Charles Atkins' Phantom City

ON STRIKE UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

Dear Readers:

Because of the evil that has now infected Fraught with Peril, I will no longer be posting until Mark Rogow is removed from this site.

I am all for different opinions and love the diversity of our writers, no matter how much we may disagree. But I cannot be associated with any site that allows such wicked, evil invective as that being posted by Mark Rogow, someome I do not really know. Unfortunately, he seems like a decent writer when he is not making a complete fool of himself, destroying the reputation of his sect, or bringing disrespect on the Buddha. He has some very brief moments of insight, but a few moments of insight cannot undo the hateful words and conclusions that regurgitate from his being. I specifically refer to his recent accusations of why SGI leaders or other decent people experienced tragedy, like losing their children to untimely death. I am taking the suggestion of Andy Hanlen and going on strike, until this man is sent packing. I suggest our other writers make a stand.

Charles Atkins

Guruuvy Daze

Not long after my twentieth birthday, I went on a vision quest. The Army and era had made me into a spiritual rebel. In Chicago, at an occult bookstore on Clark Street, I bought a magazine on Eastern religions in hope of finding a new, better direction in life that would augment my practice of magick. An advertisement for a Los Angeles-based yoga sect caught my eye. It was known as 3HO and was led by a charismatic guru named Yogi Bhajan. It promised a life of health, happiness, harmony, and more. 3Ho means, “Healthy, Happy, Holy Organization.” I thought this was the next logical step in my spiritual development. Having no real ties to friends, family, or community, I packed up my Army duffle bag with a few books, a change of clothes, and my trusty K-Bar commando knife. With five bucks in my pocket, I put out my thumb and began hitchhiking some 2000 miles, from the suburbs of Chicago to LA, in hopes of finding my guru.

The reason that I decided to share this early chapter in my life, was a Christmas gift I received, of a Zen Calendar, filled with those witty sayings and koans. I turned to March 18, and there was as a quote by my would-be old master:

“The mind is like a mirror through which you can see infinity; but if you put the blackness of hatred over it, you will see nothing.” Yogi Bhajan

This phrase almost sounds like the “clear mirror” guidance.

It was a long, uneventful journey. Crossing the dessert in an old pickup truck at midday with no AC and windows down was, perhaps, the most interesting part of my trek. It was so hot, I remember my ice cold soda started to boil. I finally reached my exit in the city of Los Angeles. After walking up the ramp, I saw a filling station to my left with a man pumping gas. It was close to dusk. Checking my map, I began to hitchhike down that frontage road figuring my destination was relatively close. A car pulled over. It was the man that was pumping gas. He was Hispanic. He offered me a ride. We must have gone about hundred feet when I felt him put his hand on my crotch. Big mistake for him.

I was rough Chicago kid, combat trained, and no stranger to the road, delusional tough guys, or thoughtless creeps. With a speed this moron had never seen before I had reached into my bag and put the razor sharp commando knife to his jugular. I told him to remove his hand or die. I had him let me out, which he gladly did, and began walking the rest of the way. In retrospect, my reaction wasn’t one of the gentle spiritual seeker. To the benefit of all the other wanderers or hapless targets, I doubt if that mope hit on any other hitchhikers that day or maybe ever. I’m not particularly proud of my potential for becoming dangerous when provoked, but the gods saw fit to draw me that way. Overreaction? Probably. Effective? Uh, quite.

It was nightfall when I reached the ashram. It certianly wasn't the kind of building I imagined it would be, looking more like a renovated small business than a place of Eastern worship. I stood about thirty feet from the window, staring inside. I was hungry, exhausted and must have smelled like wet dog. In the window was a man in a white turban, who sat perfectly erect. It was very impressive. I began to chant their mantra “Eck Ong Kar Sat Nam Siri Wha Guru.” Now that I had arrived, I realized that I didn’t know what to do except chant the mantra and project my desperation. Suddenly, I saw two men and a beautiful young women emerge from the ashram. The man who was sitting in the window with such perfect posture walked in my direction and a huge man hurried toward the street. He put his hands together in prayer position, bowed and said “Sat Nam.” I returned the gesture. I turned around to see the larger man talking up to two policemen, who quickly left the scene.

“There was some vandalism a few days ago. They were watching you. Why are you here?” asked the yogi.

“I came from Chicago to learn Kundalini yoga,” I said. By that time, a very large, bearded man, and the women stood before me. He was a barrel chested Indian with the appearance of one of those wrathful deities of Buddhist mythology. This guy could have stared down a cobra, then bitten its head off without blinking. But he was supposed to be about peace and love, a vibration I wasn’t picking up at that moment.

