Buddhallucinations

Darlings, I've missed you dearly...

If you haven't read/received "Cravings and Aversions for Breakfast," holler@myface.com to get privy to the prequel and give the bottom something to strut above.  The following was written after another weekend examination of Buddha's Satipatthana meditation technique, led by Ekta, who's about to enter a year-long off-the-grid hibernation in Germany. 

The technique attempts to reverse the mind-body connection.  Instead of utilizing the mind to affect the body (e.g. cancer patient with a positive attitude always lives longer), this is like a self-administered MRI of your bodily sensations to re-wire your deepest systematic thoughts.

As always, feel free to share and/or fax in questions to my Zune.

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Ekta, you skinny-skinny Buddha....thank you for fattening us up with new wisdom, and showing us how to feed on our own flavorless sensations.Your ​"​Satipatt​h​ana,​"​ which in Hebrew means "Surface Surfing," allowed us to swim deep into our ocean's mind and send memories to the surface for pleasureless bubble-popping. 
What continues to astound me is how you don't use any notes.  Meanwhile, I'm nothing without notes, and here are all of them as proof:​1) The highest priority is the benefit of the other person​​ 2) Small talk is just for getting rid of initial nervous energy 3) You can be happy without a reason, but you can't be unhappy without a reason 4) The senses' ability to enjoy is limited, but the mind's desires are unlimited5) My aversion to someone else's habits ​affects me first​.​...and reacting negatively/scolding someone targets me much more than my intended target....when shooting a bullet through my body first,​ ​I'm the one who feels the force at its strongest velocity.​ ​We project onto other people the qualities in ourselves that we dislike or disallow, and then condemn in someone else the traits we reject in ourselves. Which means that dealing with difficult people has to begin with finding out what I need to work on in myself.​​6​) My biggest challenge is to not challenge my thoughts. But judging/arguing with ​your thoughts is only further tangling the cords behind your mind's TV.  If you just comb all your hair forward, that is, just say yes and think less, the wires and hairs will untangle themselves. Unhampered hair is happy hair​.  ​
​7​) Speaking of hair, don't waste creative/thinking energy on non-hairy situations. Your brain has limited problem-solving energy, so if you waste that on problems that aren't problems (i.e. what to wear, where to eat, when to ​text, etc), you won't have mental energy to solve what really matters (how to help, how to ​create, how to ​problem-solve). 
​8​) If you're awake and unaware, you might as well be asleep. 
​9​) Doing Satipatt​h​ana before meditation is like the deep sea scrub under your nails before putting makeup on the mind with meditation. And the stronger the satthipatthana practice, the less makeup you need.  What also helps both meditation and less makeup is dim bulbs​. ​​10​) Waiting too long after meditation to try to absorb ​insights is like tossing presents at a closed garage door, for them to get later washed away on the driveway.  Those moments after meditation are oh so precious, when your mind is momentarily turned into double-sided tape. ​11) There's something so satisfying about knowing that everything is incapable of satisfying - no need to continue looking in between the unturned couch cushions of the world..​..o​​bserve everything ​as it is, and take everything at face value, instead of pursing an insatiable search for meaning.  Somehow, knowing that nothing means anything, it just ​is, means everything.​12) ​Graduate from​ witnessing ​your own life as if ​you're in someone else's movie, to witnessing as if every moment is a new movie.  Don't worry about finding sequence in the scenes; after all, life is an incongruent comedy.  And if you're observing​ everything as it is,​ then what does it matter as it was?  ​13​) Manipulating the breath, instead of just observing the breath, is like using formula instead of breastfeeding........it's easier but less natural​ and beneficial longer-term.​(this analogy is from my personal experience as a former mother)
Most inputs that my mind observe still come out a shade of pink that could've only been laundered by an analytical shade of red.​...​
​....T​he other day, I was waiting in line at Kroger, and overheard a guy behind me tell his friend "...and thank god I'm off on Wednesday night."  My mind's factory processed this as "oh they ​work weeknights, oh they don't have a salaried job, oh I'm better than them​"​​​​​​.....then another layer of the mind's tiramisu noticed me noticing this, and applauded for noticing at all. Even my ego has an ego. But Buddha's 'loving-kindness" technique in lines and times like these can help - simply speaking, instead of thinking how others are different, you simply wish others the upmost happiness - it's a quick-fix-clean of hiding everything in your closet before your in-laws ​arrive.  Eventually, ​though, ​these judgy/fudgy habit-patterns will have to be properly cleaned instead of temporarily hidden.

