INTRO

Following The Path of Buddhism is the intellectual equivalent of scaling Everest with no clothes on. If you make it, you achieve total naked freedom. But you probably won't make it. Trying to find nirvana terrifies me. But actually finding it scares me even more because nirvana is supposed to be an extinction of all concepts and all notions, an unbinding of the mind. I want to follow The Path without taking the intellectual risk that those heights require. That's why I'm writing this. I'm going to sit here in this comfortable chair behind the doors of this house and type on my computer. I won't climb the mountain. But a young man named James that exists only on paper will.

If he doesn't find nirvana and instead falls and snaps his neck, I'll bury him respectfully. But if he makes it, he'll be free. Either way, I'm going to be sitting here and typing.

PART I

My name is James. It's 10 AM. I'm sitting at a cafe on a summer day. Across the street, just visible from this window, is my old high school. I'm going into my Junior year in college. I'm familiar with the baristas' faces. There is a tall and chubby one named José. He's very friendly. There's a severe, beautiful Ukrainian woman. A few others.

The Ukrainian woman has a young daughter. She just visited her mother at work and I was struck by how similar the two looked. Like mini and large versions of each other. She left her mother with a kiss on the cheek.

I'm happy that the barista is happy. I'm happy her daughter looks like a scaled-down version of her and kisses her on the cheek.

That feeling is called mudita: joy for others' joy. A Buddhist idea. Sort of the opposite of schadenfreude. I'm not used to feeling mudita but I've been feeling it more since I started to learn about the Buddha's teachings.

I've got a book in front of me, next to my iced tea: Thích Nhất Hạnh's The Heart of the Buddha's Teachings. The cover has a white statue of the Buddha meditating. The espresso machine hisses loudly. My idea of the Buddha is no longer of a mysterious wiseman sitting with his legs crossed and a secretive, knowing smile. Now I think of him as a hell of a mountaineer.

I was very hesitant about the Buddha's teachings at first. It seemed like the point was to end suffering by detaching from all worldly things. That didn't make sense to me. There are things I would rather suffer for than detach from. My family. Love. So on.

I sip my iced tea. My book, laying on the table, is dangerously close to the ring of moisture oozing from underneath my plastic cup.

But I understand better now. The Path of Buddhism doesn't aim to reach nirvana simply to stop suffering (dukkah). It aims to reach nirvana for nirvana's sake, because nirvana is ultimate truth and peace and freedom. It's more than a cessation of suffering. It's completeness. I gulp down the last of my iced tea.

My favorite of the schools of Buddhism is the Mahāyāna school. Once Mahāyāna Buddhists find nirvana, they take a vow to help others do the same. Those people are called bodhisattvas. That's what I'll do. If I ever reach nirvana.

"Excuse me," someone says. I look up at a middle-aged man. "Are you using this chair?" "No, no, all yours," I say breathlessly. I've been taken out of my reveries. I feel a twinge of anxiety in my chest, I guess because he surprised me. I try to focus on my breath and be mindful like the Buddha teaches. The anxiety lessens. But it doesn't fade. I stand up, slip my book into my bag with twitchy hands, and leave.

The warm air hits me. With my iced tea wetting my hand, I instinctively head towards my old high school. The tan buildings are a familiar sight. I cross the street and wander onto the empty campus.

The Buddha teaches two things again and again: nonself and impermanence. Impermanence is obvious enough; nothing lasts forever, including us.

I pass by a small group of highschoolers who look happy and carefree. Nonself is more complicated, though. And completely brilliant.

The idea is that all things exist in relationship to each other. A human can't be a human without non-humans things. A pencil can't be a pencil without non-pencil things. In other words, things exist interdependently.

But if everything depends on other things to exist, then does anything really exist on its own? The Buddha says no. Things exist together.

The door to the library is locked. Too bad. I was hoping to poke around and look at some books. I turn around and head the opposite way.

We imagine that we start to exist at some point in our mother's womb and we stop existing when we die. But that doesn't make sense. Before I was born, I was an egg in my mother's womb. When I die, my body will decompose and become a flower or a bush or whatever. My birth and my death are just transformations of the same existence. That's nonself: there is no real James. There is only the part of existence which calls itself me and I.

It's getting hotter outside, so I take a seat in the shadow of a building. In highschool, I ate lunch here every day with a big group of friends. But now it's just me.