“What do you want?” he asked in a gruff voice, seeming to know why I had come, but not my intention.

“Power,” I said. What an idiot I was! Worst answer, ever. He looked at me with a kind of disbelief, bordering on irritation. I must have lookd like something the cat drug in compared to his disciples and their clean white robes.

“I don’t think you will make it,” he said. Without breaking eye contact with me, he held out his hand and the young woman produced a ten dollar bill which he gave to me.

“You will live in our ashram, use this to pay your expenses,” he said. With that, he left me with his assistant who led me to his Volkswagen beetle, where we drove off into the night. “Who was that man?” I asked.

“It was our master, Yogi Bhajan,” he said. “You must be blessed. It takes years for someone to enter life in our ashram, but he chose you.” In the twenty minutes of driving until we reached the ashram, he explained that Yogi Bhajan must have looked into my akashic record and deemed me worthy. He then gave me instructions on what would be expected of me in my new life. I was feeling somewhat special until I actually got into the ashram, where I met the man and women who ran it. Let me call her Pain Diva and him Sorrowsattva. They were perfect examples of what I did not want to be, but apparently, they were exactly what I needed. In my entire life since then, I have never encountered two such spiritually practiced devotees of such perpetual misery. She was the mother of a heroin addict, who embraced the strictures of ashram life to escape the grim realities of sustained social interaction. In her decision to become a yogis, I saw a reflection of my own desire to run away from the grind of my father’s life and that realization sent a chill up my spine. She had the aura of someone who had just been robbed and abandoned on a dark and lonely street.

Sorrowsattva was a Cuban immigrant whose family came to the U.S. in the early fifties. There was no humor in this man, only resolve to uncoil the serpent of the Kundalini chakra. I thought a hit of good acid would do the trick. If I had some, I might have dosed him and watched what happened. We did that occasionally back in the day. No, it wasn’t nice or right, but oh what a show it was. Oh man, did I need reform! Sorrowsattva was a baker by trade, with all the joy of an overworked undertaker. But I must admit that he had great hair. When he took off his turban, it hung to the small of his back with natural waves. Sorrowsattva reminded me of the necessary agony of physical conditioning. I had been quite an athlete in school, and spent my entire youth training for one sport or another. He reminded me of the loneliness of endless training without respite. I also remembered that Buddha had abandoned austerities.

These were my new teachers and my arrival was a disruption to their ashram and lives, like discovering you have a rat infestation. I was that well received, but if the Guru sent you, boy, they had to do their best. It was immediately clear that they weren’t interested in my quest, my story, or desires; they were only interested in Guru Yogi Bhajan and the ancient founder, Guru Nanak Dev, the fifteenth century founder of Sikhism. I was shown where to sleep and we would wake at 4:00 a.m. to begin my training.

The next morning I was instructed to take a shower. A minute of cold water, then a minute of hot – it was supposed to enhance my fertility. I was told to shower in my underwear. We began yogic stretching, and then proceeded to do pranayamic breathing while holding yogic forms. I had been doing yoga on my own for a few years and had no problem keeping up with Sorrowsattva. Next, we read the Upanishads and the contemporary guidance of Yogi Bhajan. Our final practice began. On a dingy altar, there was a small shrine with the photo of the fierce looking Yogi Bhajan, staring a hole through your third eye. We then chanted the mantra Eck-Ong-Kar-Sat-Nam-Siri-Wha- Guru, while focusing on the face of this guru. This we did for about ten minutes, although it seemed like hours. About a hour of yoga, twenty minutes of study, then ten minutes of chanting. This was my pre-sunrise ritual until I moved on, which wasn’t all that long.

I learned that pranic energy was stored in the nails and hair, and they should therefore never be cut. We rolled our uncut hair in a turban because of tradition and because the turban indicated your separation from God. When I think of me doing that in America, I felt as out of place as a tiger in the street. I was informed that in the dark and evil time of Kali Yuga, the great prophet, Guru Yogi Nanak Dev appeared to lead humanity from the brink of disaster and bring enlightenment to the world. With a vegan diet, abstinence from all vices, sex for procreation only, and practicing the strict path of Kundalini yoga as taught by Yogi Bhajan, enlightenment was possible. Oh what fun.

