Surprisingly, I attended a small Christian college. It wasn't about doctrine; it was all about the money. They offered me a scholarship package that made their private school a bit cheaper overall than a local state college and living at home, plus I wouldn't need the added expense of a car for commuting. My parents liked that, since we were not exactly flush with cash, and they didn't trust me with a car anyway. I liked it too, since I really wanted to get away from my parents and make choices for myself.
The school was associated with the same "liberal" church in which one of my uncles was ordained. I saw my other preacher uncle, the fundamentalist, a few months before I left for college and told him about my plans. I'm sure he was pleased to hear I was going to a religious-oriented college, but must have privately winced that it would be one run by "those liberals"! Neither uncle could foresee that I would come out of there a Buddhist.
My school required just two classes in religious studies. One had to be either Old Testament or New Testament (or both). The other possible choice was a survey class on the world's major religions.
I somewhat reluctantly chose Old Testament, but found it fascinating. The class wasn't about doctrine, but really more about the history and literature of the Hebrew people in biblical times. The instructor explained the reasons behind what happened in many of the great Bible stories. He made a lot of really confusing stuff clear, such as how Hebrews taken during the Babylonian Captivity incorporated the Devil into their religion after learning about the evil anti-god Angra Mainyu from the Zoroastrians. This sort of detail is often overlooked, misunderstood, or seen as irrelevant and dismissed by many Christians. To me it was pure gold. Our textbook was the outstanding Oxford Annotated Bible, a book I wish I had not sold back at the end of the term (I did everything at college on the cheap like a good Mid-westerner).
It was the comparative religions course that really got me excited. With John Noss' excellent textbook, Man's Religions, we explored Jainism, Zoroasterism, Shintoism, Buddhism, and of course Hinduism. During the Hinduism section, what I had read in Vedanta and the West really came into focus. Sadly, we ran out of time and didn't get to Islam or Confucianism, and Judaism and Christianity were not in the syllabus. I picked up some knowledge of these faiths through other courses.
Another meaningful class I took was a survey of new and "radical" religions, which included several field trips. I found the experience at a born-again Christian youth house-church we visited to be shallow. One teenager after another stood up and gave testimony about what seemed the most trivial experiences, including "Jesus told me where to find my car keys."
This might be a good place to interject a few thoughts about Chistianity. I am not down on the religion, though I may seem quite critical in these posts of the way it is practiced today. Jesus was a great rabbi (whether one believes he was divine or not, he was a rabbi -- a teacher of the Law of Moses). He gave us really valuable instructions on how to lead a meaningful spiritual life, a life filled with love for the Divine and for our neighbors. I truly respect those who try to practice His precepts and spread good in the world. And now back to our story.
Another field trip to an ISKON temple (the Hare Krishnas) in a nearby city was far more enlightening. The devotees invited us to participate in their ecstatic kirtan (devotional singing) to Lord Krishna and to their guru, Srila Prabupada. Their kirtan was exciting, and very moving, though it would be a long time before I understood the meaning of the Sanskrit and Bengali verses. Then the devotees stuffed us with their wonderful prasad (consecrated food). This was my introduction to Indian cookery, and I loved almost every spicy bite. I even choked down the cauliflower (which usually makes me gag). I sometimes returned here on my own for the kirtan (and for the food). Later in my travels I visited other Hare Krishna temples in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Berkeley, Catonsville, and New Vrindaban. I even stopped in at their temple and restaurant when I in was in London. Twice.
Govinda's in San Francisco, 1986, a Hare Krishna restaurant. Great food they almost gave away, hoping it would bring people closer to Krishna. In the temple next door I enjoyed after-dinner kirtan.
I went on to take as many elective classes in Eastern religions or philosophy as could be crammed into my schedule. Eventually I had enough credits between religion and philosophy for a minor, had the school allowed split minors. They didn't allow splits, but no matter (I majored in sociology, and sociology of religion was my favorite area of study). I was like a kid in a candy store with his first ten dollar bill. This was what I came to learn, and I couldn't get enough.
At the end of my third year just before my 21st birthday, I became a Buddhist. A Zen Buddhist. I have a quirky sense of humor, so the koans (unsolvable riddles) and the often outrageous doings of Zen masters greatly appealed to me. Of course, I was completely at sea about what I should be doing as spiritual practice, as I had no roshi (Zen master) to guide my steps. All I had were my books and a wall to stare at. You can read about Zen as much as you want, but it is hard to get there without the "doing" part, and the "doing" part usually takes guidance.
In those days, Zen was the best known branch of Buddhism in popular America, probably a hold-over from the Beatnik movement. In a typical bookstore the Buddhist shelves would be crowded with Zen books by Alan Watts, D.T. Suzuki, Ruth Fuller Sasaki, Christmas Humphries (all recommended authors, by the way) and a host of others. Usually hiding somewhere on the shelf was Walter Evans-Wentz's Tibetan Book of the Dead, often the only non-Zen title.
In recent years the situation completely turned around. The only type of Buddhism many Americans think of is Tibetan. This is largely due to the smiling face of everybody's favorite superstar Buddhist monk, the Dalai Lama. No criticism here. He's a very humble guy, and I'm sure doesn't step on the toes of Buddhist teachers from other sects. It's our fault; we're enchanted with his enigmatic smile (me too!). Recently I took an informal survey in a major chain bookstore and found that Zen and Tibetan books were now pretty much equal, but there was almost nothing on other Buddhist sects.
One of my Buddhist-inspired practices was to become a vegetarian. I was already headed that way, after being served a piece of roast beef with an artery big enough to stick my little finger through in the college cafeteria. "Gross! It's just like me inside." Buddhists, even monks, are NOT required to be vegetarians. Monks are only prohibited from eating meat if they know or suspect that the animal was killed specifically to feed them, a throwback to the days when part of a monk's routine was begging for left-overs from householders. But one of the pillars of Buddhist practice is compassion for all living things. Giving up meat was a way I could express that compassion.
Shortly after I embraced Buddhism I had several satori experiences. This is something I have rarely told anyone about, as they are (a) deeply personal; (b) cheapened by idle talk; and (c) a great trap for the ego. So no details here (I will talk about a couple of them in a Part 4, where I will share some specific lessons I learned). Usually satori takes years of intense meditation and really, really hard work under serious pressure from a Zen master. Mine were spontaneous, but I recognized what they were from books I had read. No, I was not enlightened, and don't claim any special knowledge came from the experiences. They were more like sign posts along the road of life, but they were life-changing experiences.
I was still at college when I first encountered my future guru, Sri Swami Satchidanana (the swami briefly seen in Woodstock). He had been invited to give a lecture at my school. I was quite taken with Swami-ji. I particularly enjoyed his humor, and it was one of his jokes that really stuck with me, "If you pick a nail up out of the road, you are serving God by . . . saving soles." I vowed ( or "wowed", as he said) that if I were to follow a Hindu swami, it would be him. Unfortunately, I lacked a car, or a friend with a car willing to drive the 50 miles or so to his nearest center. No swamis for me. Not yet.