All this stuff still sounds a bit kooky to me. Nonself. Interdependence. The arguments are pretty good, but I'm still not totally convinced. My main issue is practicality. How the hell am I supposed to apply all this in my life? I yawn and lean back.

I'm very comfortable here on this wall. There's a bush in front of me; I watch a big fat rat scamper out and, when it sees me, right back in.

I crack open my book. I want to find an answer to my questions.

* * * * *

I'm walking home now. It's blazing and I'm sweaty. I just finished two whole chapters with an insane hunger because they were the exact two I needed. I have my answers. Learning the Buddha's teachings is not the goal of The Path. The goal is nirvana. The teachings-impermanence, interdependence, nonself-are not nirvana. In fact, holding onto the concepts of the teachings will only keep you from reaching nirvana.

The Buddha said his teachings are like a raft on which you can sail to the island of nirvana. But to get to the island, you eventually have to abandon the raft itself. You have to drop all concepts-including the teachings themselves.

Nirvana isn't a higher reality, it's a more grounded, more true reality in which there is no self, no nonself, no birth or death, no nonbirth or nondeath, no permanence or impermanence. Those are all concepts. Nirvana has no concepts.

I pass over a bridge. The marsh below is in low tide and I can smell its disgusting muddy ooze. Right now, I only understand nirvana conceptually. I can only begin to imagine what it's actually like-the freedom, the peace, the truth. I want. Badly.

* * * * *

It's late. I'm tired. I've been scrolling for an hour and I feel hollow and my eyes hurt. I toss my phone to the foot of the bed.

God, I'm exhausted. Shit.

For some reason, I slide off the bed and kneel on the carpet. I plant my face into the soft mattress and cover the back of my head with my hands.

Then I bring my head up and close my eyes. My hands stay loosely intertwined as I whisper into them with hot breath. I whisper a lot of things. After a while, I end up feeling teary and plant my face back into the mattress. It's cool and soft. I feel calmer.

* * * * *

I just prayed. I don't believe in any god, but I prayed.

I wonder if the Buddha ever prayed. I wonder, too, if it pushes me off The Path to pray. No, I don't think so. I was not praying for myself because there is no self. At least, I think so. I stare up at the ceiling.

I think there is no self. That's my main problem. I don't know it, in the absolute and inner way that would lead me to nirvana. The Buddha's teachings aren't just ideas. They have to be embraced. They have to be brought past the part of you that thinks and into the part that is.

I close my eyes. My head is pounding and there's an odd pressure, or density, in my chest that I can't get rid of no matter how deeply I breathe. I turn off the light but keep my eyes closed. * * * * *

Everything is beautiful.

I'm sitting in the front yard with my legs crossed. I'm in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Air comes in slow and controlled through my nose, fills my lungs, and is gently released through my mouth. My mind is calm but distracted. I try to focus.

In. Nonself. There is no me and no I. Out. Impermanence. Nothing lasts forever. In. Interdependence. All things are connected. Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out. My mind wanders and I try to pull it back but it's like reigning in a horse when you're the horse.

In.

Out.

In.

Out. I can hear my dog snuffling around a couple feet away. I can feel the encroaching warmth of the sun, creeping towards my bare feet. There is no birth. There is no death. There is no me. There is no them. There is no past. There is no present.

In.

Out. In N' Out. I haven't had a burger from them in a while.

In.

Out. Nirvana is supposed to be inside me. One of the ways to find it, the Third Door to Liberation, is aimlessness: the practice of not looking for or wanting anything. Of aimlessly existing in the present moment. Of drifting.

In. I don't think I'm being aimless. But it seems like a paradox to follow The Path aimlessly. How can you seek nirvana without seeking anything?

Out. Inside the house, my brother yells. "Mom! Where is that little blue bag?" "What?" my mom calls from downstairs.

"The drawstring bag!"

"What?"

"Where is the blue drawstring bag?!"

They are so goddamn loud. In. But it isn't their fault, they are no different than I am. Out. I shouldn't be angry at them. In.

I can't do this anymore. I release my breath in a huff and open my eyes; the bright morning garden appears before me. There are yellow flowers. My dog is lying on the stones, half-asleep. I extend my legs in front of me. They're a bit stiff.

I unclasp my hands and stand. I feel calmer, I guess. Mostly I'm hungry.

