A casual reader is tempted to ask, now what in the world is the Zen Master talking about here? What cups of wine? Where can they be found? And that is precisely the kind of question that this kōan is meant to provoke. The Master is telling Qingshui, and also each and everyone of us, “You say you are alone and poor. Don’t you realize that you possess treasures in abundance, right there before your very eyes? Stop for a moment, open your eyes and see!”

There is another story of a seasoned Zen monk who was commissioned by the abbot of a temple to transport a small golden statue of the Buddha, gilded with jewels, to another temple where it was to be placed on a newly constructed altar. On the way to that other temple this monk happened to be ambushed by robbers. They beat him up badly, and took not only the golden Buddha with the jewels, but also the bullock cart on which he was riding, and his clothes and everything else he had with him, leaving him lying unconscious on a ditch by the side of the road. When this monk regained consciousness, body aching all over, it was night, and the moon was shining in resplendent light against the background of a starlit night. Looking up at the sky, the monk exclaimed, “Oh, those poor robbers. I wish I could have given them this beautiful moon as well!”

What an unusual way to respond in the midst of such tragic circumstances, one might say. This monk’s remark reveals the mind and heart of one who has found one’s true treasure, one that cannot ever be taken away by robbers or by anyone else. This is a lifelong treasure that never diminishes, but on the contrary, only increases in quality and depth through the years. In the Gospel of Matthew Jesus calls our attention to this kind of treasure “where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal.” (Mt. 6:19-20)  One who comes upon this kind of treasure earnestly wants only to share it with each and everyone around.

The verse appended to the kōan on Qingshui by Wumen describes the heart and mind of those who have made this treasure their very own:

Poor as the poorest,
They are as brave as the bravest.
They can hardly sustain themselves,
Yet they dare to compete with one another for wealth.

This is intriguing indeed, and we are led to ask, “What kind of treasure is this all about?” And more importantly, “How may I gain access to this treasure?” Qingshui is us, feeling all alone and poor, and earnestly wanting to be “prosperous.”

As we go through this earthly life of ours, whether we may actually be materially impoverished, or be somewhere in the middle class, or even be on the affluent side, we feel “alone and poor.” Even those few among us who may have abundant resources and live in palatial mansions, have huge bank accounts, and have scores of people at our beck and call, cannot evade that feeling of being “alone and poor,” knowing that money can only go so far, and we realize that it cannot buy what we truly long for deep in our hearts. What is it then that we truly yearn for in this life, our true heart’s desire, that one thing necessary that Jesus alludes to (Luke 10:42)?

Reflecting on the way we live our lives, we may notice that instead of devoting ourselves to seeking that one thing necessary that can fill our hearts with true peace and joy, we spend our time and energy in the pursuit of many things we are led to think are “necessary” for us. The consumption-driven economy of our contemporary global society feeds, and conversely feeds on people’s desire to have, and to have more and more at that. An underlying assumption that propels this consumeristic culture is that “you are what you have.” Your value as a person is thought to depend on the kinds of things that you possess. It is only natural therefore to want those things that everybody else seems to want, like a big house, a flashy car, fashionable clothes, the right kind of designer handbag or shoes, and so on. Having these things may seem to give us the feeling that we are “somebody” that can match up with anybody else out there. So we continue trying our best to keep up with the trends, to be able to buy the latest in those “must-have” items blown out of proportion in the media or that we hear friends and co-workers talk about.

Swayed by this attitude, we notice that the more we have, we want still more. And then at some point we may come to realize that we can never be truly satisfied with what we already have, because there is always something else out there that we don’t have yet. This feeling of acquiring some things and perhaps obtaining some momentary satisfaction in getting hold of them, and then after a short while wanting something else, and in all this remaining deeply unsatisfied, is an aspect of what the Buddha identified as the First Ennobling Truth: dukkha. This term is a Sanskrit/Pāli compound referring to a wheel that is not rightly set on its hub, and is thereby not rolling properly as it should. The term dukkha then describes the human condition that is dys-functional and out of sync, a condition of dis-ease and dissatisfaction. Incidentally, its reverse is the term sukha (a wheel that is centered on its hub and revolving smoothly), which is translated as “ease” or “contentment” or “happiness.” This term appears in the Metta Sutta (Treatise on Lovingkindness), in a phrase that Buddhists throughout the world often recite: “May all beings be at ease.”  “May all beings be happy.” The question then is, how can we turn our lives around, from a state of dukkha, to one of sukha?

