365 Nirvana Now - Book Introduction

This is the introduction to 365 Nirvana Here and Now.

Stop. Now.

Whether you know it or not, you are at the end of your search for relief, peace, and meaning in your life. No more seeking. No more wandering. No more waiting. The peace you seek is hiding in plain sight. An open secret.

This treasury of insights, a chorus of the present moment sung by ancient and modern voices that span time, distance, religion, tradition, and culture—is an invitation to become aware of where you are, who you are, as you are—right here, right now. The wisdom contained in this book points the way to life, freed from the burdensome stories of your past and the worries about an imagined future.

Stop now and look. It is in front of your nose. In the palm of your hand. In the light of your eyes. In the taste on your tongue. You may have ignored this truth your entire life, but you have never been apart from it for a single moment. Nothing is required. No new meditation practices, therapies, ceremonies, or gurus. No path. Everything you need is already here, unfolding before you in every instant. Right here, right now.

How This Book Came To Be

I begin with a memory. I am fourteen years old. Along with several close friends, I am attending a concert by the folk music group Peter, Paul and Mary near the beach in Santa Monica, California. I have been looking forward to this event for months. We have good seats and I love the songs, but for some reason, in the middle of the concert, I become acutely preoccupied with the thoughts in my mind.

What had been background chatter suddenly leaps into the foreground of my attention. My thoughts are constant, loud and random, telling stories about the concert, rehearsing what I will say to friends later, comparing this event to previous concerts, and on and on. I feel as if I’m trapped on a carnival ride, spinning out of control. I also notice a sense of separation from the world, as if imprisoned inside a glass box. This is a seminal moment in my life: from this point on, I will become intensely and increasingly aware of this non-stop mental turmoil. And it is this desire for relief from this inner chaos that initiates my quest.

I began my search alone, digging into philosophy, religion, and psychology books. At one point, I found myself drawn to Asian mysticism. When I discovered the Buddha’s description of the human state of confusion and suffering, termed samsara, I felt that he was directly addressing me. What a relief to learn that I was not alone after all! And what a thrill to discover that there was a way to wake up, to realize nirvana—a state of peace accessible to anyone.

A deep yearning for the truth took over my life. I began to devour tales of Zen monks, Tibetan yogis, and Indian sages. I longed for firsthand realization. I was one throbbing question mark: Who or what am I? What is this?—this reality, this feeling of “me,” this life and death, this moment? Something enormously significant seemed hidden, urging me to find it.

By age 19, I was a full-time seeker. It was the late 1960s. A spiritual renaissance was unfolding in the West. Ancient wisdom filled the air, antithetical to the current American culture: the Vietnam War, materialism, and Richard Nixon. Swamis, Sufi masters, whirling dervishes, and Buddhist sages found audiences in North America and Europe. I attended every spiritual workshop I could find and scoured bookstore shelves, hunting for the latest works on mysticism. After months of bouncing between traditions and teachers, I decided that the only way to get to the heart of the matter was to choose one path and devote myself to it. My choice was Zen Buddhism.

Zen seemed the quickest and most direct way to understanding, even though I had heard that Zen monasteries were legendary boot camps where masters pushed their students to the breaking point. I joined a newly established community in California, composed entirely of fellow Westerners. I shaved my head, donned black monastic robes, and entered into this unknown world of meditation and discipline. For the next eight years, I would live as a Zen monk and priest.

There is an old Zen saying: “With the ideal comes the actual.” My Zen experience was complex—enlightening in many ways and “en-darkening” in others. The demanding routine and meditation practice enabled me to become more focused and mindful in my daily activities. I began to notice the way my mind created confusion and clinging. Soon I had glimpses of the peace that I’d read about.

But as the years passed, my eyes opened to the shadow side of my Zen community. As my fellow monks and I drove ourselves in the name of devotion, we began to repress personal feelings. Questioning was not merely discouraged, but strictly forbidden. Total obedience to the teacher eclipsed every other consideration. I found myself ignoring my feelings and denying my doubts.

