Buddha and the Blues by Tiffany Stevens

I. All emotions are pain.
OR Save the drama for your mama.

I hit yuppie rock bottom. Standing on the platform of the 6 train at Grand Central. After work, in my suit, underground, I thought it was all over for me, pointless. Yuppie rock bottom elaborated is the general feeling of helplessness after a survey of the results of your life’s efforts. Lamenting my general lack of equity in my own life; no equity in real estate, relationships, career, what did all that effort, talking and loving, grad school, and late nights at the office in my twenties really add up to? Just when the cold rushing metal train whooshed us all up in its frenzy, I was considering ending it all and stepping out too early. Before the train came to a halt, the air stilled and a guitar echoed through the subway cave. Strangely rare in the subway, it was a guy playing the Blues, not a Chinese harp or a doo-wop group, but the Blues, slowly. And like molasses, it coated my brain and heart, soothing me with its own earthy sadness. I thought, here I am at my lowest and, wow, the Blues really do actually make you feel better when you’re down. Really down. Blue. Which was just distracting enough to give the train enough time to let me enter it rather than be plowed by it. Being present in that moment saved me, and once again in my life, music saved me too.

II. Everything compounded is impermanent.
OR Here today, gone tomorrow. Really though, so stop clinging, you don’t actually control the world with your mind.

Cogitating on your unhappiness is a favorite pastime of people in this city, and when we tire of that, grasping at some sort of inner peace fills the gap. To both of those ends, co-opting Eastern religions and philosophies makes sense, and has the best tchotchkes to boot. Suffering versus joy, one is usually forced, depending on your personality. But switching it up is the fun.

Three weeks after my incident or non-incident, as it were, with the 6 train, I had quit my job and was sitting crossed legged on a magenta and orange silk cushion at a Buddhist retreat in a beautiful, quiet, semi-rural part of Connecticut. Unfortunately, I had chosen to wear my new Uniqlo blue gray straight leg jeans, bought in a somewhat frugal but still foolish attempt to spend towards happiness (it’s a Japanese store, so at least I was getting the geography right) and while they were a steal at $34.99, they’re not the best for sitting on the floor and pretending to relax. As the tingling in my legs went from gentle sensation to insistent needle jabs and my legs turned to cold concrete due to lack of circulation, I meditated for the first time, trying to appear to do it right. The Buddhist nun in her robes lit incense and led us through the beginning of settling down, with the mantra, “body like a mountain, breath like the wind, mind like the sky”, I felt a release and new free space, wow-could anyone else tell? Because what is the point of inner peace if everyone else can’t see that you’re doing perfectly? I was totally acing this. Too bad enlightenment isn’t graded, for credit, or it isn’t a sport with prizes or something, because I was killing it, and right off the bat too.

III. All things have no inherent existence.
OR Both you and that plasma TV you covet/own will die.

The DNKL center housed the retreat and is a gorgeous home and grounds donated by the founder of Unicef, DNKL is used by Buddhist monks and sometimes groups like the one I joined up for this retreat. Mine was a yoga and meditation retreat for a full weekend, which I found out about it while beginning my search to figure out the ways in which I create my own suffering by continuing my practice of Iyengar, on the Saturdays I haven’t been out misbehaving with my lady friends, which is like, once every 7 weeks or so. Anyway, being led through a few rounds of meditation initially is really nice and if something you should try if you’ve been curious about it, you can actually go from pretending to relax to really relaxing and clearing your mind — which if you’re never tried it is a novel and amazing sensation. Most yoga centers have brochures kinds of retreats (mine for a full weekend including food was well under $200) but there are places in the city you can meditate with a group for free and with a little good old fashioned hand holding when you’re starting out. You might not want to take that inner journey, all alone. At least not right away.

There are places all over the city to deepen your spiritual journey. Places other than, Uniqlo or, as exciting as it is, the impending opening of NYC’s first Muji. Mott Street in Chinatown is the home of Eastern States Buddhist temple, open to the public from 9 to 6, locals light incense and candles and leave offerings and it is home to the 100 “Golden Buddhas.” Nearer to Astor Place downtown, you can buy books about Karma and such at the Three Jewels bookstore, they also have a free one hour meditation on a few weekday mornings every week. The Rubin museum has a few exhibits, one of which is 120 modern interpretations of Tibetan prayer flags, Buddhist ritual objects meant to create auspicious circumstances and divert obstacles for enlightened beings. The Dalai Llama himself will be speaking at Radio City Music Hall in October, and is sold out, but ironically you can buy tickets from online brokers for a hefty price.

IV. Enlightenment is beyond concepts. OR Not angels and choirs, but as Guns n’ Roses said “Lose Your Illusions”

If you’re too lazy to get up from your computer, “Daily OM” will automatically send Buddhist inspired daily lessons, fables and inspirations to your inbox. You can also check out Pema Chodron, a popular (and funny) American Buddhist Nun on YouTube. You can also get away from social or career MySpace/LinkedIn obsessing by joining Zaadz.

While walking in my new neighborhood of Park Slope (fitting, right?), soaking in the local culture by browsing free books left on fellow Slopers stoops, and between giving up my corporate gig and the price of Kombucha, I need to get something at a lower price around here, Zen Buddhist books were neatly arranged. I picked a classic tomb “name” as well as the somewhat snarky and judgmental sounding “What Makes You Not a Buddhist.” If I could resist my own masochism I wouldn’t be in the this mess in the first place, so of course I brought it home with me to see spend my free time reading about how I was centering dead wrong., the summary tenants of Buddhism have been adapted from this book by Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse here. Happy Enlightening! I’m probably doing it better than you are, but try to let that go.