The Buddha, in the second of the Four Ennobling Truths, invites us to examine the root cause of our dissatisfactory state of being. It can be summarized in one word: craving. In short, it is this very desire to have, and to have more, and still more, that seems to be causing our dis-ease and messing up our lives.

Buddhist philosopher David Loy writes how our feeling of being driven to want more and more comes from a deeply felt sense of lack, and points out that this is a characteristic of our human mode of being in this finite world.  What we think, say and do, tend to be motivated by this need to fill in this inner lack that gnaws at us at the very heart of our mortal being. And yet, the more we seek to fill this lack by acting on our craving to have more and more, the less we are truly satisfied, and instead are plunged more deeply in a vicious cycle of unfulfillment and dissatisfaction.

Underlying this lack  is the delusory idea of “I, me, mine, ” that we presume to exist and which we identify with our person, which we perceive as distinct and separate from other “I’s” and from the rest of the world, which thereby feels alienated, isolated, “alone and poor.” This isolated and impoverished “I” needs to prop up its insecure foundations, and seeks to overcome this feeling of alienation and impoverishment. It does so by grasping at all kinds of things, material as well as non-material, driven to possess and thereby identify with things that it can call its very own, and thus bolstering itself against those feelings of insecurity and poverty that threaten it from all sides.

How do we uproot this sense of lack, connected with the delusory idea of “I, me, mine” that continually drives us more deeply in the cycle of dissatisfaction?  What practical steps can we take in this regard? The Buddha’s prescription here is straightforward and clear. He advises us: stop and see.  That is, to stop the machinations of our discursive mind, and see through this delusory “I, me, mine,” and to see “things as they really are.”

These two words, stop and see, encapsulate the entire scope and extent of Buddhist meditation.   There are different schools of meditation that developed and blossomed in the Buddhist family of traditions through the centuries, but underlying the differences in emphases and technical aspects of meditative practice presented by the various schools is this common strand summarized in these two words.

What happens when a person takes this invitation of the Buddha to take up the formal practice of meditation, that is, to stop and see, and do so in a sustained way? There are numerous books that anyone can pick up and read in this regard, and these can provide valuable guidelines. But reading books about meditation is like looking at a menu and getting one’s mouth moistened in imagining the delicious dishes described. Here let me just offer a couple of appetizers, and then conclude with a practical suggestion.

Alan Clements, a meditation teacher who lived in Burma as a monk for a number of years and is now based in California, offers us this description of what can happen to one who takes up the practice of meditation.

The practice of meditation became a wonderful new way of life. I was amazed to see how awareness put eyes and ears where there had been none. It enhanced perception and revealed greater nuance and dimension. Sounds were accentuated. Colors became brighter. Tastes, more subtle and sweeter. Smells more fragrant. At times it felt like every cell in my body was undulating with orgasmic bliss. Watching the fog lift in the early morning was a dance in itself—the play of photons, like tiny prisms refracting thousands of infinitesimal rainbows on the eye. The smell of the gardenia bush just outside my window became a symphony of textured scents. I fell in love with the simplicity of just being.

In short as we learn to stop and see in a habitual and sustained way, our eyes are opened to the countless treasures that lie right here within our reach, which can fill our hearts with untold joy and deep peace. Meditation enables us see through the prison of that delusive “I, me, mine” which makes us grasp for things that only leave us unfulfilled and frustrated. It opens us to an infinitely refreshing and exciting horizon which we had hardly noticed, but which had been and is there all the time.

In the kōan above, the monk Qingshui implores Master Caoshan earnestly, “Master, I am alone and poor. Please help me become prosperous.” The Master replies, addressing him, “Venerable Qing!” The monk responds, “Yes, Master.”  Notice the Zen Master’s skillful way of guiding, pointing directly to the student’s heart and mind, as if ringing a bell to awaken him. “Venerable Qing!” The sound pierces Qingshui’s heart, and resonates throughout the universe. Qingshui, fully at attention, sheds all thought of “I, me, mine,” and hears. From the depths, with no place for the “I, me, mine” to intrude, he responds, loud and clear: “Yes, Master.” It is a sound that reverberates through all time and space. Just that. Qingshui and Caoshan, each in their own way, are fully at attention, listening with one’s entire being, and responding in that same fullness, and one might note, emptiness (that is, from a state totally devoid of the thought of “I, me, mine”). And in doing so, they are bringing to full light the hidden treasures of the universe, right then and there. That is what Master Caoshan is referring to when he says, “There! You have just drunk three of the finest cups of wine in all of China, and you say you have not yet moistened your lips?”

