saito, the younger of my two bosses at Tsuburaya's international division. The other people took seats in the hotel coffee shop while I went to the lobby and stood watch for Gene Simmons. Paul Stanley, another KISS band-member, came by, giving me a funny glance as I sat there in the KISS T-shirt I'd worn to help Gene recognize me. I clearly wasn't an autograph hound since I didn't even get up when he came by. Maybe I looked like a stalker.

I couldn't possibly miss Gene Simmons when he came walking through the lobby. Even if I hadn't known what he looked like without makeup ever since Creem Creem magazine ran a photo of him without it in the late '70s, his demeanor was enough to set him apart from everyone else. I've heard famous people say that they can chose to attract attention or not when going out in public simply by the way they carry themselves. Well, Gene Simmons was definitely choosing to attract attention. I led him over to our table, he took a seat and asked us if we'd enjoyed the show the previous night. I said it was good. magazine ran a photo of him without it in the late '70s, his demeanor was enough to set him apart from everyone else. I've heard famous people say that they can chose to attract attention or not when going out in public simply by the way they carry themselves. Well, Gene Simmons was definitely choosing to attract attention. I led him over to our table, he took a seat and asked us if we'd enjoyed the show the previous night. I said it was good. "Good?" "Good?" he said, noticeably perturbed. He apparently needed more than that. So I added: "It was fantastic, mind-blowing, spectacular." It really was, actually, I'd just been playing it cool and trying to be businesslike the first time. He seemed satisfied by my effusion. he said, noticeably perturbed. He apparently needed more than that. So I added: "It was fantastic, mind-blowing, spectacular." It really was, actually, I'd just been playing it cool and trying to be businesslike the first time. He seemed satisfied by my effusion.

We showed him some samples of our animated work and told him about the company. Actually while in the coffee shop we showed him some artwork on paper, then later on went up to his room where he had a VCR and played him a tape. I p.i.s.sed in Gene Simmons's toilet! There was a Wall Street Journal Wall Street Journal on the floor, by the way. Then he launched into a long, self-absorbed monologue detailing his ideas for the KISS cartoon. What was surprising to me was that the story he laid out over a bottle of Perrier and a couple of scones showed momentary flashes of real Buddhist-style insight. The cartoon story itself wasn't Buddhism by a long-shot, mind you, but there were flashes here and there of something surprisingly deep. on the floor, by the way. Then he launched into a long, self-absorbed monologue detailing his ideas for the KISS cartoon. What was surprising to me was that the story he laid out over a bottle of Perrier and a couple of scones showed momentary flashes of real Buddhist-style insight. The cartoon story itself wasn't Buddhism by a long-shot, mind you, but there were flashes here and there of something surprisingly deep.

Furthermore, the latest KISS alb.u.m had a song by Simmons called "We Are One," some lines of which came very close to stating key points of Buddhist philosophy. "Everywhere I go, every face I see, I see my own face staring back at me"-which is about how I felt after that day by the Sengawa River. I doubt very much the meaning was quite the same for him though. But still, not a lot of people can even come up with such an idea. In his autobiography Simmons says that he has no use for Eastern philosophies but in the same paragraph he also says: "Let other people go into trances and think about spirituality. I'd rather concentrate on having something to eat. The here and now." That's the Zen view right there, after all.

This guy had played ba.s.s in one of the world's loudest heavy metal bands, spitting fire and vomiting blood and generally offending every religious pundit in America, he had never done a moment of zazen in his life, and yet he came so very close to a real understanding of certain elements of the Buddhist truth.

Did this mean he was a Zen Master? No. Not by miles. From what I could see and from what he basically owns up to in his book, Gene Simmons's main focus in life is Gene Simmons. That's hardly indication he's attained any real understanding of the nonexistence of self. But I'm sure he's glimpsed it. Perhaps only when on stage performing or, possibly backstage, er...performing. But he's never really integrated those insights into his life in such a way as to make him a Zen master or its equivalent.4 On the other hand, I've seen self-proclaimed "Buddhist Masters" guilty of the very same thing who in fact had far less capacity than Gene Simmons for real honesty. But while his philosophy has many points of genuine value (and lotsa points of genuine self-gratification), I'm not quite ready to "transmit the Dharma" to Gene Simmons and declare him a Zen master. On the other hand, I've seen self-proclaimed "Buddhist Masters" guilty of the very same thing who in fact had far less capacity than Gene Simmons for real honesty. But while his philosophy has many points of genuine value (and lotsa points of genuine self-gratification), I'm not quite ready to "transmit the Dharma" to Gene Simmons and declare him a Zen master.

