I t's 5:45 in the morning. Cold and bleary-eyed, I navigate my vehicle through one-way

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1 One Step of the Journey ~ The search is what all one would undertake if he were not sunk in the every dayness of his own life. To become aware of the possibility of the search is to be onto something. Not to be onto something is to be in despair. -Walker Perry I t's 5:45 in the morning. Cold and bleary-eyed, I navigate my vehicle through one-way streets, searching for the Cedar Rapids Zen Center. The truck ahead of me, the only vehicle on the road, pulls over in front of the only house with a light on. I park behind the truck and get out to get a good look at the building, a non-descript 2-story house with loose shutters and peeling white paint. Hardly the holy place of community and enlightenment that I was expecting. The small wooden sign above the mailbox reads, "Cedar Rapids Zen Center" and is the only indication that this is anything other than a slightly run-down, middle class home. I wasn't expecting a gold and marble structure, this is a meditation center and not a temple, but I guess secretly I wanted more. Sitting on the porch are two 2-foot tall terra cotta statues of a Tibetan Buddha seated in mediation. They are scenes of serenity--calm and poised. I step forward to get a better look and notice on one statue there is a large piece of masking tape holding together a broken left leg. I stand on the porch for a moment and laugh, relieved by that piece of tape. Even the Buddha needs patching. I am not a lover of organized religion. Though secretly, I've always had a fascination with ritual--there is some kind of primitive energy to it that attracts me. I enjoy the customs of religion, but faith is another story. While some people are born with faith flowing in their veins, I was not. My father was raised Catholic, and although as far as I know he hasn't been to mass in years, neither has he quite left behind all the values ingrained in an Irish-Catholic family. My mother was baptized the Catholic-light of religion, Episcopalian, as was I, though unlike some of her relatives, she never really followed through with it. At a young age, I don't remember praying before bedtime, attending Sunday school or church service, or saying grace before meals, excluding the holy trinity of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. I do remember, however, on occasion coercing my mother into reading to my brother and I from a giant white book, The Illustrated Bible for Children. I have no idea how or why we had this book but the stories in it

2 both fascinated and frightened me, which in retrospect was probably the idea. I consider my upbringing in every way moral, but other than a few Bible stories, quite secular. Through the years I've sort of gone through the buffet of religious practices, sampling an iota of Islam, a morsel of Methodism, a hint of Hinduism, but nothing satisfied me--and I had resigned myself to burning in whatever afterlife might await, or, because I was a nonbeliever, to the nothingness that I was sure would await. Taking a class on Buddhism forced me to approach the religion through an academic viewpoint, studying the philosophy before the practice. Here, I found themes that went along with my own life. In Buddhism there is no scary omnipotent being who has their own personal agenda for my life and soul. Now, my decisions and that alone, affected my fate. Karmta, the main focus of Buddhism, is the law of cause and effect that states that good deeds equal good karma and good things will happen because of it, bad deeds will cause the opposite. The five precepts, the equivalent of the Ten Commandments, are designed not only to keep social order in our lives (do not kill, steal, indulge in sexual misconduct, or speak falsely), but also to keep order of the mind (do not take intoxicants). A clear and ordered mind, coupled with true practice (five precepts, meditation, following the law of karma) will eventually lead the practitioner to the ultimate goal of Buddhism-nirvana. Nirvana is the release from the continuous circle of birth and rebirth (samsara) that we are all caught in. To be released from samsara is to be free from pain, suffering, the desire that controls us, and ultimately, from death. Despite the attraction that I had to Buddhism, I couldn't seem to bring myself to practice it. I thought, pondered, read; but I didn't prostrate, didn't chant, and didn't meditate. Committing to the practice terrified me because I hadn't completely committed to the ideas. Even though Buddhism was appealing, I just couldn't accept reincarnation or the magical moment where "I" ceased to exist (which was supposed to be a good thing). The misgivings of this new religious practice continued to gnaw at me but despite my ideological misgivings about this belief I still wanted to try it. We all need something to believe in; maybe this would bring me faith. } 2