Master Caoshan addresses us by name too, as do all the Zen ancestors and masters of old and of late, inviting us to a turnabout in the way we live our lives. A consumerist-oriented, “acquisitive” mode of being, centered on the “I, me, mine,” keeps us imprisoned in a world of dissatisfaction, in a state of feeling “alone and poor.” We are invited to step out of that kind of life, and instead to enter a mode of being wherein we are able to stop and see, and behold the treasures that are right there in the midst of those “ordinary” things in our day to day life. This is called the contemplative path, a way of life and mode of being that allows us to discover, behold, partake of, and enjoy the treasures teeming all around us, and share them with one another, in wonder, gratitude, and joy. We may embark on this way of life by taking the very practical step of seeking out and joining a community of practitioners, and finding a teacher who can walk with us and guide us along this path. It promises to be a path of surprise and discovery, of treasure upon treasure to our heart’s content, enough for a lifetime and beyond.

by Ruben L.F. Habito

*Previously published in Dharma World, Vo. 38 (Jan-Mar. 2011)

How are we to live, what are we to do in the face of such a scenario?

Allow me to offer some reflections, addressed to those of us who have found something empowering, lifegiving and healing in this practice of Zen meditation.

If we engage in our practice of Zen meditation with the intention of shutting ourselves from the rest of the world and finding a haven of peace in a secluded place, so that we can just be content with ourselves and forget everything else, then we misunderstand the point of this practice entirely.  Sitting in stillness facing a wall is not a way of escaping, turning our gaze away from a world in turmoil. Rather, in doing so, we follow a path that precisely enables us to plunge right into the heart of the world.  A genuinely spiritual person is not one who seeks an escape from the realities of everyday life, but rather one who is able to see these realities with new eyes, with an open heart and mind, willing and ready to offer a response moved by compassion.

Following the call to live a spiritual life is to heed the invitation to go more deeply within ourselves, to seek a place of refuge, find a place of Peace (Shalom), a place of Shabbat (rest). As we discover wherein lies that place of Peace in the midst of this violent world, we are able to offer that Peace as our gift to the entire world.

We “seek refuge.” We are “refugees” in the spiritual sense of the word.  This word, “refugee,” brings forth the images of millions of peoples throughout the world who have been displaced from their homes, due to threats of physical violence, due to extremely difficult situations in their lives that threaten their very survival, or else due to dire economic necessities.  These events happen to millions of peoples in different parts of the world.  Even now, right now, as we sit and enjoy our silence, somewhere families have been forced out of their homes.

As we look into our own lives, we realize that we also are refugees. We have been displaced, not yet having found that place of peace that we can call our home in this universe. We are beguiled, hounded by a nagging sense of dissatisfactoriness, a sense of dislocation.

We feel that longing to come home, to seek refuge in a place of peace where we can truly feel at home, deep in our hearts.  Where is our home?  How can we find it? Where can we seek refuge?

Alas, we have a tendency to take refuge in many kinds of things, wanting to satisfy our inner longing, and in doing so, come to realize that these things we pursue are not what we truly seek from deep in our hearts. It may be that the very things we try to grasp and hold onto in order seek some kind of satisfaction, are the cause this sense of uprootedness, displacement, of not being “at home” within ourselves.

When we look at our global society, especially in the so-called industrialized world, we see an abundance of material goods dangled before our eyes by the mass media, enticing us, telling us that we must have this or we need that, in order feel happy and satisfied with ourselves.  People pursue different things in their lives to give themselves that sense of self satisfaction.  We search continually for new thrills and new pleasures.  The entertainment industry keeps coming up with new attractions, one after another, and so we gladly buy into these.  We want to be up to date on the latest fads, the latest movies, and the latest video games, the newest car model.  There is always that drive to seek more, to have more.

Our own sense of rootlessness and powerlessness, our wanting to bolster our “place” in the world, drives us to seek more possessions. We want some more in our bank account.  We want a bigger house; we want a flashier car.  We want more satisfying relationships. We want to have all of those good things the “cool people” in society seem to have. Of course! Who doesn’t?  And so we are driven to work more, to strive more, to keep pumping the gas of our inner accelerator. As we do, the further we are thrown from that sense of being at home. The external force of wanting more propels us to want to do more, to be more successful, to feel more powerful.  That desire to be more powerful is a dynamism that drives not only individuals like us, but also social groups, corporations, political parties, governments, nation-states, and so on.  Being led on by the drive for power, be it in an individual or corporate entity, will inevitably cause us to clash head-on with others also seeking power. The result is the kind of world we live in, namely a world of conflict, violence, warfare, and enmity among ourselves, between human beings on different levels.