PART II

I must pause James's story. Even sitting here behind my computer, I feel lost. Picturing nirvana is like picturing what it is to be dead. There's nothing to picture. It is emptiness. How can you exist in emptiness?

When you meditate, you're supposed to take a step back from your feelings and your thoughts and recognize that they aren't you. You can take another step back and recognize that the thing doing the stepping back is not you either. No matter how many steps back you take, you'll never find you. In the middle of your observations is nobody. Nothing. Emptiness.

Being in that emptiness is nirvana. It is the deepest, most thorough understanding of all. But it's difficult. And at some point, it must require a leap, from that which we think into that which can't be thought, only deeply known. Maybe James can do it.

* * * * *

I am not James because there is no self and water beats down on me. I let it cover my head. It drips down my eyes and past my nose. It gets into my mouth. I keep my jaw slack and let it spill out, to the porcelain below me and down the drain.

I rub my eyes. Today I'm going to see a friend for the first time in a while. I wonder how he's doing. But I also wish I were too busy to see him. But I'll get over that. I push my hair off my forehead. I've been meditating every day for weeks and I don't think I've gained anything. I don't think anything has changed within me. I cut the water, dry myself, and get dressed. My phone buzzes. It's Scott, asking to meet half-an-hour earlier. I text back, "Sure," though I really just want to be alone. I take a couple deep breaths to release the anxiety. It helps, but not completely.

I'm out the door in a few minutes. I walk down the sidewalk-the occasional car roaring past me on my left, flowers on my right- and try to be calm. I try to be mindful. It's hard. I step into the crosswalk of a big intersection. My phone rings; I quickly pull it out and answer.

"Hey man, are you-"

I'm on the ground. The cement is wet and hot. I hear voices, but they seem far away. There's a dull pulse in my legs and ragged breathing nearby. It must be my breathing. Someone starts to curse and a trembling hand touches my chest, my neck, my cheek. "Are you okay?"

I blink and there is warm liquid covering my eyes. I wipe it off with my hand. When my vision clears, I look at my hand and see bright hot blood. Everything goes dark. * * * * *

I am James and I can't see or feel anything. I can hear buzzing in the background, a kind of hushed atmosphere. And I can smell a clean, antiseptic-filled place.

I try to speak. The muscles in my throat tense but no sound comes out. A nearby beeping intensifies. It must be my heartbeat. Oh, God, oh God. I try to scream or hit something or cry but I can't. I'm trapped in this body.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God.

But this body isn't me. If my control over these limbs and this skin can be taken away by something as simple as a foot pressing down a gas pedal, were they really mine? I'm on the edge of something. The heart beat monitor slows.

Here I am. A body which isn't me, lying on a bed that I can't see. A mind which isn't me either, thinking thoughts.

There's just one more step to take-I can feel it.

This body and this mind of James are composed of non-James elements. There is no James without non-James. Which means there isn't really a James at all.

There was a transformation in a womb, from something else to something new. It was called James. There will be another transformation later, when James closes his eyes and becomes something else again. There will be constant transformations. But always there is the transformed, and it is never born and it never dies.

The beeping is the slowest it's been. There are footsteps and dulled conversation, and I love the people who are talking. Oh. Here it comes.

Ahh.

PART III

It's time to take another break from James' story.

It might sound strange, but I think I've gotten a bit closer to nirvana while writing this. I don't pretend to have achieved it. But I feel calmer, more peaceful, more free. I still want to get inside James's mind, though. I'll have to get creative. Go at it from a different angle. Hm. Maybe I should just stick a camera up his nose.

Let's see what I can do.

* * * * *

"You can go in now."

I am Liam. Mom woke me up this morning and I complained at first, but then she told me that James had been hit by a car and was in the hospital. He's lying in a hospital bed. His face is bruised and the left side is so swollen that I barely recognize him. It's like he's wearing some sort of awful Halloween mask.

His eyes are closed. There's an IV in his arm. Mom and Dad go on either side of his bed. Mom is crying a little. Dad just looks pale and serious. The doctor said he'd be okay, but he has about thirty stitches in his face and will need serious physical therapy to walk properly. "James?" I say.

He cracks his right eye open. The left eye stays swollen shut. It's hard to read, but he seems to smile. Somehow, even though his face is destroyed, it isn't a demented smile. "Hi," he says. There's something different about him.