3 I knock quietly and enter into what would be a spacious parlor, but is now divided into two separate rooms by a large row of bookshelves. A white-haired man of about 50 greets me at the door. He is tall, dressed in gray slacks and a bright white sweater, probably a businessman who does morning meditation before heading off to a power breakfast. He seems pleasant enough, but just interacting with someone has put me on the defensive. I give him wide eyes and blurt out, "I'm new!" He smiles, "Me, too." No sweeter words. Behind the man (Brian, I later fmd out) in the other half of the divided room is a small, bald figure dressed in brown robes kneeling in front of a shrine. She stands, bows towards the Buddha statue on the alter, and turns towards us. She glides rather than walks across the room and introduces herself as the resident teacher, Zuiko, which I'm not sure is a title or her name, as she doesn't look at all Japanese. I tell her my name and spend the next few seconds deciding if I should bow or shake her hand. She smiles, sensing my confusion, and sticks out her hand. Zuiko leads me to the partitioned side of the room (the zendo--meditation room), an open area with several square mats circling the Buddha shrine. On the mats (zabuton) are small, hard, round pillows (zafu). Zuiko shows me how to gassho bow (hands, palms together, in front of face, bow from hips) before entering the tendo, towards the zafu, and away from it as this is a greeting to the others in the sangha (community). We walk around the shrine, never in front of it, with hands in shashu (left fingers folded over thumb, right hand folded over left, hands at chest level). I walk to a zabuton and sit down. She tells me that meditation is about to begin and I can now get into (lotus) position. "Oh, yeah, if I can." She laughs and walks away to her own seat. I bend myself into a half-lotus, with one leg on top of one thigh, the other underneath it, and set my hands into hokkai join (hands in lap, left fingers over right, thumbs touching lightly). I straighten out my spine, keep my head up, and leave my eyes half open. If done correctly, the meditative pose is comfortable. Zazen, formal seated meditation, begins with the sounding of three bells and at this particular center lasts 40 minutes. During meditation you don't think or not think. Let the thoughts come in and out. Counting breathes helps to focus the mind I need to do laundry today... damn. Okay 1... those library books are overdue. I have to start working on that paper because I don t want to be finishing it the night before. I'm wandering again. The mind doesn't like to just be shut 3

4 off--it fights back, throwing random notions into the brain. After a few minutes I'm able to get to 5 without too much trouble. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... "Sugar pie, honry bunch... " Crap! That s the last time I listen to the radio before meditation. My right leg is falling asleep. I move a fraction of an inch; hopefully the blood will start flowing again. Sitting still for so long, on top of being nervous is causing my muscles to jump and twitch. We are seated towards the wall. I try and focus on a blank space, not on the seductive trim along the floor or that bewitching blob of paint just off to the left. Make the mind like the wall. Thoughts float in and out. Things are going well, I've counted up to 10 breaths finally, until Brian coughs next to me, and I jump on my cushion. My leg is screaming now--i'm not sitting correctly and now my body is paying for it. My eye itches, but I don't concentrate on it and eventually the urge to scratch goes away. During meditation the mind should be empty, but as a sort "training wheel" method, I've been trying to build a picture in my mind for something to focus on. It's a hill with tall green grass. On top of the hill is a tree, and sitting in the shade is a figure. Neither male nor female, they sit, poised, with wide blue eyes open just a slit, a slight smile on their face. The limbs are tanned, the hair, non-de script and there only because it seems that they should have hair. Their whole being is rather ordinary, nothing that I would remember, but those eyes--they draw me in and the keep me grounded. My mind creates an image, of no one in particular, not really the Buddha, though there is a certain resemblance. Maybe it's me, a projection of how I see myself or how I want to be. Still, calm, relaxed, completely aware but completely settled into place. The wind is blowing the grass- my mind is focusing. Finally, I hear Zuiko rustle behind me. Not loudly, she makes less noise then I would have, which strikes me as interesting. She sounds the zazen bell three times. Brian and I unfold ourselves, straighten our zabuton and zafu, and bow ingassho. We begin the next phase of Buddhist practice, the chanting service, with three full prostrations, similar to a Muslim prostration and with the same goal in mind--humility. After the bowing we go through several different chants, some in English, some in Japanese. I'm reading from my sutra book, but stumble over the odd syllables and perfect rhythm that must be kept. The chants aren't prayers exactly, who would you pray to? Instead, the holy words are said for the generation of merit, which is usually dedicated to the founders of the practice or the general category of "good 4

5 spirits." If they contributed to the growth of Buddhism they probably have enough merit and good karma of their own, and I want mine to go to someone else--poor, starving orphans in Africa or something. But I suck it up and chant anyway. Throughout the service we stand and sit at various times which reminds me of Catholic mass, except there is bowing instead of kneeling. Practicing the movements makes me feel more connected to these people and to the people that have done this before. The zazen, the chanting, the bowing, all seem have an affect on me. I'm no longer alone--i am part of the sangha, I have something in common with these people and that is sacred. We are coming together in the primal act of worship and suddenly I realize that this is what I've been looking for, more than ideological fulfillment or spiritual comfort or salvation. I am accepted here because I have allowed myself to be. True, I have some misgivings about the details of the faith but in general I can follow this without feeling that I am betraying my conscience or personal ideals. I've found a connection. When the service is over, Brian, Zuiko and I chat in the common area. I ask if I can come back again next week. Zuiko looks surprised, maybe wondering why any self-respecting college student would want to get up at 5:30 am on a regular basis, but she smiles and says of course. I leave the Zen Center, awake and happy, just as the sun comes up. I am not a convert; I still have questions and uncertainties. I haven't attained enlightenment yet, but maybe I'm just a little bit closer. 5

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