I still remember ​the first (of many times) I challenged Ekta​ on her passion for dispassion....my argument always being that ​it's ​passion that creates creativity. She said ask ​Aditya, he has a lot to say on this subject, to which I thought, "who the ​fuck is Aditya?"Then, a skinny Shah Rukh Khan started speaking from the side, and explained how dispassion in fact enhances creativity. When Aditya ​(Ekta's husband) ​says something, it immediately makes sense, so you agree....... but then doubt seeps through later, as you understand that you've understood nothing.Only in this past week did I truly finally understand this, at the experiential level.  And regardless, if I have to choose between being interesting and passionate instead of boring and happy, ​​give me boring and happy.  
FOLLOW-UP QUESTIONS (in order of difficulty)1) Who are you?2) Who am I? 3) If you feel the mind analyzing, do you immediately search your body for corresponding sensations? ​That is, if you're wearing loose pants and suddenly feel a draft on your butt, do you immediately reach for your ankles? 4) What's your favorite color? 

​Only love,Mohit 

Now You See Me, Now You (Soul)

his is the most recent chapter in the ongoing series about my "silent meditation retreat" experiences -- if you're interested in first priming your mind with the previous installments, "Buddhallucinations" and "Cravings and Aversions for Breakfast," DM my rotary phone.  In the meantime, befriend your blankie because this one's not winning any Teen Choice Awards for brevity. 

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Well well well - here we are again, you opening this then closing it then opening it again at a later date, and me waiting sweatily for the response.  

That sweat is pudding-proof of my progress, for I'll only be completely free when I'm completely response-free.  As Roman homeboy Epictetus said just 2000 years ago, "Anyone who truly wants to be free won't desire something that is actually in someone else's control." 

So to further scratch my itchy trigger-finger of reaction, last month I spent 9 days in silence to listen in on the quieter choirs of my mind. Though the early morning choir in my stomach has always rewarded me for overdosing it with warm water, this was the first time it had the nerve to talk back:

Me: "Talk to me, Butt." 

Butt: "'Do you know what time it is?" 

Every day started at the butt-crack of dawn, but I couldn't wait to start again, another chance to master the practice like a TI-83 snake game in math class - the practice being Buddha's game of "shadowing" the breath with your attention - wherever the breath goes, your attention goes.  

And why troll the breath, out of all the things to troll? 

Because the breath is the string to the kite of the mind - as your breath slows down, so do your thoughts....and after playing a neighborhood game of Breath Stalker for 16 hrs/day for 4 days in a row, not only does your nose file a restraining order, your.......well, just wait :) 

I used to think that Buddha's "annapanna" (his breathing technique before the main event/meditative practice) was like an Indian restaurant buffet - he didn't actually care about the breathing technique, he just felt obligated to have one because every other yogi had one, while Vipassana was the chef's special.  

I can tell you firsthand that his bare-bones breathing technique in and of itself can waterslide you to the other side of the moon. But it's not a straightforward path, as you can imagine with a waterslide built over moon rock.  Consider this first before moving beyond: 

1) The first few days in silence are for clearing the watery part of the ketchup before striking the reddish treasure chest. (there's a similar preliminary stage in my writing process where I -legally- first have to make sure that I've seen every youtube video about dinosaurs and then also check the Yahoo.com front page every five minutes. #formalities)

2) Your own experience is everything.  In the time of Buddha (2500 years ago), in a world where monarchies were king, leadership legally told you what to think and believe. Then the people's champ, Buddha, rolled up in his Prius, fresh from providing his closest comrades with surreal experiences. 