It is we ourselves who bring about this kind of world, by our own misplaced grasping for more possessions, by our hankering for more power and pleasure. We make ourselves part of that vicious cycle that continues to keep us and our world in a state of dissatisfaction and turmoil, in so far as we ourselves are not clear as to where our true satisfaction lies. And when you do come to realize that that way of going about life, that is, the way of grasping, is not where true satisfaction lies, then you are ready to take on the invitation of the Awakened One.

When asked by people around him how they could also become awakened, the Buddha’s response was, “Stop, and see!”

In short, stop grasping, stop your mind from wanting more and more, and just be still. Be still, and you will see. Be still, and you will know peace of mind, and be awakened. As the Psalmist enjoins us, “Be still, and know. I am what the nations grope toward. I am the earth’s desire.” (Psalm 46. From Norman Fischer, Opening to You: Zen-Inspired Translations of the Psalms. Penguin, 2002, p. 68.)

Our practice of seated meditation (zazen) is our way of taking up this invitation of the Awakened One, and enabling us to find the place of Peace we so long for in our lives. Sitting in stillness is our way of returning to that place where we are most at home, where we will find our true peace. Not a stillness that is an escape from the world’s turmoil, but a place where we are able to look directly at the source of that turmoil, that is, in the turmoil in our own hearts, and let it be quelled, by a clear vision and discernment of what is, just as it is.

To sit in stillness is not to take a passive “do nothing” stance to life, but on the contrary, to purify our mind, to empty our mind of the hankering for power and possessions, and to open ourselves to experience inner freedom and equanimity whereby we see “things just as they are.” It is this inner freedom and equanimity coming out of the exquisite experience of stillness that enables us to live each moment of our lives more fully, more deeply aware, and able to “smell the flowers” along the way. It is also what empowers us to respond to the world’s turmoil and address the world’s ills from a place of inner peace. In the clarity that comes from sitting in stillness, we become sensitized to the pain of those around us, and are thus also moved to respond to particular situations with a heart of compassion, and be enabled to activate skillful means in addressing those situations, each in our own ways.

This is the path we are launched into when we allow ourselves to sit in stillness as an integral part of our day to day life—the path of awakening, a path leads to true inner peace, the path that at the same time opens our heart in compassion. This is the path of Kannon, the One who sees clearly and hears the cries of suffering of the world, who offers her thousand arms toward the alleviation of that suffering in its manifold forms. Yes, Kannon is Us. Each and everyone of us.

It is a great gift and blessing to encounter others on this path of awakening, and to find belonging in a community of practitioners on this path. This is what sangha is about. Amidst our vast differences in personalities and backgrounds, we feel a deep bond and cherish a true sense of kinship with one another. It is this bond of kinship that assures us that we are not alone, that we are in good company, in our pursuit of true peace, healing, and wholesomeness in this world of ours full of turmoil and suffering. It is in this good company, among kin, in sangha, that we, in accepting and listening to one another and bearing one another’s wounds, can find the strength and empowerment to turn our lives around and offer it as our own little gift for the awakening of the entire world.

I bow in deep gratitude to each and everyone of you, for being kin to me and to one another, for the gift of yourself to all of us, in walking this path of awakening together.