ANOTHER ARTIST I've met who struck me as having attained a certain degree of Buddhist-type wisdom was Alex c.o.x, director of the films Repo Man, Sid and Nancy, Repo Man, Sid and Nancy, and and Walker. Repo Man Walker. Repo Man is one of my all-time favorite movies. It's the only fictional film I know of that makes any attempt to present the early '80s American punk scene as it really was. While the rest of the media was busy making trash like is one of my all-time favorite movies. It's the only fictional film I know of that makes any attempt to present the early '80s American punk scene as it really was. While the rest of the media was busy making trash like The Cla.s.s of 1984 The Cla.s.s of 1984 where the punks take over a school, or episodes of TV cop shows like where the punks take over a school, or episodes of TV cop shows like CHiPs CHiPs and and Quincy Quincy in which violent "punkers" cause mayhem and murder, director Alex c.o.x put together a gritty, funny, and realistic film about real punk. I've lost count of how many times I've seen the film. But no matter how often I watch it, it's still good. I've seen most of c.o.x's other work and have enjoyed all of it, but in which violent "punkers" cause mayhem and murder, director Alex c.o.x put together a gritty, funny, and realistic film about real punk. I've lost count of how many times I've seen the film. But no matter how often I watch it, it's still good. I've seen most of c.o.x's other work and have enjoyed all of it, but Repo Man Repo Man is like is like Casablanca Casablanca or or Citizen Kane Citizen Kane-a true cinematic cla.s.sic.

When I found out Alex c.o.x was coming to Tokyo as part of a BBC doc.u.mentary on G.o.dzilla, I made sure to weasel my way into meeting him as well. The BBC had contacted me through a British animator friend of mine in an effort to track down some of the staff who made the original G.o.dzilla films. I'd put them in touch with several key people, so when I begged them to let me meet Alex c.o.x, who was acting as the program's host, they were happy to oblige. c.o.x, as it happens, also loves bad j.a.panese monster movies. While many "serious" filmmakers turn up their noses at flicks about radioactive dinosaurs trashing Tokyo, c.o.x has a rare appreciation for their art.

c.o.x is a totally different kind of artist than Gene Simmons: he was clearly aware of the world around him. When he and I got stuck in a van together for about two hours waiting for the BBC guys to finish another interview, we talked a lot. As dopey as I must have sounded to him, he listened with a kind of intensity that was truly inspiring. There's a photo someone took of us talking, and from the expression on c.o.x's face, you'd think I was saying the most fascinating things in the world (I'm fairly confident I wasn't). The only other people I've met who could listen to what someone was saying with that kind of thoroughness of concentration were all Zen masters. It's possible c.o.x had some training in that area that I don't know about, but it's probably more to do with the nature of his relation to his art. A good film director has to pay close attention to what things look like, how people talk, how things are, if he wants to be able to translate that into a believable piece of work on screen. And c.o.x was just bringing this into his life.

IN OUR CULTURE TODAY celebrities mean a whole lot more than religious leaders. Most people would much rather have an audience with somebody like Gene Simmons or Alex c.o.x than with any religious leader of similar stature, say the Archbishop of Chicago. Vast tracts of society are far more likely to be influenced by what movie stars say than by the opinions of great theological thinkers.

Anyone who really pursues any activity to the point of becoming so good at it that millions of people want to come watch really must have understood something fundamentally real, fundamentally true. They must have understood the philosophy of action through action itself. The average religious leader, on the other hand, spends most of his time thinking about stuff. Thinking about stuff is useful, but life is more than thought.

Before I got deeply into zazen practice, I'd often noticed something different when I was working very intensively on a musical endeavor, either performing or recording. A special kind of concentration was required. When I was in that kind of concentration I'd begin to feel a kind of vast s.p.a.ce open up-as if the room had suddenly become very open, the air itself very clear.

I used to come off the stage or out of the studio with a kind of a buzz. It wasn't like being drunk or on drugs though. It was far better. I could still function as well as, in fact better than, better than, I could at other times. There was a kind of purity to the situation. I could at other times. There was a kind of purity to the situation.

But the level of a person's celebrity status has no bearing on how truly balanced they are in their lives. Yet pretty much all of the world's famous people are famous because they have pursued some kind of artistic or athletic endeavor to the point where when they do their thing, they exhibit some truly remarkable signs of the balanced state revered in Buddhism. Our celebrities are not Zen masters but nearly all of these performers, at least when they're performing, surpa.s.s the level of balance achieved by the average person-though you have to keep in mind that the average in this case is not so high.

We may not realize it, but I suspect we care so much about what famous people say or do because we understand that their ability to focus gives them a kind of rare insight we rightly admire. We see their balance but don't see that it comes from pursuing one thing wholeheartedly. We imagine that their balance or insight comes from some inherent quality they have and we don't. Celebrities themselves are rarely any brighter than anyone else and tend to see the situation in the same mistaken way.

This kind of balance is not limited to famous people alone. It's not something that comes from having a lot of money or getting a lot of adoration or running really fast or singing really well. People with far less money or fame or "talent" exhibit signs of balance far beyond our pop-cultural heroes.