Mom and Dad talk to him. Mom asks how he's feeling and rearranges his pillows for him. Dad asks about the person who hit him, and says that asshole will get what he deserves in court. James frowns a little.

"He didn't mean to hit me, Dad."

Dad scoffs. "He was going forty-five through a red light."

"And I should have been paying more attention. I was on my phone."

Mom and Dad don't know what to say. James turns an odd smile to me. I don't know what to say. I was really scared for him.

"I'm okay, Liam," he says. His one good eye looks at me and I look back. "Did you just get out of bed?"

"Mom woke me up. Well actually, Dad slamming the door woke me up."

James points his chin up to the ceiling and laughs. Dad always slams the door and we always make jokes about it. But I've never seen him laugh like that. It's a lighter laugh. We all sit in the hospital room for a while and talk. He seems tired. And weak. He tells us that he's just started to be able to wiggle his toes, and seems absolutely delighted by that fact. Mom seems calmer. I think she's just glad that he's still talking and making jokes. Dad is quiet, but also seems more relaxed.

The doctors come in. They tell us that he might not seem like he's in very good shape, but he'll be ready to go home once they get the casts on his legs. He'll have to wear them for a while. But he's lucky.

We decide to get lunch and bring it back to eat with James in the hospital room. Mom and Dad leave. I hesitate at the door and say to James, "You sure you're okay?" "I'm sure," he says. I feel odd when he looks at me. "I promise, Liam."

"We'll be back soon." I follow Mom and Dad down the hallway. The tiles squeak under my feet. I imagine his secret smile in my head as I walk and feel weirdly calm.

PART IV

Enough. It's time to insert myself into this story. No more narrating-I need to see for myself. I need to write myself into a better understanding.

I settle back in my chair. My fingertips rest on the keyboard.

I am The Narrator and I knock on the door and wait. A dog barks. I'm the electrician that James's family called and I'm going to fix their kitchen light. I feel twitchy. The dog isn't barking anymore and footsteps approach. The door swings open.

"Good morning, I'm here to fix the kitchen light."

James's mom lets me in and shows me the defective light. I get to work. Normally, I have no idea how to fix a light, but I do in this story.

As I work, I listen. Someone is speaking softly in the other room. I peek out from the kitchen. James, his cast-covered legs held out in a wide V, is gently petting the dog that barked at me. He whispers to it through a gentle smile. The dog's head is lying in James's lap with complete trust.

James glances up and sees me. He puts a finger to his lips to tell me to stay quiet. Then, he delicately slides away from the dog and lays its furry head on the floor. "Are you thirsty?" he whispers to me.

"No, I'm okay."

"Thank you for fixing the light." He smiles at me from the ground in his ridiculous, stiff, V-legged pose. I nod and go back to the kitchen.

"James!" someone shouts from downstairs. "James!" Footsteps pound up the stairs and Liam appears. He shoots a glance at me as he cuts into the family room.

I watch. Liam runs across the room, takes an odd step, and slams his foot into the hard edge of the couch. He cries out in pain. The dog leaps up. James puts a hand on the dog and immediately calms it.

Liam hits the ground, holding his toe. "Fuck!"

"Are you okay?"

"What do you think?!"

"I'm sorry," James says. He reaches out. His face is so serious and pained that Liam releases his toe and lets James take it in his hands. James frowns at it. "Looks painful." Liam watches him. "It is."

James nods solemnly. Then, after a moment, he says, "What if I do this?" and tickles the bottom of Liam's foot. Liam snaps his leg back. James erupts in laughter. Liam scoffs but also smiles.

"Asshole," he says. He pops back up. "I'm gonna get a BandAid."

James is petting the dog again, who is falling back asleep. "Good idea." Liam limps away, holding his injured toe up. James smiles and pets the dog.

FINAL NOTE

I wish I could speak to someone, even see someone, who had found nirvana. I need guidance. I need a bodhisattva. But there doesn't seem to be any left.

This whole time, I've been trying to explain nothingness with words. But I can't. So I won't try anymore. James is no Buddha; he's nothing but words that I wrote. My first and constant mistake has been trying to understand the emptiness of nirvana without really knowing it. I shouldn't have made it consistently. So I'm done. Enough words. Now, emptiness:

THE END.