Buddhism in America

"From Buddhist Laughter to the Protestant Smile" is an interesting article by Peter Berger which discusses the increasing popularity of Buddhism in America.  I posted a response on his blog.  

He describes the current situation:

What is attractive in all this to contemporary Americans? ....  it seems to me that there is one Buddhist practice that is close to the heart of the attraction: the practice of “mindfulness”. ....It means concentrated, quiet attention to reality, beginning with one’s own physical processes (notably breathing)...

He wanders:

What does it have to do with the original message of the Buddha?

Then he describes the "original" message:

.... At the very core of this experience, ... is the notion of reincarnation..... often called the “wheel of life”..... Hinduism and Buddhism have sought for ways to escape the horrible wheel altogether. 

... [Buddhism worldview is] expressed by the so-called Three Universal Truths:  All reality is transitory.  All reality is non-self. All reality is suffering.  

He observes that: 

To the extent that American culture has been decisively shaped by notions derived from Christianity, the Buddhist worldview is not readily plausible.  (... the gist of an “Abrahamic” worldview may be formulated as a denial of each of the Three Universal Truths.) 

His conclusions:  Buddhism has evolved.

Americanized Buddhism has absorbed the cheerful [American] optimism 

Is this “enculturation” a bad thing? Not necessarily.

However, it has little do with the anguish that drove a young Indian prince to give up a life of privilege, to leave his family, and to go out as a begging pilgrim in search of a way to extinguish desire.

The article seemed a bit critical, and so did some of the comments that followed it.  Below, is my (slightly edited) response.

All popular philosophies (I am deliberately avoiding the term “religions”), became popular by utilizing sales tools that attracted a large audience.  I assume that the small minority of westerners that are drawn to the Buddhist philosophy were not convinced by the advertised benefits of the "Abrahamic" religions.  Neither the wrath of God (Judaism), nor the pleasures of Heaven (Christianity and Islam), were enough to induce us into the fold.  Similarly, we are not driven by fear of continuous re-incarnations(Buddhism).   Siddhartha Gautama taught that even in this life, following the Dharma will lead to reduced suffering, and to me, that is the attraction in Buddhism.  As I follow the path, I am gaining peace in small but significant steps.  

As an additional benefit, it is comforting to know that due to its emphasis on self-improvement rather than conversion, Buddhism philosophy generated few (if any) wars and atrocities.

Yes, laughing or smiling, Buddhism has adapted to its new environment 

The Burma Road

"STOP THE BLOCKADES".  The large banner hanging from a private balcony, complained about a popular form of protest in Oaxaca.  Often, a group frustrated by government inaction, will barricade a main road for hours.  After the debacle of the 2006 protests, the government refrains from any provocative action, leaving the unfortunate drivers stranded.

We were climbing the winding road to the mountaintop village of San Jose Del Pacifico, home of the Magic Mushrooms, when we reached the tail of a long line of stalled cars.  The cause of the stoppage was further up the mountain and not visible.
"A blockade"  was the resigned response of the truck drivers resting in the shade of small oak.
"By whom?"
"The Teachers".  (The teachers union instigated the 2006 rebellion, and is thus the usual suspect)
"Until when?"
"Who knows.  Maybe 5PM?"

I checked my map. Not far behind, a dirt road branched off the highway, and wound its way up to the next town.  It was still morning, no rain, I had a tankful of gas, and Adi was happy to embark on a cross-country adventure.  As I maneuvered the u-turn, I noticed four or five vehicles also leaving the blockade.  They were following a taxi-driver who knew the detour.  I decided to join the convoy.  We turned off the highway earlier than I would have, and followed a much rougher road than I anticipated.  After several steep, rutted inclines, we crossed a flowing creek, and somehow managed to loose sight of the guiding taxi.
The next Y intersection required a group discussion, "Right or Left?"
The road to the left struggled for a while, then brought us back to the highway.  Unfortunately, it was not high enough.   Protesting villagers (not teachers) ambling their way to the blockade below, prevented our access to the paved road.  As we tried to retrace our path, the villagers placed large rocks behind us.  The adventure was quickly turning into a nightmare.  We were trapped between two groups of men with stern faces and heavy sticks.  My companions tried to plea, reason, and bribe the villagers, but to no avail.  Eventually,  a village elder arrived, and agreed to let us return the way we came.  Soon we encountered the taxi driver, and after one more creek crossing, the road improved and we safely reached the highway.  Everybody was happy to pay the taxi driver for his effort ($2.50 per car).  I never learned the cause for the protest.

During the late lunch at San Jose Del Pacifico, I told Adi about the siege on Jerusalem, and the Burma road that broke it.