At first, I blamed myself for these “negative” feelings, attributing them to my own shortcomings. If I only meditated harder and surrendered more fully, then everything would be perfect. But I soon came to realize that the problem lay not in me, but with the harsh and unkind culture of the monastery. It took me the better part of a year, but I finally mustered the courage to walk out the door. I later learned that my experience was hardly unusual; by the early 1980s, hundreds of spiritual groups started to unravel under the weight of their authoritarian cultures.

Yet, even after my departure, the internal questioning that had brought me to Zen in the first place was still inside me, burning more urgently than ever. For the next fifteen years, I steered clear of spiritual organizations, continuing my exploration on my own. Sometimes enlightenment seemed further away, others times a bit closer—yet always out of reach. No matter how many hours I meditated, distracting thoughts persisted.

At times, I had powerful experiences, including intense states of bliss. I would then try to hold on to them, only to see them change or fade away. Was I really advancing on the path? Was I getting any closer? After two decades of meditating and searching, I still felt like that fourteen-year-old back at the Peter, Paul and Mary concert. After so much time meditating on my own, I still felt confused and wanted some help.

During this period of my life, friends had periodically urged me to journey to Nepal to receive Dzogchen teachings from a revered master, Tulku Urgyen. Dzogchen, a tradition of Tibetan Buddhism, emphasizes direct personal experience. For centuries, these teachings were zealously kept secret and only given to accomplished students who had completed decades of meditation practice. Fortunately, Tulku Urgyen’s approach was different. He not only believed in sharing knowledge with Westerners, he did so at the beginning of instruction.

One day, I found myself jetting halfway around the world to Nepal. I made my way to Tulku Urgyen’s temple, perched high above the Kathmandu Valley, where I joined a small group of other Western students. Each morning we sat with Tulku Urgyen in his small room, where he imparted traditional Dzogchen teachings, “pointing out” the true nature of the mind.

So powerfully and directly did Tulku Urgyen communicate this timeless and immediate reality, that I found my “self” instantly stopped cold. There were no fireworks, no thunder—just the sudden, obvious, stunning realization of the pure awareness that I had overlooked my entire life, not hidden or elsewhere.

In the face of this presence or nowness, all seeking, wandering, and waiting vanished before my eyes. I saw how much of my life’s energies had been focused on looking forward to some imagined future, rather than simply celebrating the all-pervasive present: trying to get “there” instead of being “here.” My previous years of forced meditation and effort seemed, in retrospect, useless. All I needed was to take to heart Tulku Urgyen’s words, “Simply let be in naturalness without technique, without artifice.”

Mystics have shared this same insight for thousands of years. In the words of Zen Master Hakuin:

At this moment, is there anything lacking?

Nirvana is right here now before our eyes

This place is the lotus land.

This body now is the Buddha.

The second line is also translated, “Nirvana is immediate”—not hidden, distant or in the future, but right now, before your face — this body, this place.

When I returned to America, I found that I could no longer stomach my library of spiritual books. It seemed filled with unquestioned assumptions that glorified seeking, wishful thinking, and magical experiences. Many authors gave lip service to the concept of living in the present moment, but then proceeded to promote their own agendas and more fruitless seeking. Before Nepal, I had bought into the New Age cliché that all paths lead to the top of the mountain. Now, I saw that these paths often served to create more layers of illusion. I hungered for words that were alive with realization and that reflected the timeless view that Tulku Urgyen had pointed out. I slowly began to gather writings.

My collection began with teachings from the Zen and Tibetan Buddhist traditions, and soon expanded to include wisdom from Indian masters, Christian mystics, Sufi poets, Jewish rabbis, and Western sages. Each selection embodied an outlook often referred to as “nonduality,” which is not exclusive to any single religious tradition and transcends any doctrine or system.

Nonduality reflects the understanding of the unity of all things. Self / other, nirvana / samsara, form / emptiness, body / mind, past / future—all are actually the same essence, having one taste. When the Buddha says, “This is the All,” when Meister Eckhart writes, “Everything tastes like God,” and when Ramana Maharshi teaches, “There is only the Self” —these words all express the same realization.

