Thursday, December 12, 2024

How do they think they can get away with it?

As soon as I read the self-congratulatory promo that Lama/Guru/Rinpoche is “one of the most highly trained American-born lamas in the Tibetan Dzogchen tradition & author of many books….” I smell sexual scandal. It seems inevitable. Of course, the charming Surya Das is statistically a minority among all the practitioners who just do their work and practice, but my god, the sexually misbehaved fringe sucks up so much energy. 

His sangha included “five women [who] brought allegations of sexual misconduct by Surya Das to Dzogchen Foundation's board of directors in 2019. Three of them said Surya Das suggested that meditating while naked in his lap (based on the yab-yum image) would help their spiritual practice.” 


This guy is still doing his esoteric chant master gig. Really? Well, in the world of Trump, sexual misconduct is a requirement for higher office. Goddamn, what do I know? It may all come down to a kundalini lap dance, and I’m just another deluded jerk.


Sunday, December 8, 2024

Ashutosh Jogalekar’s blog, koans, and a story about Heisenberg and Dirac

I have been single-mindedly focused on koan study for the past three years. For over thirty years, I’ve been “a serious koan student,” but there were gaps and less-than-assiduous application for one reason or another—none of which I’d recommend. The COVID lockdown had some fortuitous consequences—koans morning, noon, and night.

I was just working on a koan that pushed the boundaries. In addition to zazen and working with my teacher, I started doing a jig in front of the refrigerator (I live alone) and singing an off-tune (and sometimes off-color), made-up chant, something about how cold left-over pizza was perfect bodhisattva fare. Although a lot of humor in koan work gets squashed, I began to wonder if I was starting to abuse the glimpses of freedom that appear now and then. Following the rhythm of my dance and the odd taste of cold pepperoni, I asked myself what ways of working with koans might take me outside the ballpark. Experience says that some methods are more productive, but that differs from my question's direction. For example, I wouldn’t recommend starting work on the miscellaneous koan: “Count the stars” by lying on your back at midnight and mumbling “A fuck of a lot.”

An online koan enthusiast asked for documentation about the well-known and oft-repeated zen saying from the Jewel Mirror Samadi: “When the wooden man begins to sing, the stone woman gets up dancing.” I thought about how I would handle it as a koan.

And then I got a hint from a curious, not very Zen source. I found this anecdote about Heisenberg and Dirac in a blog (The Curious Wavefunction) by Ashutosh Jogalekar: “. . . The two were on a trip to Japan for a conference. The social Heisenberg used to dance with the young girls on the ship before dinners while Dirac used to sit watching. Once Dirac asked him, ‘Heisenberg, why do you dance?’ Heisenberg replied that when there were nice girls he felt like dancing with them. Dirac fell into deep thought and after about fifteen minutes, asked Heisenberg again, ‘Heisenberg, how do you know beforehand that the girls are nice?’.

Either way, Heisenberg’s dancing or Dirac’s questioning might provide an entrance. But if I had to choose, I’d vote for dancing, but I’m not everybody.

Sunday, December 1, 2024

Bob Hoffman was a Lunatic, a Liar, a Criminal, & a Fraud.

I’ve reached the end of the road with Hoffman and the Quadrinity Process.

This Fall, I began working with several professionals to isolate the transformational insight of the Hoffman Process. Hoffman’s ideas are not unique, and given the heavy dose of the Spiritualist Church, his Process is hardly worth stealing. However, we aimed to create an accessible format and shortcut the outrageously expensive series of staged emotional exercises now available. Undertaking an updated version of the “Process” also allowed me to review my long relationship with Hoffman, including his collaboration with Claudio Naranjo.

So, one last word: Bob Hoffman was a lunatic, a liar, a criminal, a fraud, and, in the end, a very ordinary and unhappy human being. His proponents and enthusiasts try to cast him as a kindly Jewish “intuitive,” which, I think, is a spiritually correct term for someone who stares into the void, hears voices, and then comes back to tell you the truth. It’s a step above an Ouija board, and as a total supporter of freedom of religion, if you want to believe that nonsense, put your money down and stake your life on it. Be my guest.

