Outlaw Blues

Whoops. In my haste to put up a few posts, I have forgotten that my musically connected history has a spiritual side as well. My history just inflated. Backing up a bit, --from LA to San Diego, this post (and the next) describes my first encounter with the mantra “nam myho renge kyo.” The meaning of this mantra has, for me, evolved over the years; no longer is it about the Buddhist sect of it’s origin; rather, it’s about “becoming aware” that existence is not just embedded in the movement from the simple to the complex,-- existence is also embedded in the significance of the emotion/reason dichotomy. Emotion, at the human species level, has the potential to inform reason! More specifically, on this level, it becomes possible to “see the necessary connection” that links freedom, reason, and love with the origin of the universe. Love—the love of freedom, not only evolved our universe, it also evolved the intelligence to determine the difference between the consistency and coherence of events— predictable scientific events, and the emotionally experienced world that embeds these scientific events. Don’t worry if this sounds like gibberish, back when I was handed this mantra it would have sounded like gibberish to me too. Here’s a cut and paste from my other blog that may, or may not, clear up some the confusion:

[Our “time of mind steam of consciousness” is embedded in a physical event. Physical events take place within our perceptual field (sensory experience) and are identified, scrutinized, and categorized within our “time of mind” experience. F. S. Northop says it best when he says, “To be any complete thing is to be not merely an immediately experienced, aesthetically and emotionally felt thing, but also to be what hypothetically conceived and experimentally verified theory designates” (The Meeting Of East And West, p. 450).]


June 22, '69

The zoo, overlooking San Diego, was located high in Balboa
Park. When I left the zoo and walked into the darkening shadows of
the heavily foliated park, I still didn't have a place to sleep. It
was against the law to sleep in the park, but night, in addition to
everything else it brings, also brings invisibility. I stashed my
gear under some bushes and walked down the hill. Once in downtown
San Diego, I planned to window-shop until it was dark enough to
return to the park. I was uncomfortable leaving my belongings
unprotected, but, hey, risk and road-life go hand in hand. What I
expected and what I ended up with were two different things however.

I was standing on the sidewalk, looking through a storefront
window, when behind me a car came to a tire-screeching halt. Before
I knew what was happening, I found myself spread-eagled across the
hood of a parked car. The four storm troopers who pinned me there
had my wallet out of my back pocket before I could utter a word.
After they jerked the bread crusts from my pockets, one of them
angrily threw me down on the cement. Finding bread crusts instead of
dope was a disappointment, I guess. The pig looking at my
identification said, "What are you doing in San Diego?" "I'm
heading up to Santa Cruz to see a friend," I replied. As I was
picking myself up off the sidewalk, the pig who put me there
sarcastically exclaimed, "We don't cater to transits in this town.
If I catch you sleeping where you're not suppose to, I'll personally
see to it that you get permanent lodging compliments of the
city." "Yes sir," I replied. When the city servants got back into
their car, I brushed myself off and checked for bruises.

Walking more briskly now, and not stopping to look in
windows, I managed to get down to the next block before two Asian
ladies accosted me. Well, maybe I wasn't accosted. Nevertheless, two
ladies, after darting out from behind a building, did grab both of
my arms as they said, in broken English, "Do you want learn Buddha?
Do you want learn Buddha?" After I had a chance to look into their
faces (these ladies were probably in their late 50's or early 60's),
I no longer felt threatened. I had no difficulty accepting their
invitation because I had an interest in Eastern religion anyhow. I
even took a course in Asian philosophy back in school. Besides, I
thought I would probably be safer with the ladies than I would be on
the streets of downtown San Diego.

The ladies pulled on my arms and said, "Come, come," as we
walked through the dark alley on our way to their car. I sat between
the ladies, as we drove out of the city. I must admit, riding at
night to an unknown destination with two strangers did frighten me a
little. As a way of coping with the fear, my thoughts turned to what
I knew about Buddhism, and the Buddhist principle of non-violence.
Ah! That did it; my fear subsided.

When we came to a building out in the country we pulled off
the road. We removed our shoes and placed them with the other shoes
that were lined up in neat rows as we entered the rectangular shaped
building's vestibule. The entryway opened into a large, red-carpeted
room. At the far end of the unfurnished room stood a five or six-
foot high shrine. Inside the shrine's open doors hung what looked
like a scroll of rice paper with Asian writing on it. The Asian
ladies took me over to the corner of the room and I was told to
wait. They said a man who could speak English would come and talk
with me. I knelt down and sat back on my knees as the Asian ladies
moved into the center of the room where they began to bow and chant
along with everybody else. As the smell of incense permeated the
room, I watched as forty or fifty Asian people knelt, chanting in a
language I did not know, to an object I did not recognize.
Alienation is to weak a word to describe my feelings as I sat alone
in the corner.

A man dressed in a white shirt and black slacks got up from
where he was worshiping and walked over to where I was sitting. He
asked me, in an accent that was very hard to understand, "Do you
know about Buddhism?" I told him I knew Buddha was a monk who,
around 500 B.C., went looking for enlightenment. I told him
enlightenment was an escape from suffering and eventually Buddha
became enlightened. I told him I had studied Asian religion in
school.

The Asian man looked surprised. He began to tell me about
what was occurring in the room, but it was hard to hear him over the
sound of the chanting. As best as I could make out from what he was
saying, the people in the room were members of a Japanese Buddhist
sect. They were chanting to a Gohonzon, the enshrined object of
worship. When a person chants to this Gohonzon they were supposed to
find happiness and contentment. After this brief introduction, he
asked me if I wanted to join in the worship of Buddha. "Yes," I
replied. He smiled, and then as he got up to leave the room, he
said, "Wait here."