And because his body of work spoke for itself, people wanted to trust his word for what he was saying; that was easier than finding out for themselves.  But he insisted that nobody consider his (or anybody else's) experience as their own; because it wasn't their own, they'd forget about it before it became embodied into their psyche.  

So the elephant-sized mission in this Operation Dumbo Drop was to drop all thoughts, and the only instruction in the Ikea manual was to follow your unrestricted breath.  

So I proceeded to breathe - and after a few days, as the hyperfast flipbook of the mind began to slow down, a few pages floated to the mind's kiddie pool surface: 

1) Listening to the mind as my sole adviser is like living in a communist country and trusting everything you see on the news.  The mind has its own agenda, and your best interest isn't on it. 

And complaining about the bad suggestions is only going to provoke the primitive child that is your mind.  If you ignore the child, eventually he'll just go the fuck to sleep. 

2)  Evolutionarily speaking, the mind reacts because when feels its survival is threatened.  But the reality is, in 2018 in most countries, "survive" isn't on anybody's to-do list.  So trusting your mind's dusty copy of an old survival software is like relying on a Google Maps edition made by Christopher Columbus, and wondering how directions to 'Home' put you in Cuba.  

3) I've always associated "analysis" with "intellectual."  But most analysis is overkill; remember that the mind is a prolific problem solver; the problem is that most things are not problems.  So when a firehose is done putting out the cabin fire, don't waste more water by watering the surrounding lakes. 

And remember that you're not allowed to complain that most news is redundant if you let the same stories in your mind cycle in a circle. 

4) I also recognized that one of the background singers in my mind lobbying me to sign up for the next silent meditation retreat has on its agenda to generate material to write about.  And one of its motives to write about the experience is to gain respect from my peers. 

And the need to rely on peers' opinions at all increases a need to meditate. 

But then my mind sprints to the Judge's Bench with a new defense; that if I'm experiencing something worth sharing, not writing about it would be as self-serving as an emo teenager skipping story-telling and going straight to his room after school.  

The mind can justify anything if it's armed with motive.    

*SPOILER ALERT* Please keep your hands and judgements inside the vehicle until this section comes to a full stop. And if you were raised Hindu, please wear rec specs for extra safety; you're not going to like this.  

Several years ago, when I was just beginning to dip by big-toes into the ripple-free waterpark called Meditation, the most common response was, "is it like Mindfulness?" To which I instinctively said "no," because I didn't want the quality of my experience to feel commoditized (just like if you *discover* a new musician, then mention them to a friend and your friend already knows them, you're quick to reference the smaller fonted features of their catalogue, to protect your space on your pretend pedestal.  It's the same survival wiring, to protect your newly found fertile land from invaders). 

I'd always reference one of my favorite childhood shows, "Recess," where a whole episode was centered around swinging on the playground swing all the way to the other side - I'd compare mindfulness to paying attention to the swing, and my practice to swinging all the way - except that I was a virgin bragging to friends about sex.  

The truth was that I'd never actually experienced that other side for myself.....until now. 

Previously I'd been taught to not believe everything I think; when that didn't stick, the ante was raised to "no thought is worth believing."  But all the while, the soul was supposed to remain my bass line, the only barcode/unique identifier of my personal existence.  

Then imagine, after having not talked, or read....or texted..........or listened.....or caffeinated, or made eye-contact, for a week, and then fully succeeding in draining the mind of all uninvited play-dates. What's left is a silence that only you and the Sahara have experienced.  

And you're in this Silence...and you're not even sure if you're still breathing, but you stride forth without it because even breathing feels like a nuisance...........................you keep digging deeper into the desert sand, trying to see how deep you can go....until..............................................................

.............................................................................................you strike the stillest water you've never seen...............................................................................................................you think, 

this has to be the soul.  

And you sit there, not planting flags or celebrating, but in a Western standoff, both parties waiting for the other to flinch..............waiting..................................waiting...............................................................................................waiting.................................................................................................................WAITING...................................and then.....