Hoffman, the Lunatic, was for many years a patient of the highly respected German psychiatrist Siegfried Fischer, who fled Nazi Germany and ended up at San Francisco’s Langley Porter Psychiatric Hospital. At the same time, Hoffman was poking around in the Spiritualist Church under the direction of Reverend Rose Strongin, a relatively unknown psychic minister. I googled the lovely lady and found one reference to her in a 1963 copy of “Chimes, Largest Psychic Monthly,” which was the outlet for this form of communication. The summer issue included an article called “Visiting with Grandma” and the more esoteric “Begin Orbiting at Higher Mental Altitude” by Clara Mills Ward. It cost 30 cents.

Fischer died suddenly before Hoffman completed treatment and became Hoffman’s Spirit Guide. In 1968, as Hoffman told the story, Doctor Fischer’s disgruntled ghost appeared at the foot of Hoffman’s bed and supplied the missing piece that had eluded the burgeoning discipline of psychiatry, “Negative Love.” But there was a way out revealed that night. Hoffman became the first embodied human to undergo a loving divorce from Mommy and Daddy. You, too (the angels cheer), can hear the story and help reduce Dr. Fischer’s negative karma. Hoffman will hand you the keys to the freedom to orbit at a higher mental altitude. Unlocking the door to that world, believe it or not, begins with an imaginary visit to Grandma, but it will cost a good deal more than 30 cents.

And now Hoffman, the Liar, begins to emerge. The man who became the channel for “Negative Love” could not be a malignant narcissist who’d undergone prolonged treatment at a psychiatric hospital--he had a psychiatrist friend through his wife’s family with whom he argued about the unseen world. Fischer’s son told me the argument is the only fact in his cover story, but I could have supplied that information independently.

The treatment, the divorce from mommy and daddy, was the cure for everything you wrongly believed about love; it was wrong and negative because you learned it from deluded parents who couldn’t tell the difference between a kick in the face and a kiss. When Hoffman psychically “read” your grandma’s emotionally stunted childhood, you learned that “everyone is guilty, and no one to blame.” I never heard of one case where Hoffman supplied hard, verifiable information about Grandma’s emotional life as a child. Your parents learned how to love from their parents, whose parents taught them what they learned, and so on, from generation to generation, all the way back to when everyone hung out in caves. People have some insight during the Fischer-Hoffman Process, I will grant that, and perhaps this hypothesis is the inflection point where a taste of freedom becomes available.

Another side of Hoffman the Liar appears with the creation of the public face for his “important work”: Hoffman was queer. Not in the liberated sense of my post-Stonewall generation but in the closeted, campy, hidden lives of American middle-class gay men who thought they had to blend in to be happy. Hoffman was homophobic and not at peace. Though a few friends knew that he was a homosexual--he claimed that was enough to land above board in honesty--he was conflicted, constantly bickering with lovers, demanding and frustrated. He also believed the universe owed him “true” love; he was always on the prowl. The guy was a total mess.

Now we get to Hoffman, the Criminal. Within a few months of finishing my Process of Psychic Therapy, Hoffman began stalking me. This was right out of the predator's handbook. I had zero sexual attraction to the man; I was 28, and he was about 50. I had a professional relationship with him as (I suppose) a spiritual mentor, and no matter how anyone tries to analyze the dynamics of the relationship, whether it was rape or a twisted consensual sexual encounter, California Law prohibits dating and certainly having sex with a patient or parishioner for a full two years after the professional relationship ends. He raped me 13 months after I met him and began psychic therapy. However, Hoffman’s psychosis placed him outside the law that governs ordinary people’s lives. He should have been heavily fined, restricted from his role as a spiritual teacher, or in jail. Instead, he continued to do precisely as he’d done in the past. I know at least three other younger men who found themselves in the same predicament. A cute guy Hoffman hired as an assistant hadn’t completed the Process. He claimed harassment and filed charges. They settled after Hoffman, kicking and screaming, listened to the advice of his lawyers. It included a non-disclosure clause.

Now, to the enterprise itself, Hoffman the Fraud. Sadly, I have to include Claudio Naranjo. Webster defines fraud as “wrongful or criminal deception intended to result in financial or personal gain.” Hoffman needed Naranjo’s imprimatur to cover his idiosyncratic work as psychotherapy, which it was not, and Naranjo felt that he had to play the role of John the Baptist. Hoffman wanted to rival Werner Erhart’s income, and I will never understand Naranjo’s trust in messages from “the otherside.”