As I gathered these spiritual teachings, I also began to include pieces from poets, novelists, songwriters, artists, screenwriters, and scientists. In addition, I came across inspired accounts from ordinary people who had experienced the divine in their everyday lives. After years of gathering these treasures, I joyfully share them with you.

About This Book

The insights that follow span thousands of years and yet express the same timeless present. While each selection is capable of standing alone, it also joins a remarkable and colorful chorus. I have been particularly fascinated by spiritual mavericks, who occasionally and unexpectedly arise outside of any tradition, including Tony Parsons, Stephen Jourdain, John Wren-Lewis, Steven Harrison, Scott Morrison and Byron Katie.

Opinions vary widely as to who is realized, authentic, or “mystically correct.” Please do not regard this book as the Who’s Who of Enlightenment. I have included these passages solely because they strike home for me. Some stop me dead in my tracks; others bring tears or goose bumps. The material is organized in a manner that encourages spontaneous exploration. It originates from a wide variety of sources, ranging from the highly traditional to the wildly iconoclastic.

As such, it is only natural to expect differences and contradictions, which reflect the immense paradox of addressing the reality that is entirely beyond words, concepts, thoughts, and time. This is particularly apparent with regard to such issues as effort, meditation, and spiritual practices. For example, the debate over effort—doing versus not doing as a means to truth-realization—has been going on for thousands of years. On the one hand, many traditional sages teach that the natural and effortless state of awareness can only be realized after decades of effort. This approach requires serious training, meditation and practice. At the other end of the spectrum, sages such as Krishnamurti and Poonjaji regard any intentional effort to wake up or quiet the mind as counterproductive, an expression of the “I” locked in the illusions of goals, progress, and achievement.

It is my observation that many people are beginning to see spirituality in a more integrated way—focusing on relaxed effort in the present moment, without trying to achieve anything or make something happen. It is an open, welcoming, and honest inquiry into thoughts, feelings, and experiences, without avoidance or any attempt to fix or alter them. This gentle awareness encompasses every moment of life and illuminates what is true and what is false. The only spiritual “practice” is to merely recognize this natural state—now, and now, and now.

As you go through these passages, you will notice many diverse views. Set aside any beliefs you may hold. Let each insight speak for itself. Be aware every time you say, “Yes, BUT….” Are you thinking that realization is only for saints, but not for you? Do you feel that you can’t possibly understand at this time, but only in the future? I call these “not me, not now” thoughts. When such thoughts arise, question them. Try asking yourself, “Who would I be without these thoughts?”

The pages ahead contain many more examples of self-inquiry, a special kind of questioning that differs radically from the normal question and answer process. Typically, when asked a question, your answer is based on past experience, what you already know or believe. In contrast, self-inquiry is an expression of “beginners mind,” which has no past and is fresh and open in this moment. The Zen tradition is legendary for this, particularly in the use of questions, dialogues, and paradoxical stories called koans, such as, “What is the sound of one hand?” Ramana Maharshi suggested asking yourself the question, “Who am I?” And Byron Katie asks, “Is it true?”

The insights contained in these pages may help dispel beliefs that keep you from realizing that what you seek is already here. You are the Buddha–Now! Not later. Not after anything. You can see this immediately or postpone it for thirty years. Why wait for some future now?

To spiritual practitioners who have been “on the path” for a long time, this book can serve as a reminder that you may be sleepwalking. I know from first-hand experience that any spiritual discipline can become a numbing routine, postponing the joy and freshness that is always available right-here-now. A seasoned meditator recently said to me, “On my deathbed, I hope to have some experience of enlightenment.” Years of meditation hadn’t made awakening any more real for her; it was still an imaginary future dream.