.

.

.

.

..

...

BOTH flinch. *

There it was, personal proof that even the soul was wearing a fake mustache this whole time, an imposter trying to not get caught as the Just Another Thought that it was.  

Through my religious upbringing, my mind had been trained to trust the soul as the deep-sea camouflage that made me me, only to go deep-sea diving and discover that that corral-colored clam was a scam.  

My immediate feeling, rather than betrayal, was freedom, like Genie at the end of Aladdin.  

If the one thing I regarded as "truth" was Just Another Thought, and I just saw that bitch waver, the idea that "no thought was worth believing" was no longer an idea - it was my own experience.  Suddenly, like after watching a horror movie where you sprint up the basement stairs for safety's sake, then the next morning's sun shines light on every monster's hiding spot..... knowing that even the "soul" was a slick sales job by the greasy mind, caused thoughts to voluntarily submit themselves for sentencing; the gig was over.  And it made the Art of Non-reaction easier to not react to.   This whole time I'd been eating an apple and avoiding the core, then accidentally bit the core, and discovered there was no core. 

I was reminded of a conversation I'd had during a heated exchange on a hookah rooftop in Uzbekistan, with an American traveler named Wilson.  Wilson asked me, "If your parents didn't raise you Hindu, would you still choose to be Hindu today?"  

I adamantly said yes, Wilson called bullshit, and it made my blood boil.  Motherfucker the Hindus got it right.

Wilson, if you're listening**, you were right. 

It's easy to confuse what you believe with what you've been told to believe, especially when others' continuous influence on your mind starts to look like your own handwriting.  And the concept of a soul has always provided the safety of a pool noodle; even if you didn't agree with anything else, believing in the "soul" made me feel and look good, a combination every product on the planet envies.  

WRAP IT UP, MOHIT 

I've long known that I can trick people into thinking my understanding of the world is at a high level, by assigning digestible language to shapeless concepts.  But it's all a farce until it's actually been applied; even reading this may create a high, and that too, will fade.  

One can visit a 3rd-world country, be briefly moved by piteous poverty, return to become momentarily more patient with traffic and toothpaste shortages, until soon returning to Self 1.0. 

The mind can't just be fed words and re-wire itself; it has to be exercised to be changed (through a medium like meditation), just like the body has to be exercised.  You can't read "Stallone's Abs, A Memoir written by Stallone's Abs" and wake up with Stallone's Abs.  You can't watch ten 10 Ted Talks and wake up with Stallone's Abs. 

You see, the more we learn about ourselves, the more parts of the lottery ticket get scratched off - we get encouraged and think that once we fully know ourselves and our full code, then we'll be free.  

But be impatient with freedom; be free now.  Because there is no code.  

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*Keep in mind that this was my personal experience -- though many in the room experienced something similar, don't believe my experience, only believe yours. 

**Wilson passed away earlier this year, but his legend lives on.

Whirled Cup

When I was growing up in England, recess meant playground soccer wars. And it was always some Cheetos-cheeked 3rd-grader named Harry or Miles or Nigel who'd kick our only ball over the fence. But while that was our only ball ball, we had plenty of backup balls.......including pencil sharpeners, cherry coke cans.....semi-sucked Ring Pops.

You see - it took almost nothing to enjoy a sport that to much of the world, meant everything. And though I wasn't from one of the many countries who claimed the World Cup as Ecstasy, I thirsted to comprehend the phenomenon. 

It was that thirst that sucked* me into my first World Cup in 2006. (*#plasticstraws4eva) Since then, I've gone for refills at 3 of the past 4 World Cups. And while figuring out why the drink's so delicious is an unquenchable quest, let me give you some sips of my suspicion: 

THE MAGIC OF THE WORLD CUP

1) Since most spectators are from abroad, most fans' phones don't work in the host country.  So with the only reason to reach for your phone being to be the hero whose phone case replaces a lost ball, undistracted strangers unite to trade stories, defend doctrines, hug butts.....with other undistracted strangers.