In order to create this deception, they both needed to document Naranjo’s collaboration in the development of the Process. I refer to Naranjo’s description of his role in his book “The End of Patriarchy.”* It is not even vaguely close to what happened. I was present from the first moment Naranjo introduced Hoffman to SAT until he delivered his “Closure” mind trip of his first group process. I didn’t miss a session. I was never late for a session. I paid close attention, took detailed notes, and did every assignment. I tried to “make the Process work” because I’d had a life-altering experience. Naranjo’s description is a complete fraud.

I can forgive Naranjo for inflating the number of people who undertook their collaborative endeavor. Naranjo says 50, and it was 37 (+/-1). He says Hoffman was a silent witness and that Reza Leah Landman delivered the Process using written guidelines. After you left the room, Claudio, Hoffman wouldn’t shut up.

But far more egregious is the claim that the SAT Gourp experienced the entire Process. After Hoffman got the emotional release in “the bitch session,” he withdrew from any further collaboration. In November, he announced that the “Defense of Mother” would be an appropriate place to finish his work with SAT and announced that his rival group would begin in January. The Naranjo/Hoffman collaboration barely included a third of the Process. (For a thoroughly researched paper on all the sources and contributions, see The Ontological Odd Couple—The Origins of the Fischer-Hoffman Psychic Therapy Process).

Hoffman was always in the market for miracles from the nether world. He handed the Fischer-Hoffman Process of Psychic Therapy to Dr. Ernie Peci (Ernie was a lovely man, even if very New Age. The grandnephew of Pope Leo 13th wholly bought into Spiritualist dogma). Hoffman had been diagnosed with bladder cancer and had gone to Mexico to die or be cured. When he miraculously recovered, he returned to Oakland and wrested control of the Fischer-Hoffman Process back from Pecci, who’d just about had it anyway. Then Hoffman created an eight-day product he hoped would rival Werner Erhart and set up internationally. In the mid-1990s, he developed liver cancer. He again tried to bypass modern medicine. He went to Brazil and sought out a famous psychic surgeon named Doctor Fritz. In the non-sterile setting of a Sao Paulo kitchen, Hoffman went under the knife. Fritz nicked his liver, and Hoffman was forced to book an expensive air ambulance back to San Francisco for emergency treatment. Sadly, after an excruciating painful liver resection, the hope of miracles crashed. A psychic surgeon botched the job and helped the cancer complete its work. Dr. Fritz might as well have been a voodoo priest.

I don’t know if “Chimes, Largest Psychic Monthly” will accept my commentary on the old-time hymn “May the Circle be unbroken, Bye and Bye, Lord, Bye, and Bye,” but they’ve probably migrated online and charge your phone bill for readings from an Indian Call Center.

I can feel my critics lining up. “Why are you so hard on a Process that’s helped thousands?” By their records, hundreds of thousands. Hoffman enthusiasts even have a word to describe my attack: “Vindictive.” Yes, it is an attack. Why? Because it’s a lie based on a complete fabrication. “Gifted Intuitive” attempts to be “spiritual” and talk around the more rudimentary Spiritualist Church with real ghosts. “Kindly Jewish Grandfather” is a complete ruse if you ever met Hoffman. He was a rather dim-witted, uninteresting, bossy tailor who did not complete grade school, a psychotic who’d failed psychiatric treatment, a man with very fixed opinions who concocted an unscientific theory of personality development, and, to top it off--was a con man. Naranjo participated in this fabrication by withholding the truth and not vetting people he invited to teach his SAT students. Had he been slightly more transparent, I might have avoided the worst decision of my life.

I am telling you what Hoffman enthusiasts are hiding from you so that you can make an informed decision. A basic level of integrity is required for any personal work. Perhaps by following in the footsteps of Hoffman and Fischer, I am helping Hoffman relieve some of his karma for being a complete and total liar. I’ll hand “lunatic, criminal, and fraud” over to someone else. My pockets are not that deep. In the end, Hoffman was just a flawed, ordinary human being. But as I said, if you were willing to trust your psychological well-being to people directed “from the other side,” go for it. I strongly advise against it.