Cello and Chapulines

Tuesday is Chapulines day, at Oaxaca's central market.

Farmers descend from mountain villages to sell their freshly-roasted grasshopper catch.  Chapulines are Oaxaca's favorite snack, and the Plaza de Chapulines is bustling with customers seeking their favorite flavor.

This Tuesday,  Michal Shein, an Israeli-American cellist and her friend Sharon Cohen, arrived at the Plaza from their village (Boston), for a surprise performance.

Children sat between the vendors and enjoyed, maybe for the first time, classical music.

Tropic of Cancer

'Where is North?'
I have a need to know the answer to this question at all times.  Maybe it is also so with other Israeli men, who at an early age, acquire the art of cross-country navigation, then perfect it during their military service.  At  night I look for the North star, and during the day, finding North is almost an instinct.  The Sun comes up in the East, goes down in the West, and at noon, it is exactly to the South.  Simple, but WRONG.  Travelling to Oaxaca, which is below the Tropic of Cancer, the sun (in the Summer) is to the North, and instinct turns into a handicap.  Several times, while driving on unfamiliar roads, my gut sent me a clear message,
"You are heading in the wrong direction!"
I had to ignore the inner voice, look carefully at shadows on the ground, factor the time of day, and rationally deduce my direction.  For several days, I felt disoriented.  I knew where I was, yet it didn't feel right.

Eventually, the weird feeling dissipated, and left me wandering whether the urge to know my exact location is a common human trait.  Maslow's hierarchy helped me deduce that it may be a derivative of the need for shelter.  Lacking a developed sense of smell, how else would we find our way back home?  But then, why is it, that I often enjoy feeling lost?  Sometimes, I would purposefully put myself in that position so that I could experience the "Lost" sensation..  Given that in those occasions, I tried not to jeopardize my safety, nor the love and friendship of my travelling companions, it is possible that I was fulfilling a higher Maslow level.  Maybe, deriving self esteem by overcoming the challenge?  Or, as I believe, being lost opens the doors to learning.  It provides the exciting potential of new places and new environments which will require creative new behaviors.

Safely home in Oaxaca, I resumed my routine of going to the pool each morning.  Within a block or two, I realized that if I want to walk in the shade, which is the wise thing to do, I will have to switch to the opposite sidewalk.  Walking on the "other" side of a street which I walked hundreds of times before, everything I saw looked new.
'Did I take the wrong turn somewhere?' I wondered.
I looked for familiar landmarks, but from this different perspective, nothing seemed familiar .  I even discovered some shops which I never noticed before.   Being a stranger in a familiar place felt a bit hallucinogenic, and I was glad that the feeling dissipated in a couple of days.  This experience too opened a door for self exploration.
I was disappointed that even after six years of meditation, I am still not as aware and anchored in the moment as I would like to be.  I consoled myself by the realization that without those six years of meditation, I may not even have noticed the phenomenon.

Conclusion:  Beware of crossing the Tropic of Cancer!  It may lead to some strange thoughts.

Musing on Mozart and Mole

Adi finally relented and agreed to let me do it once a month.  Once a month, my frugal companion will dine with me in a fine restaurant.

Not to push my luck on the first try, I chose "Los Pacos", a notch or two above our usual fare, but designated (1) with just three peso-symbols (2).  The pumpkin-flower soup had the hearty rich flavor of home cooking, and generated a smile of surprise and satisfaction.  For the main dish we selected three of Oaxaca's seven moles (sauces).  The green mole (over meat), deep-red mole (over chicken), and Oaxaca's trademark black mole, were segregated by low mounds of rice.  We sampled the delicacies, rolling each in its own corn tortilla.  I am familiar with the various moles, yet here, the flavor seemed more complex and enjoyable.  I remarked that food tastes better in a quiet restaurant, with attentive staff, and colorful art on the walls.  Her mouth full, Adi nodded in agreement.

After dinner, we walked to Santo Domingo, one of Mexico's most beautiful churches.  Inside, in celebration of the Saint's Day, a chorus and orchestra performed pieces by Bach, Mozart, and others.  Sitting under the tall decorated vaults, surrounded by intricately carved, gold gilded altar pieces, I was moved by the echoing music.  The familiar "Ave Maria"s, and "Gloria"s sounded fresh and inspiring.

In the cool evening air, I reviewed the not-so-profound lesson the mole and Mozart taught me this evening,  "Environment makes a big difference."  Adi agreed, but quickly added that tonight's mole would have been superior even sitting on a stool in the market.   I was glad that July was a success, and I can look forward to August.

Notes
(1)  "Oaxaca Tips" by Carole Turkenik 
(2)  Dinner for one $23.