(from Instagram: Mexico and Colombia fans lift a disabled Egyptian fan so he can see the screen more clearly) 

2) In reality, most strangers at the World Cup don't even speak the same language.  The only common language is Song and Dance, which any Spelling Bee dropout can tell you are both Romantic languages. 

It reminds me of an American friend when he was living in France and dating a girl from Colombia.  He said the reason their relationship worked so well was that neither spoke French well, so they only said what had to be said.

Sometimes it's words that can get in the way of expression.  And because World Cuppers don't share enough words to dance around the truth, they sprint, stripped, straight to the point.  And it's that stripped race that unites race.  

3) It also creates a fertile landscape to dissolve "Difference Myths." I'm convinced that the main cause of a lot of social problems and pillow fights is that humans tend to overestimate their uniqueness.  The truth is the tendencies of our minds are universal, but people need uniqueness to pretend they have purpose.  

We're trying to sell the world on the value of our existence, while overstepping the bounds of our control. 

But when you're in another state where your "control" gets electrocuted by a language fence, you're in your most vulnerable state.  And when vulnerability strips your lacquered facade, everyone's remaining tootsie-pop core looks and tastes just the same. 

It's why shared hardship (i.e. a vulnerable state) can coagulate a bond beyond breakability.

It's why a group of travelers can briskly bump their tier 2 friendship to a Platinum Bond rewards card. 

It's at the World Cup, though, that the bond can be brewed before your breath. 

In 2006, a friend and I decided to buy next-day flights to "be near" the World Cup in Germany. Some 48 hours later at our first Fan Fest, some locals overheard my friend describe how Cameron Diaz in "The Mask" caused the first of many red rover battles between his penis and his jeans.

It just so happened that the Germans were also indebted to Diaz and her movies, for helping them learn English.  It also just so happened that we had lost the phone number of our host family, which meant we'd lost our way home.  But our new friends, knowing that we didn't have enough money for a taxi, drove us an hour out of their way, all the way home.  

The World Cup, wherever it is, always has a way of making you feel at home:

(a Moroccan fan expressing gratitude to the hospitality of the Russian people)

THE MAGIC OF RUSSIA  

It also has a way of feeling like a sweaty slumber party with air electrified by high-fives.  

Except, Russia actually electrified the air by hiring hundreds of people just to give high-fives on every corner.  And they actually had Free Vodka as a common lunch special....which may not have been World-Cup specific as much as it was weekday-specific.  

And yes, the official guidebook for tourists devoted loads of prose to uprooting a wrong impression the Russian Government thinks the rest of the world has about Russia........you know............that it's filled with bears:

(photo from World Cup Tourist Guide)

Americans assume that Russia is an elephant graveyard, covered in a grey cloud of communism. But consider that most of what you know about Russia is not about Russia, just about the Russian government. In comparison, consider how offended we'd feel if foreigners assumed all Americans thought like the US government. 

The truth is that, like most places, if you get to know the people, the people are sincere.  In fact, one Russian sincerely asked me, "Just the way Russians love vodka, Americans love........gay?"

I sincerely said yes.

Even their hospitality was sincere - when we asked the hostess at a crowded restaurant for a table, she said there'd be a two-hour wait. Some locals sided with our sighs and offered to squeeze us into their booth so we didn't have to wait.  

That's the human side of Russia that their external relations team forgets to tweet out to the West.

But be careful about what you tweet - we had a friend who was called into private meetings with local KGB for messages sent in a Whatsapp group that were found to be "disruptive."  

The one thing the government has done well is stripped its people of the lust to disrupt.  When we tried to play a drinking game called "Get A Local to Talk Shit About Putin" or GALTTSAP for short), it was medium-impossible to get to GALTTSAP a sip. 

But remember - the Russians, underneath that government-coated glaze, and inside those square-shaped heads, are as wonderful and cuddly a people as any communist blankie you've ever snuggled with. Deep down, their actions and your actions are just designed to make the world want to snuggle with you.  