________________

*“first application was with a group of more than seventy people (culminating in Bob’s visit for the closure stage of the Process). This was a time when, in my work with people at SAT Institute, I was particularly interested in the process of turning groups into self-healing systems. There followed a second application in which Reza Leah Landman led a group of about fifty people (with Bob present as silent witness) using the format of written guidelines. (I produced these guidelines at a time of rare inspiration, and when I visited Bob shortly afterwards, he interestingly commented, quite spontaneously, that Dr. Fischer had been with me.)”

From The End of Patriarchy, by Claudio Naranjo 1994
https://www.claudionaranjo.net/pdf_files/inner_family/from_the_end_of_patriarchy_english.pdf

Tuesday, November 19, 2024

Sex, Death, and Food.

Originally published on Tuesday, November 19, 2024

Dainin Katagiri Roshi admonishes Issan.

This life we live is a life of rejoicing, this body a body of joy which can be used to present offerings to the Three Jewels. It arises through the merits of eons and using it thus its merit extends endlessly. I hope that you will work and cook in this way, using this body which is the fruition of thousands of lifetimes and births to create limitless benefit for numberless beings. To understand this opportunity is a joyous heart because even if you had been born a ruler of the world the merit of your actions would merely disperse like foam, like sparks. —from Tenzo kyokun: Instructions for the Tenzo by Eihei Dogen zenji

Let’s talk about death while we’re still breathing. Talking about it after we’re dead might be challenging.

A dying Isaan told me something Katagiri Roshi said to him when they were both very much alive. I find myself revisiting this conversation about impermanence and death, and while I’m at it, can I also include a conversation about sex? They’re both dead and can’t have that conversation, or we’re not privy to it, but I will try to do it for them. And I’ll even stick my tongue out at you, Katagiri, even though you may only be a ghost.

And now, in reverse order, sex, death, and food

During one practice period at Tassajara, Issan ran the kitchen—the position of tenzo is highly respected in Zen monasteries thanks to Dogen weaving a spell about the cook’s practice of making food. Issan told me he’d been working night and day in the kitchen. According to the Founder of Soto Zen, this is really good practice: “Day and night, the work for preparing the meals must be done without wasting a moment. If you do this and everything that you do whole-heartedly, this nourishes the seeds of Awakening and brings ease and joy to the practice of the community.”

But Katagiri Roshi called him in.

Of course, he went. The Roshi asked him why he was missing so many periods of zazen. Issan said he felt he had to explain himself—he was terribly busy; there were a huge number of students to cook for; directing the preparations required an enormous effort; and, cut to the chase, Issan admitted that he was challenged working with some of the students as well as not complaining about foodstuff he didn’t think it was wonderful to begin with.

Katagiri sat stone-faced. Then he said, “Yes, we work hard long hours. Then we die.” That was it. And as they say in the koans, Issan bowed and left—a true koan exit.

Issan told me this story just months before he died. In both his smile and the bright tone of his voice, I could sense his gratitude for the decades-old warning. The certainty of death added urgency to his story. HIV was ravaging his body. He knew he was dying. His body felt it. Denial was no longer possible, but I didn’t hear even the faintest note of resignation in his voice, but rather a note of surprise that seemed as fresh as the day of that meeting. Past and present seemed to merge.

He never forgot those few words. They changed his life. They were a blessing. They shook something loose. They turned every excuse and explanation upside down and released unexpected wonders.

A conversation about food ended in death. Issan spoke honestly. He was dying as the direct result of a sexual encounter with his longtime boyfriend. What did he have to hide, and how could he hide it anyway? Despite the fact that many people loved Issan, they also found his relationship with James troublesome, not particularly because it was gay love, but because the love of his life was a man addicted to methamphetamines.

I began to look for other things Katagiri might have said about death and found several. The old horse always found his way back to the barn. The words of a beloved and respected master have a way of creating their own currency. In Zen, the phrase “turning word” is a phrase that helps a student refocus his or her attention and perhaps even prompts a realization. In turn, students circulate a good turn of phrase.

Steve Allen told me that when Katagiri visited Suzuki Roshi just before Suzuki died, Katagiri cried out, “Please don’t die!” Another version of his plea is more personal and direct, “I don’t want you to die.” I had also heard that Katagiri’s last words were, “I don’t want to die,” but that may just have been some sincere student either misquoting, conflating, or confusing time and place. I can find no solid confirmation, but none of these statements are what you might expect from a Zen master. They certainly don't fit any sentimental notions of a master’s death poem.