Famous people are an interesting case to observe though. Of course many of them are driven by ma.s.sive ego and colossal insecurity, but there's also something more.

As I've said, Buddhist philosophy does not accept the existence of individual human beings in the way we usually conceive of them. The prevailing view of individual human beings as discrete units each acting with absolute autonomy is incomplete. It's a view that takes into account only one tiny part of the big picture and a.s.sumes that this is the whole deal.

I think in most cases most people conceive of themselves and of other people like I've ill.u.s.trated in Figure 1 Figure 1 on the next page. We think of each individual as a unit with clear boundaries. Each of these units, we believe, is able to act in at least some cases with complete autonomy irrespective of the others. We consider this so obvious as to be beyond questioning. on the next page. We think of each individual as a unit with clear boundaries. Each of these units, we believe, is able to act in at least some cases with complete autonomy irrespective of the others. We consider this so obvious as to be beyond questioning.

Figure 1 Our seemingly impeccable logic goes something like this: If I stand in front of you, it is very clear that my body extends only to a certain point beyond which yours begins, and there's a s.p.a.ce between us. The s.p.a.ce may be large or small, depending on how friendly we are and how much you resemble Maki Goto, late of the j.a.panese girl band Morning Musume-but it's definitely there. You have your own thoughts which I cannot read and your own credit card which I cannot use.

We take it for granted that our perceptions are accurate and our interpretations true. We believe very strongly, literally beyond doubt, in these personal boundaries. Religions tell us that these boundaries remain intact forever and may tell us that even G.o.d too has specific boundaries.

But I don't think this way of conceiving of ourselves and others is very realistic. It leaves too many things out of the picture. I think a far better (though still necessarily incomplete) way of looking at it is as I have ill.u.s.trated in Figure 2 Figure 2.

Reality is kind of like a sea that has waves on top of it. These small, temporary disturbances on the "surface" of reality are what we call people and things, and we conceive of them as having some kind of permanent substance or enduring individuality. We draw boundaries, rather arbitrarily, and say that the stuff within these boundaries is "me" or "you" or "that guy who used to be in The Eagles." But the waves can't really be separated from the ocean of which they are a part. In this way we can say that even our minds are made of the same stuff as everything else we encounter.

Figure 2 Celebrities don't become famous just because of the size of their chest or the force of their personality. The entire society creates the celebrity.

In fact we are all as much the creation of those around us as we are independent beings in our own right. The neat thing about famous people is that a lot of them seem to have a vague understanding of this fact. Most of them make the mistake, however, of believing it's something unique to them in particular or at least something unique to celebrities in general.

Nishijima likes to say, "When you establish the balanced state, you become the king of the world." Most of us think you need to be a celebrity for that to happen. While celebrities can do pretty much whatever they want because of their social status and their money, the rest of us feel oppressed, repressed, put upon. Gene Simmons may be king of the (nighttime) world, but you and I certainly are not.

And yet in another sense, no matter how wealthy celebrities are or how much power they seem to have, we are all absolutely equal. The only difference is that some people understand this and others do not. The entire universe is created by us and we rule over it unopposed-but for the opposition of our own minds.

The trick is we've also created certain conditions that we have to obey. In Buddhism these conditions are traditionally called the rule of the universe (or sometimes the law of cause and effect). To follow the rule of the universe is to act in a truly moral fashion. When you realize that morals are rules you have willingly imposed upon yourself upon yourself, it's easy and natural to act in a moral way.

Because they are able to focus on doing a particular activity, artists of all kinds as well as athletes, scientists, and some others can come to understand much more of the fundamental truth of life than the average guy on the street. The problem is that while they are able to feel the balanced state of the universe when pursuing their art, they usually fail to notice it at other times. The very thing that is the source of their mental and physical balance becomes a hindrance: they begin to believe that balance is something that only occurs when scoring a basket, acting a demanding role, or strapping on a guitar and whaling away.

Lots of Zen students also fall into this trap by the way: they think that balance occurs only when they're "deeply" in zazen and at no other time. Students like this often spend far too much time doing zazen and the practice ultimately leads them further and further from true balance.

The difference between the balance achieved by a pro tennis player or a really hot drummer and that attained by a Zen pract.i.tioner is that the balance the latter have cultivated through zazen is more universal, more all-embracing. Zen people have an easier time retaining the balanced state of body and mind after getting up off the cushion than performers do after they walk offstage. Zen people also tend to have less money and be less famous, which helps-when you can get everything you think you want, you tend to spend more time and energy on fulfilling those made-up needs rather than looking honestly and critically at yourself, discovering who you truly are and what you really need. Guitar-playing or painting or what-have-you embraces just one small part of the universe. Zazen embraces everything.

THE WORLD OF DEMONS.

I think of demons.

ROKY ERICKSON.