My first task was to cut the front lawn with a sewing scissors. Pain Diva said it would “Humble me before God.” I thought she needed to get laid, but I digress, as no man I knew would have the patience to sit through her whining, not even after putting the beer goggles on. As my new teacher during those long days, she would lecture me on the life of a Kundalini yogis. "Yawn. Zzzzzzzz."

The weekly highlight was when I went to the main ashram to take a turn at the marathon reading from their holy book, along with other disciples. There, that same female assistant that had given me the ten dollars came up to me and touched my hand, smiling seductively. “Holy shit!” I thought. If this is the guru’s daughter, I’m screwed. Between the creepiness of my teachers, praying to the photo of Mr. Guru Frowney Face, and being tempted by an ashram siren, I decided to go and not look back. I took with me a crash course in Kundalini yoga, and a good look at the endless painful austerity of extremist religion. Even being stranded in a wicked Sierra Nevada snowstorm on my way home was a more spiritually fulfilling experience. At least nature was showing me its beauty and power – something I did not see in their guru, their god, and especially my long-suffering teachers.

I suppose this austere experience prepared me for NSA. All those happy faces and big promises and their AAO's. I must be a slow learner, because it took me more than three decades to figure out that the things I truly believed were not what they seemed to be. Until you're awake, all by yourself, they never are.

I Stopped Traffic

Not long ago, there was a time that I would have given my life for the mentor, the SGI, and the members. I remember 1981, when PI and the high priest came to Chicago with their entourage. A huge motorcade was on the upper deck of O’Hare Airport ready to whisk them off. I was the Toku Betsu Chief. It was up to me to stop the traffic so the motorcade could leave. With my little badge, and secret service glasses, I walked into the middle of heavy traffic. I threw my arms up like Moses parting the Red Sea and literally stopped all traffic so they could leave. I was unconcerned if I got run over, someone would take my place. This was my spirit. There are many other examples, but you get the picture. What events could possibly move me to leave the Gakkai?

No one has asked me sign the pledge of allegience in the SGI leadership manual, nor will they. According to the leadership manual, I am not qualified to be a leader. Why? The most important reason is because I cannot let any man, no matter how wonderful or great, to be exalted above the Eternal Buddha and the Lotus Sutra. My allegiance is first and foremost to the Buddha and the dharma of the Lotus Sutra. Mentors are human guides not objects of worship.

Although, I removed myself from the flow of activities some four years ago, I announce my official departure from the SGI. I am in the process of researching the best way to obtain a Nichiren Gohonzon to replace my Nichikan Gohonzon.

I am now a sangha of one and have named this new sangha, Jakkodo. This tranquil light society will be a non-profit religious corporation. Jakkodo is concerned with healing the mind, body, and spirit. It is of no interest to me to confront or criticize the SGI for their doctrinal deviations or cultish methods. My daughter and ex-wife are happy in the SGI, and that’s fine with me. Let it be.

To all my former teachers, thank you very much. To all my friends in the SGI, I wish you well. To those who will view me as the enemy or seek to attack me in some pathetic way, I love you. To the great mentor who I was willing to die for, it’s not about you. It's not about President Toda or Mr. Makiguchi either. It's not even about Nichiren, it really isn’t. It's about the Eternal Buddha and the dharma of Lotus Sutra. I would have thrown myself under the bus for you, but that's no way to stop traffic. Apparently, the ichinen of that day has a new mission.

Gakkoren
Charles Atkins

Free Tibet, You Commie Mo Fo’s

Right now, the Chinese are engaged in the destruction of Tibetan Culture. They are murdering and torturing people and trying to keep the world from seeing their oppressive tactics and the ugliness of their paranoid communist regime. It’s time for the world to respond, but the greed and animalistic nature of many people stands in the way. The Lords of Gaki. Greed, greed, greed, oh those hungry ghosts. That’s going to be our downfall.

China provides sweat-shop labor, cheap (crappy) goods, criminal quality control, and has now become hooked on the rush of narco-capitalism. They need to be hit where it hurts, their pocketbooks and their treasury. All the nations of the world should immediately implement trade sanctions against this oppressive State. A trade embargo would be better. But greed stands in the way. All the hungy ghosts want their cut. Those Western ghosts who stand to gain by buying cheaper goods will justify overlooking China’s destruction of Tibetan culture, for the sake of the bottom line. Why? Because they’re pencil neck hungry ghosts and greedy bastards to boot, who value profit more than human decency. The Chinese government lies to its people and lies to the world, constantly. Corporations who want cheap products are loathe to offend their evil masters. China exerts tremendous efforts to stamp out religion, faith, free speech, and freedom. The "thought police" are everywhere. This the hallmark of communism. The State is God, with all its mercy and wrath. China will continue to crush Buddhism, falun gong, Christainity, Catholicism, Islam, or any other religion or spirituality that takes away facade-laden devotion to the State and their new, honey-sweet savior, Premier Maha Mara Money. They’re very good at suppression, torture, disinformation, and murder, all in the name of the State. What they are not good at is tolerance, decency, compassion, and freedom. Greedy and evil.