But each version of the story rings of something real, gut emotion crying out. I accept the invitation to get real.

Onto Questions about Sex!

Dosho Port quotes you, Katagiri, as saying: "After my death, I will come back and haunt over you, checking on your practice."* Yes, for me, Roshi, even though I was not your student, you have come back to haunt my practice, but not checking it as you did Issan’s work as the tenzo. I find myself weighing the value of your words. They have some punch, but is it a strawman? If I deflect the impact of your admonition about dying with the volatile ammunition of sexual scandal, am I ducking the question?
"But I kept my mouth shut."

How can I take you seriously? Revelations about your sexual misconduct have come to light after your death. I am unsure if you lied about your relationships with women in your community, and there was no accusation that you were abusive. But keeping your mouth shut is not entirely honest, either. I get that your reputation did depend, to some degree, on the perception of your being a steady family man. Perhaps you felt that if you were not directly confronted, your silence would serve the dharma. You are often quoted as saying that a good Zen student kept his or her mouth shut, followed directions, and sat upright. Roshi, I am told you were a good sitting monk, that you followed directions, well mostly; your form was good; and you certainly kept your mouth shut.

I have also tried to keep my mouth shut. I have not commented on your sexual dalliances, Roshi. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't even judge them—if it were left to me, I would allow you any sexual expression you felt drawn to as long as it didn’t hurt others. But you were not fully transparent about your affairs. Did you really think that they would not come to light? Your naivete has come back to haunt us.

I am obliged to add your name, Katagiri, to the list of teachers who have abused their position. Of the more than 450 Zen teachers in the United States, the amount of oxygen taken up by the small proportion who have been involved in sexual scandals is enormous. The distraction alone gravely harms the teaching.

I will name names: Issan’s teacher, Richard Baker,* Joshu Sasaki, Taizan Maezumi, Eido Shimano, Dennis Merzel. High-profile Tibetan teachers whose names have been dragged into the same mud include Sakyong Mipham and Sogyal Rinpoche. These men, and they are all men, truly hurt us in real ways.

Po-chang and Huang-po: "The Buddha-Dharma is not a small affair”*

When the hurt goes away, does it mean that we have understood? I’ll stick out my tongue!

One day, the Master [Po-chang] addressed the group: "The Buddha-Dharma is not a small affair. I twice met with the Greater Master Ma's 'K'AAA! ' It deafened and blinded me [for] three days."

Huang-po, hearing this, unconsciously stuck out his tongue, saying, "Today, because of your exposition, I have been able to see Ma-tsu's power in action. But I never knew him. If I were to be Ma-tsu's heir afterward, I'd have no descendants."

The Master Po-chang said, "That's so, that's so. If your understanding is equal to your teacher's, you diminish his power by half. Only if you surpass your teacher will you be competent to transmit. You are very well equipped to surpass your teacher."

Roshi, you were saved by the queer guy! Issan fished some sound practice advice out of a muddy pond and passed it on. He wasn’t blinded or deafened by a few words. but he wasn’t blindsided either. He carried them in his heart for more than three days. In fact he used them till the day he died.

Your dharma heir, Teijo Munnich, quotes you, Katagiri, “Please don’t call me ‘Zen Master.’ No one can master Zen.” And you also said, “Do not make me into a god after I die.”

Don’t worry, Roshi. I won’t. Thank you.



The Maori people of New Zealand have created a ritualistic dance, the Kapa Haka,in celebration of light triumphing over darkness.

_______________________

* Tenzo kyokun: Instructions for the Tenzo by Eihei Dogen zenji
*Dosho Port, Me in Your Heart a While: The Haunting Zen of Dainin Katagiri
* Bivins, Jason C. “‘Beautiful Women Dig Graves’: Richard Baker-Roshi, Imported Buddhism, and the Transmission of Ethics at the San Francisco Zen Center.” Religion and American Culture: A Journal of Interpretation, vol. 17, no. 1, [University of California Press, Center for the Study of Religion and American Culture], 2007, pp. 57–93, https://doi.org/10.1525/rac.2007.17.1.57.
*following the Ming version as translated by Cleary. Also quoted in Zen's Chinese Heritage
The Masters and Their Teachings by Andy Ferguson