Palms joined,
Ruben L.F. Habito
Maria Kannon Zen Center
January 13, 2012

Buddha Volume 1-Kapilavastu by Osamu Tezuka

Last November of 2010, arriving early on the final night of MKZC’s Tuesday night sit at the Crow Collection, Joni and I wandered upstairs to the sitting/reading room that’s above the Jade Collection. Looking over the reading material that was on display we discovered several volumes of Osamu Tezuka’s Buddha series and we were both immediately captivated.  Buddha is an 8 volume manga (or graphic novel) series that tells the story of the life of Buddha. Most of us are familiar with the basic story: the birth of prince Siddhartha, his encounters with suffering, old age, disease and death, his decision to leave the palace where he was born and become a monk, and his eventual awakening and transformation into Buddha. In his interpretation, however, Tezuka mixes his own fictional characters with history. In the first volume, Kapilavastu, he tells the story of  Chapra, a slave who attempts to escape his fate by posing as the son of a general; his friend Tatta, a wild boy who is one of the ‘untouchables’ and who has the ability to communicate with animals; and Naradatta, a monk who is trying to discover the meaning of strange omens foretelling Buddha’s birth. Siddhartha is born near the end of the first volume. In volume 2, Siddhartha is growing bored with the privileged life of a prince. He leaves the palace towards the end of the book to become a monk. In volume 3, he is a struggling monk. After many trials in the Forest of Uruvela, Buddha achieves enlightenment in the fourth volume. He continues to teach his disciples and inspire others until his death in volume 8.  These books are beautifully illustrated and I especially enjoy the way Tezuka weaves the fictional characters and their stories and adventures into the historical story of Buddha’s life.

Zen Master Raven – Sayings and Doings of a Wise Bird by Robert Aitken

I love this little book of koans. I re-read it frequently and every time I find something new. Master Raven is the leader of a Zen community who provides teaching to different animal members (Owl, Porcupine, Grey Wolf, Woodpecker, Mole, and others) as they struggle with their practice. What I like best about their conversations is that some of them just puzzle me – so they have a way of moving me out of my comfort zone to a place where I don’t really know what’s going on. Here’s one of my favorites called The Spirit of Practice: Relaxing with the others after zazen one evening, Owl asked, “ What is the spirit of practice?” Raven said “Inquiry.” Owl cocked his head and asked, “What do I inquire about?” Raven said, “Good start.”

-Lois

Schedule:

6:30 a.m to 8:00 a.m. Zazen

8:00 – 9:00  Breakfast/Registration

9:00 – 10:00  Zazen

10:00-10:30 Zen talk

10:30-12:00 noon, Zazen, Dokusan

12:00 – 12:30  Lunch

12:30 – 1:00  Zen Chores

1:00 – 3:30 p.m.  Zazen, Dokusan, Closing

Optional sitting: 6:30 a.m. to 8:00 a.m.

Suggested donation: $25 + Dana offering to the teacher

You have to register to participate for the day. Please send email to zenhelp@gmail.com or call 214-388-1122 to leave a message. Thank you.

Twenty-five years ago, I fell into a dimension of life I had no concept existed. The event started with a blinding pain in my abdomen. They wheeled me into surgery, and from there I went into the universe. It felt perfectly normal.

I had no body. Instead, I felt reduced to the basic structure of the universe, I had become molecules. Yet I had my mind intact. In my molecular state, I found the universe beautiful, black yet massive with molecules.

A sense of love, tranquility, peace and harmony filled me. As I bathed in this incredible completeness, I saw a review of my life. I realized I’d had a wonderful life. Then I became aware of gentle lessons on love, kindness and generosity. Finally, the question was formed for me to answer: Do you want to stay, or do you want to go back? I thought about this, of my wonderful life and my feelings of love, peace, tranquility. I gave my reply, “I want to stay.”

Kerplunk! I found myself back in a hospital bed. My mind was relaxed and accepting. Then beautiful voices began to sing to me. Sometimes the voice would be a soprano, then a duet would sing, or a chorus, and sometimes a brass quintet in a slow dirge would play. I had never heard any of this music before, and I had grown up in a family in which music was an everyday part of our lives. One sister became a professional musician, yet I had never heard any of this music.

When someone came into the hospital room, the music stopped. When the person left, the music began again. At some point, the surgeon came to check on me and said, “You shouldn’t have lived.” I knew this better than he did. The music continued for over a week, until I left the hospital. Once home, I never heard the music again.
I never said anything about this until over a year later when I mentioned the music to a friend who was an anthropologist. “Oh yes,” she said, “that is heavenly music. It’s in the medical literature. It is part of healing.”

Even then, I said nothing about having become psychic. At least, that’s what I thought had happened when friends came to visit. Without trying, it seemed I knew what they were going to say before they said it. When visiting with my father, I literally saw the words form across his forehead before they came out of his mouth.

None of this felt strange, which was probably the strangest part. My life had changed in some fundamental way and I didn’t know why I had not just returned to my old self. As I gradually tried to understand what had happened to me, I remembered reading Kubler-Ross’s studies as I researched for my work as a newspaper editor. But my changed sense of self seemed too far-fetched even for me. I had been a hard news reporter for major newspapers in Chicago and Dallas and for a news bureau in Washington, D.C. I was a most sane, clear-headed person, not given to hearing music or reading minds.