The Tibetans are willing to risk torture and death to preserve their culture. They have what the Chinese people themselves lack, a willingness to die rather than live without freedom - freedom to gather, freedom of expression, freedom to worship as they will. As China grows in economic and political power it will become emboldened like a drunk. Pressure of all types need to be applied. But greed, fear, and self-serving ambition stand in the way of bending the crooked will of Chinese communism. Their cutomers kowtow for their next scrap of bloody meat. Greed, greed, greed. Damn the Lords of Gaki. Free Tibet, humble China.

What does the SGI and PI have to say about the oppression of religion in China, especially the occupation and destruction of Tibet? As a YMD, NO! As a long time member, I have constantly heard the SGI credo: "We must fight evil authority! No matter what" Well, herrrrre's Johnnny! For the SGI, who is really a greater threat to Buddhism, Nichiren Shoshu or the Chinese Communists and their freedom wood chipper? In life, one must pick their battles carefully. In terms of what is dangerous to Buddhism, Nichiren Shoshu is like a fat ferral cat in the restaurant dumpster while China is a hungry tiger awakened from a nap. No comparrison.

But isn't there some bridge of cooperation or friendship that was formed between the SGI and China? Cultural exhange? Educatonal exhange? State sponsored tea parties with comrade so and so. Was there an agreement to NOT propagate Nichiren Buddhism in China for cultural and educational exchange? How expedient. I hear only silence. Silence will not do. I would be so proud if PI and the SGI condemed China for their actions and called for a free Tibet. But then China wouldn't like us anymore, now would they? Is it because they're construed as a heretical form of Buddhism (they're not) and unworthy of support by the true Buddhists? Oh the horrific repercussions! If we condemed China, there would be no more beautiful photo ops, no more tea parties under the spring cherry blossoms, no more honorary doctorates, no more politically controlled SGI presence.

Hey! didn't the Dalai Lama write a blurb for one of PI's recent books? Yes he did! Don't you think it's time for PI to flex his considerabe media-muscle and help out the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan people? I do. Please make me proud. But I must confess that my expectations for PI and the SGI to do something that might offend the great commie State of China, are around zero. Why? Because that would really mean standing up to evil authority, and that implies risk. Oh, there's so much we lowly, unsavvy laymen don't understand about the delicate balance of power and diplomacy. With martial law, the tanks rolling, billy clubs swinging for blood, tear gas wafting, automatic weapons firing at unarmed civilians, backroom torture and executions, the SGI has one hell of a friend.

I don't believe the SGI has the soka-balls to publically protest the Tibetan genocide. I sure wish we did. We speak of being free of fear like the lion king - that's what we're supposed to be. How the SGI publically reacts to this genocide will tell us more about the greatness of the mentor, the integrity of the organization, and the free thinking of the general membership than 10,000 voulmes of the illustrious mentor's daily guidance.

And what about all the other sects, religions, and nations? Let's hear it from the Pope, holy men, politcians, statesmen, and all the Nobel Prize winners out there. As world citizens we need to band together against this kind of murderous, culture crushing persecution. You never know who will be next - maybe all of us. How can this world allow the China-bully to murder these people and desecrate Buddhism? Oh, yea, it's because of the rampant greed and cowardice of hungry ghosts.

Isn't it ironic that China treats panda’s with more respect than the Tibetan people? Kudos to the Tibetan people who have stood up to the freedom hating Commies.

What about the rest of the world? There needs to be some kind of profound outrage at brutality of the Chinese government and there must be consequences for them. They don't deserve to host the Olympics any more than Nazi Germany was. Any sponsor with even a micron of integrity should pull out now. But it’s greed and cowardice that allows this to continue. It's true that sovereign nations should have autonomy when dealing with internal issues, except when it is actively engaged in genocide. Think Nazi Germany. We can do something about this. But the greed of manufacturers looking for cheap labor continues to enrich China. If China is not stopped, it will only be a matter of time until they’re exporting their brand of oppression to your grandchildren’s door step. Free Tibet Now!