Beyond Enlightenment

My route to Christianity was a little bit like the commute to my last job: slow and full of detours with occasional moments of hair-raising excitement. I used to work and live on opposite ends of a popular holiday resort on the English coast and there were only two viable routes. Getting to work and back again could be tricky, especially during the holiday season. Add to that the constant road works. . .well, you get the picture.

During high school I got involved in the New Age via meditation and not for the reasons you might think. I suffered terribly from bad skin during my teens. It wasn't your normal spotty skin. According to my doctor I have a medical condition that causes my skin to scar in an odd way. So, whereas your normal teenager would get a small red pimple, I developed these huge red sores. They were quite painful at times. It felt as if someone was digging a needle into my skull. I looked everywhere for a remedy, trying all sorts of weird and wonderful treatments. Everyone I spoke to seemed to have "the cure". They would take one look at my skin and say: "You should try....".

Someone told me that sugar was probably the cause and that I should eradicate it from my diet. I put this to the test by eating a large slab of cooking chocolate every day for a week. I gained five pounds but my skin stayed unchanged. I tried the most powerful cleansers on the market, but the angry welts remained, sometimes growing so large it looked as if someone had punched me in the eye. What I did notice was that my acne would flare up during times of stress and so I decided to look for ways to keep my emotions under control.

I tried meditation and it seemed to help, making me feel quite calm. If anything upset me, my mantra was "it doesn't matter". Before long, my stress levels started to fall. People began commenting on how peaceful I was. My acne even started to fade. Spurred on by this initial success, I began to explore deeper meditation techniques. I learned to focus my thoughts and would practise meditating whenever possible, even while going about my normal daily activities. Then, one night, I had an experience that made me think that perhaps I had gone a little too far in my quest for peace-of-mind.

I remember walking to the shops one evening, meditating deeply on a particular concept, when the world just seemed to go blank. It is hard to describe, but it was as if all the lights in the universe had gone out all at once, or as if someone had hit a universal "pause" button. I stopped in my tracks and thought: "Oh no. Now I've done it. I've lost my mind". But I was fine, if a little dazed. I continued to the shops and bought bread and milk, and returned home.

I described my experience in a letter to a school friend who had recently moved to Australia. He was as mystified by it as I was. Within two weeks, however, I discovered an almost word-for-word copy of my description of that night's event in a book I was reading. The topic of the book? Buddhism.

From what I can gather, my deep meditation had caused me to stumble across what the Zen Buddhists call a "kensho" or "satori" experience. It's a little bit like seeing a familiar object from a profoundly different perspective. The idea of satori is to gain a deeper insight into existence. On the road to what the Buddhists call "enlightenment" or "nirvana", students must learn to experience satori over and over again. To be honest, the whole thing unnerved me a little and I was reluctant to pursue it, although I can see the appeal. It was a powerful experience--possibly even life-changing. At that time I was dabbling in all things New Age, but I did start to think of myself as a Buddhist, not by choice, but by accident.

It was another five or six years (and more spiritual detours) before I walked into a Christian service and immediately knew I was home. I think, deep down inside, I had always known Jesus was the way. I just couldn't seem to find the path to Him. I sometimes wonder why I took the long way around, seemingly taking every route except the straight one. Perhaps I needed to see the lies before being convinced of the truth. In my pre-Christian days, I was drawn to Buddhism because it is such a peaceful religion. Having experienced the religion first-hand, however, I can tell you now that the peace it offers is empty compared to the peace and understanding you gain as a Christian. My mantra of "it doesn't matter" was way off because things do matter.

Perhaps I needed to experience Buddhism for a reason. I don't know. All I do know is, God created the universe, He put the rules in place, and there is no true peace without Him. Everything else is counterfeit.

Sometimes It's The Little Things

I became a Christian at the age of twenty after many years of fervent searching. I was not born into a religious family. In fact my only encounter with religion was through my maternal grandmother who gave me a KJV Bible and a Christian picture book when I was five years old. Both meant nothing to me at the time. The Bible was white with gold decorative trim and gilt-edged pages, and crammed with indecipherable words in crisp Roman font. The picture book was full of bearded, earnest-looking men set against stark, dusty backgrounds, and sheep. If anything, they looked scary. Is it any wonder then that my first impression of religion was not a particularly enthusiastic one.

Over the next fifteen years I had many encounters with all sorts of religious folk. Through some early spiritual experiences I was convinced that, as Shakespeare once said, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy", and so I determined to discover as much about heaven and earth as I could. During my travels I came into contact with numerous religions, from Jehovah's Witnesses to the New Age, from the Occult to Buddhism.

I even dabbled in Scientology. Before you snicker, please understand that there is a certain appeal that has to be experienced to be understood. I get the atraction of Scientology and Dianetics, and why it is people spend a small fortune in trying to achieve the coveted "clear" moniker. For me, however, it was not enough just to get over my painful past. I needed more.

Later I attended a Silva Mind Control course, still wondering if the truth lay within my own mind. Even here, in a course designed to boost your concentration and help you take control of your own thoughts, there is a strong spiritual aspect tucked neatly away under the surface.

Not long after that I settled on Buddhism, to the point of identifying it as my religion when asked. It seemed such a tranquil religion and suited my personality perfectly. Except that the peace I experienced soon began to feel empty. Through meditation I learned to empty my mind and feel nothing, except that I could not believe that Horatio's heaven and Earth was filled with. . .nothing. I knew there was something more.

During the latter part of my search, I came into contact with a particular breed of religious person that I could not understand. Most religious people seemed to be in transit. It was as if that, even though they thought they had found the answer, there was something missing that they could not quite put a finger on. I felt that way myself, as if I somehow knew the answer but had yet to find it. There were certain people, however, who seemed to know that they had found the truth, and you could see it in their eyes.

When I think back on these people, I get the impression that God put them in my life to steer my towards Him. There weren't many, but I will never forget them. They weren't televangelists or preachers standing before huge crowds, but individuals who took the time to step out of their comfort zones and make contact with a complete stranger. Sometimes the contact was one-to-one. Other times it was less direct. There is one in particular that I wish I could find and thank. We never spoke but I saw him almost every day on my way to work. I would see him striding down the sidewalk, singing in a deep baritone voice. At the time I did not understand what he was singing about, but I do now. He was singing praises to God. I remember, just before leaving to go overseas, seeing that same man sitting on a park bench, his head bowed and a sad look on his face. He had the appearance of someone who had been humiliated or even beaten, even though he bore no physical wounds. The biggest change, however, was his singing. Normally his voice was loud and clear. Now, sitting on the bench, slumped forward with his face turned towards the ground, the words were barely audible. He was still singing, but only just.

I wish now that I could go back and find that man, and tell him that his singing affected me and made me wonder what could bring a man such joy that he had to express it everywhere he went. I wish I could tell him that he should sing no matter what the world says to him or does to him. He should sing even though people mock and scorn and laugh because, even if he does not realise it, his words reached everyone who heard them--especially me. I sometimes wonder what happened to that man. I hope and pray that, wherever he is, he is still singing because, sometimes, it is the little things than nudge us in the right direction.