THE MAGIC OF SOCCER

It was immediately after my second World Cup in 2010 that I wanted to snuggle with soccer forever. So I immediately signed up for a volunteer program to teach soccer to toddlers in Ghana.  While in reality, they taught me, the most memorable day was that first day, when Ghana beat the United States to earn their first berth to a quarterfinal.  

And let me tell you that you haven't seen true joy until you've been in a third-world country who's just beaten America in A Televised Event. 

The truth is that I'll never be able to truly root for a country like that, who truly needs soccer and the World Cup.  

In countries where there's no running water or private places to shit, they need soccer.   In homes where there are no mattresses or birth certificates, they need soccer. 

And in humans who don't have citizenships or homes, they still have soccer. 

In America, we don't need soccer. In fact, we think we don't need anything or anyone to survive. But if our minds are to survive, sometimes we need to shed the shimmer we want others to see, and let our similarities shine instead. 

Because that is what we need - a way to unveil our common bond. 

Rhinehaus

4/5 stars

Dear Rhinehaus, 

You skinny, skinny bitch. 
I can't finger why I love you, but let me feel around in the dark:

1) Maybe it's your short list of shots that don't bury me into a Fireball bunker? 
Instead I get to ride across the border on your Mexican Rhino, and sneak into Pink Rhino, your sorority dollhouse.  
2) Maybe it's your 80 watt halogens, that make everyone's foreheads shine and lips chap?  
With lighting that bright, you can turn an 8 into a 6.
3) Maybe it's your small TVs, too small for a true sports bar, but small enough that the guys still notice the nearby girls? (and don't think I'm dissing your size, it's your thin width that brings us closer ;)
....let me pause on these compliments so you keep your Rhinehoe horn in your Rhinehoe pants...
....we now return to regularly scheduled programming....
4) Maybe it's Wonder Brown the bartender, part Rodeo Clown, part Coors Sommelier?
5) Maybe it's the most competitive Touchtunes in Greater Ohio, more competitive than flavor-picking at Graeter's in Ohio? 
And maybe it's the contract among patrons that only rap shall be played, and that the crowd will always rally around nostalgia....

....last Sunday, at a quarter past drunk, Kanye West's "Runaway" played, which is easily my 34th favorite Kanye song.
But when I leaned up in my stool, and gazed down on the craigslist choir, for a moment it was my #1.  

Rhinehaus, you made me feel like a King. 

Until I walked back out on 12th Street, and remembered that I'm just your side chick. 
To soccer, that stupid sport.

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The Rhined

5/5 stars

I finally ushered myself in here after passing by that charming "Curd to your Mudder" sign too many times.  The Rhined unwinds its charm in bits and pieces, so you have time to slowly sip your wine.  Let's break down the pieces, cheese by cheese:

1) When you think cheese and wine, you usually think classical music/pinky rings/royal noses.  Throw all those body parts in the hamper, and roll out Ludacris' "Rollout." That's right, this is a cheese/wine shop with a hip-hop step. 
2) Become friends with the $6 Havarti Cheese Sandwich.  Start a texting group with the flavor and price, and then let them do all the talking in your mouth. 
3)  Holler @ the self-swipe credit card menu, for not soliciting a gratuitous tip.  Most coffee shops etc now suggest extra for 3-4 seconds of service, but ironically this was the first time that I actually felt like giving extra. 
4) The Rhined has events happening every week, and it looks like many sell out (check FB).

Also, don't think of this as a place you swiftly shop for artisanal dairy and then make like a baby and head out.....this is where you can enjoy some delicious cheeses, charcuterie, and booze, but in a casual/cool setting.  Just don't fog it up in here with your cocky pinkies. 

Finally, in honor of their "Curd to your Mudder" sign, here are some chalkable ideas for future cheese-themed boards:

Cheesus Christ! The Musical
Milk does the body Goat
Do the Muenster Mash
The Infetable Hulk: Hulk Hungry
#BrieWeezy
Don't Provolone, It's better with Friends
The Feta and the Curious: Vin Diesel's Bisexual Affair with Dairy

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