Since the truth of right-here-now is available to everyone, you might ask if there is any value traveling to Asia, becoming a Zen student, meditating, or finding a master. Teachers and mentors can play a transformative role in our lives. In wise hands, spiritual practices can be beneficial. Membership in a spiritual group can provide a sense of support and community. On the other hand, any teaching or practice, no matter how profound or ancient, can remain merely conceptual. As for enlightened masters, there is no shortage of holy hucksters.

While it is not my role to direct you, a word to the wise (and you are wise whether you consciously realize it or not): You are the sole supreme authority over your life. Waking up is about your individual and personal undoing of the long-held assumptions that prevent you from seeing who you really are. Whether you are sitting in a cave in Tibet or standing at a bus stop in Hoboken, you can actualize this clear seeing at any moment, right-here-now. As Jesus said, “Recognize what is right in front of you.” Wherever you go or whatever you do, bear in mind that home is where you always are, where you start and end.

Words can never describe the true nature of how things are. They can only point to it. As you read these insights, please don’t get trapped in the words and concepts, no matter how mind-blowing they seem. Instead, stop and look. See where these words point and then drop them—completely. What the Buddha, Jesus, or Zen Masters realized has nothing to do with your own understanding. In the end, it is all just story and hearsay. As Rumi wrote, “Don’t listen to what I say, as though these words came from an inside and went to an outside. My words are fire.”

May the words in this book whisper to you with the intimacy of a lover. When Joshu asks, “Who are you?” ask yourself this question as if for the first time. When Patrul asks, “Do you hear the dogs barking?” listen carefully. And when Woody Guthrie sings, “This great eternal moment is my great eternal dawn,” watch the sun rise with your own eyes.

Josh Baran

New York City

Fall 2003

vvv

In This Moment

Before you dive into this book, I invite you to stop for a moment and let me guide your attention to your experience right now. Do this as if you are a newborn child, noticing everything for the very first time. Bring your attention to your breath as it moves in and out of your chest and nostrils. Hear the sounds around you, whatever they may be: cars honking, dogs barking, the wind in the trees.

Notice your eyes as they move back and forth across this page. Feel the weight of this book in your hands, the sensation of your back against the chair, your feet on the ground, and your clothes against your skin. As you read these words, you may be silently saying them to yourself. At the same time, thoughts appear—streams of words, images, bits of conversation. Be aware of these as they come and go, appear and disappear, one leading to the next.

All of this is being experienced specifically by someone—you. Who is this “you?”

Take a moment to explore this. Who is reading these words right now? Who is seeing and hearing? These questions might seem absurd and the answer obvious: “Me…I am, of course.” You might answer with your name, age, race, physical description, and so on. You might speak about your past, where you were born, or your credentials. But exactly who or what is this “I” that occupies the center of every instant in your life? In what ways does it seem special and unique, distinct from all the other “I’s” in the world? What do you really know about this “I?”

You may be so immersed in this automatic, habitual, and non-stop stream of “I” thoughts, that you are unaware of them. You may have never even considered what this on-going drama really is. Can you begin to see that this “I” is a non-stop storyteller, spinning tales of the past, the present and the future—constantly editing, interpreting and directing this inner movie?

Take a few quiet minutes. Begin to notice how the “I” shows up (e.g. “I am…I feel… I want… I need… I should…”). Observe each thought as it arises. Now, ask yourself, “Who is thinking these thoughts?” Is there a somebody thinking them? Do not look to past experiences, assumptions, or anything you have ever read or heard. Rely only on your direct experience in this moment.

Now notice the awareness itself that is inquiring into this “I.” What is this? Where is it located? Where does it come from? Look closely. It is not “I.” It is not thoughts. It is not a state, a place, an object, or a concept. This knowing is clear and transparent, and contains and permeates everything. This sense of being is always present, un-changing, and does not come or go.

This presence-aliveness is intimately here and wholly now, with no past or future, beyond all concepts and opposites. You need not close your eyes, meditate, or try to see this. Simply observe this “is-ness.” It has many names: Nirvana, the Tao, No-Self, Buddha Nature, the Now, Original Mind, Enlightenment, the Unborn.

This book celebrates this awakened state—wide open and available in every moment.