Gaining Some Religion, Part 1: That's me in the corner, meditating

Remember when we had to read Siddhartha in English class our sophomore year of high school? Well, today I had a flashback to those days of analyzing the symbolism of water and discussing Sidd's sexual fantasies. Or rather, today I recalled my limited knowledge of Buddhism in a useless attempt to make a connection between that God-awful book (pun intended) and my infinitely more bizarre hands-on zen experience. And while I would love to say that my second encounter with the Buddhist religion was more promising, my aching back and lack of inner wisdom indicate otherwise.

Anyway, I suppose that first a little background information is necessary. I'm irreligious. Much like the Swiss, I'm all about neutrality, and my early disillusionment regarding religion has made me a clean slate, a blank page, an empty stone tablet, what have you. The only belief I've had in years has been my faith in myself. I decided about a year ago, however, that I needed to take a dip in the baptismal waters, spout out a little Hebrew, and "om" with purpose. Finally, I am enacting that plan. Who knows? Maybe all I'll wind up with are some WWJD bracelets. Maybe I'll glow with newfound enlightenment.

Maybe I can reclaim for myself what R.E.M. lost.

Back to today. I visited the Chapel Hill Zen Center after corresponding with my ride, B.J., for approximately a month. (We had a lot of scheduling conflicts.) Employing the teachings of Buddha/Sidd (and about a billion other guys whose names we had to chant), the center is a place for self-reflection and meditation. The outside looks like it houses a small family rather than a fat man in a constant state of nirvana. It even has a koi pond. With a bridge.

As for B.J., well, he is a guy I'd like to adopt as my surrogate grandfather. On the way over, he and I discussed American's destruction of the English language, the importance of multilingualism, and his preference for manual transmissions, among other things. Plus, he lives in Pittsboro. Anyone who lives in Pittsboro gets points for the simple act of carrying out most of his or her existence in that fabulously historic and charming town. I'll throw B.J. some karma points because that seems most appropriate in his case.

Being a first-timer at the center, I was put in the library to read up on how to ignore my consciousness, particularly my salivary glands. Nothing disturbs a zen atmosphere quite like an obscenely loud swallow. Then my meditation instructor Paul showed me proper etiquette. Sitting is definitely the hardest part of meditation. You have to situate yourself on this little round pillow, but only the front third of it, in order to place your pelvis in the optimum position. For posture purposes, of course.

I'm not sure exactly how long we meditated, but I failed miserably in my effort. Your focus is supposed to be on your breathing if you're not gifted enough to clear your thoughts automatically. I can't, that's for sure. I guess I can add that to my list of things Chapel Hill has taught me that I actually can't do all that well. I kept trying to count to 10, but my upper back was not adjusted to its new upright attitude and my eyes didn't want to remain downcast yet still open.

After an indeterminate amount of time, we chanted. Some of the chants were in an interpretation of English that I'm sure Faulkner would've enjoyed. Others were in Chinese, Japanese, Sanskrit. I got really good at saying "prajna paramita," or "perfection of wisdom." I was nowhere near perfect or wise, but I do feel more informed. And now I know that Buddhists haven't been missing out on those sah-weet, uplifting gospel songs. Their chants literally made me tap my feet. I hope I didn't look irreverent.

Though completely different than anything I've done before, the entire experience was fascinating.

I liked to bow as a sign of respect. I liked the idea of reaching an inner peace. I liked my shoe-less feet on the soft foyer carpet. I think that my biggest problem was my lack of understanding. At least I have a basic knowledge of western religions. I may not think highly of all of them, but I know the history. I did, after all, have that gold-leafed Bible when I was a kid. Eastern religions are so foreign, so mysterious. Plus, there's that language barrier issue.

I haven't decided whether or not I'll go back.