When I became mobile again, I started my library research, looking for descriptions of what had happened to me. I was too embarrassed to say anything about these strange events without some sort of supporting explanation. I certainly didn’t regard myself as a nut case. I simply could no longer believe anything I’d been taught about religion, life, death, relationships. Instead, I marveled at the vastness of life. In the many books I read, the answer always came back the same: I’d had a near death experience. I found many accounts that matched parts of my experience.

Over the next 15 years, I occasionally had insights and intuitions that felt psychic, although not with the intensity of when I returned to my body. I felt naturally more loving, kind and generous toward others than before this happened. The event itself haunted me less, and although I still had various experiences I could only call extrasensory perception, I had given up trying to understand it in some everyday explanation.

As if waiting, another medical event landed me in the hospital, but this time no doctor could diagnose the illness. Instead, I was misdiagnosed with cancer and various collagen diseases. Why? Because the rare autoimmune disease I did have mimicked cancer and collagen diseases in some respects. After almost a year, as my life began to fade, a remarkable cardiologist diagnosed the cause of my disease and said she would make every effort to find world authorities on my illness. I thought, well, I could help with that on my computer. In the meantime, she worked with other doctors to begin medication and pericardial heart surgery. That revived my body temporarily.

During my confinement, I had to rethink my life, again. I now knew I could never return to my other life, which included long-distance bicycle trips, travel, and my editorial work. I decided to study subjects I’d never had the opportunity or taken the time to pursue – Buddhism and astronomy. And I began to search for information about my disease. My cardiologist had given me certain clues.

However, I was very angry that my life had dimmed with an unknown disease. A friend told me that I had to find some kind of peace, and directed me to the Dallas Zen Meditation Center.

Much to my surprise, I did find peace. In one of my discussions with Dr. Ruben Habito, head teacher and founder of the Maria Kannon Zen Center, and Professor of World Religions and Spirituality at Southern Methodist University who had studied Buddhism in Japan, I asked why I had not died. “Because your work is not finished,” he replied. That had never occurred to me.

I then consulted Dr. Allan Vreeland, a clinical psychologist who teaches at University of Texas Southwestern Medical School in Dallas. He affirmed that my near death experiences were not unique, although their interpretation was controversial. He confirmed that my experience of communication with disembodied beings, to deliver messages of comfort and love to troubled individuals, was shared by others with experience of near death. He encouraged my meditation practices and understanding of Buddhism as a way of approaching the inevitable experience of death with stability, confidence, and clarity.

And Dr. Habito had been correct. My work wasn’t finished. My medical search on the Internet for my disease introduced me to a woman in Michigan who had a variation of my disease. Her work with a medical instrument company had led her to the National Organization of Rare Diseases (NORD), and to Dr. James Loyd, of Vanderbilt Medical School. Dr. Loyd is the world authority on my particular rare disease. We set up a web site on the disease, and I agreed to research and write an application for the disease to be added to the list of rare diseases with NORD. It took close to two years to research and write the application, which Dr. Loyd read and approved. But as a result, NORD listed Fibrosing Mediastinitis (FM) as a rare disease. Soon, the National Institutes of Health and the Centers for Disease Control recognized FM as a rare disease. Now we could raise funds for research. Soon afterward, we produced the first medical conference on FM with physicians from Vanderbilt University Medical School lecturing, and with Dr. Vreeland contributing a lecture on meditation techniques for managing the stress of chronic illness. Patients came from throughout the United States. At last count, the FM web site had over 17,000 hits.

Through these new experiences and new friends, I have learned that Buddhism best defines my revised, exhilarating understanding of life which I find so vast that I cannot describe its dimensions. Meditation each day opens my mind and brings me peace.

I can appreciate the deep personal compassion that is the most common response of persons who have come very close to death. I am no longer afraid of my mortality. I know that my body will die, but my energy and my contributions are a part of the universe. Energy never dies. As the Buddha taught: we are transformed through many lives.

Suggested Reading
(1)    ”Life After Life” by Raymond A. Moody, Jr. M.D.
(2)    ”Evidence of the Afterlife” by Dr. Jeffery Long, M.D.
Internet references
(3)    ”Near Death Experience” -¬Wikipedia”
(4)    ”Pam Reynolds (singer)” — Wikipedia