I Blame You Dad: A Cult(ural) Experience

I have a propensity for befriending the strangest of strangers., and for this I fault my father. You see, over the course of my childhood I would often run errands with my dad, as most children do, however running errands with dad was more of a social extravaganza than a time to just get things done. More often than not, we would set out early on a Saturday morning with an extensive list of things to do, and on a productive day we would accomplish three of the tasks we originally set out to do... maybe. This is because dropping a check off at the mechanic was never as simple one would think.

Dropping a check off at the mechanic was a drawn out political debate with Gary about whether or not Ronald Reagan was a good president (which he was not), or a lengthy discourse on the effects the Panzer tank had on the scope of WWII. Going to Home Depot to buy an extension cord was never just going to Home Depot to buy an extension cord. It was a forty five minute discussion with one of the salesman about the current price of raw copper and then deciding that we could go home and make it ourselves for half the price. No matter where we went, there was a character in our strange story to befriend.

Now, this seemingly hereditary quality has spilled into my life, as I have the same quirky behavior and think nothing of spending an hour talking to a stranger. It's fun. It's a game. It's a part of who I am. However, the expansion of my unorthodox circle of friends was temporarily stunted by moving to Taiwan, but it only took a little time before I accumulated a small handful. To name a few, there's my squid-ball guy, who's name I can't remember so we will call him Robert, there's my Mian Chian lady, restaurant proprietor, and there's Mrs. Huang, hardware store owner.

Robert is an interesting guy. He grew up in Taichung, went to university in Taipei, and spent some time in L.A. working with underprivileged children in the ghetto to keep them off the streets. Since returning to Taiwan, he opened up a food stand in the Shida Night Market. I suppose there's more money in squid-balls these days than there is in banking. Now, every time I go to his stand, I get an extra ball or two. Also, he claims to know Tom Cruise.

Next there is my Mian Chian lady. I eat at her "restaurant" at least twice a week. It's a block away from my apartment and super delicious. Her restaurant entails four huge pots sitting on four tiny burners with four different entrees bubbling away. The pots are on a table, beneath an awning that stretches out onto the street, packed with tables and stools. It's always crowded, rain or shine. Each delight is the same price, but whenever I go I order the same thing. Two bowls of spicy Tofu and a bowl of Mian Chian. She laughs at me whenever I see here, because I seem to always end up in front of her looking rather disheveled, maybe from a bike ride in the poring rain or a long day of Frisbee. And when she's done laughing at how I look, she begins to laugh at my poor, poor Chinese. She knows I'm trying though. I just think she likes to laugh.

And then there is Huang Liu, hardware/junk store owner. She sells anything you need, from tools to toiletries and most of it is cheap crap. However, whenever something needs to be fixed in the apartment, I go to her first. About a week ago, on my most recent apartment improving adventure, we began to talk about the little Chinese philosophy I studied in college. We talked about the Daodejing and she told me she was somewhat of a Daoist/Buddhist. We decided that on the following Saturday, she would accompany me to a temple. She told me that for three days before going to the temple I was not allowed to eat meat, and I agreed.

So, for three days, I struggled as a vegetarian, fighting off cravings to devour an innocent baby cow, raw. All this despite the fact that it is extremely easy to eat well as a vegetarian in Taipei. I was under the impression that I would be going to a famous temple, accompanied by someone who knows the culture, though, so I made the effort. I would finally be seeing the practical version of the theories I had studied in college. Hopefully I would learn something about the culture, of Buddhism/Daoism in practice. Three days passed and I arrived at the hardware store a few minutes before noon, followed by ominous clouds in the distance. I parked my bike under an awning, to escape the eroding effects of acid rain, and headed inside. I met her husband who would be watching over the shop for the afternoon and we hopped in a cab. The taxi began to hurry away from Taipei, so I asked which temple we were heading for and was met with a flurry of Chinese, of which I only caught a few words: food, friends, temple. Awesome.

We pull up to a rather ordinary looking building, somewhere in Yonghe (outside of Taipei across the Xindian River) and pay the betel-nut chewing driver. Mrs. Huang leads me inside the building where I am met with a symphony of greetings, in both Chinese and English, by around thirty people, none of whom is younger than forty. I immediately notice everyone is dressed rather homogeneously: white collared shirts for all, black pants and skirts for the men and women, respectively. I am wearing a blue polo shirt. If my skin didn't make me stand out enough, the shirt does the trick. I bypass most of the crowd as I am pulled to the next room in order to be introduced to the head honcho. I first must bow to Buddha three times before I bow to the Daoist Guru in front of me once. He was in Kaoshiung this morning, but came to Taipei for today's ceremony. He tells me it is going to be a special one.

A few women begin to bring out our lunch and I am directed to sit down next to the head priest. Our meal is of course vegetarian cuisine, family style, although it doesn't feel like much of a family as the entire population gathered around the table are men, except for my translator seated on my left. As we are eating I grow uncomfortably aware of my presence as spectacle. The spiritual leader sitting next to me informs me he would like to share a story with me and I am regaled with a tale of a wayward man from Arizona who had lost his way until he found Daoism. The others have finished their meal and ventured over to the room where the women ate their lunch, leaving just the priest, my translator, a somber looking elderly man and I to continue with the story. I have lost my appetite but one of the women walks in and in the most motherly of tones encourages me to keep eating. The food is good, so I can't refuse.

The tale drags on as dessert is placed in front of us. All the while, constituents are poking their heads in the room, eagerly, impatiently. I am asked to make a small contribution and I say OK, the food alone was worth it. Finally, the story of the wayward soul comes to an end and I am ushered upstairs to the temple room. The room is small and filled with an aromatic haze. Everyone packs in, men on the right, women on the left. Three deities are seated on a table in the front of the room, enclosed in glass cases. Incense and candles are burning overwhelmingly. It feels like the room has not been this crowded in a long, long time. Another three bows for Buddha and I am given a front row seat. Six men clad in robes enter the room and produce a rhythm of chants and bows, inducing a direct line of communication with Buddha. We can now proceed with the day's ceremonies. Buckle up.

My translator takes to the podium slightly to the left of the main table and plunges into an electronically prepared speech regarding the nature of Daoism, in English. She speaks of Confucius. She speaks of Heaven. She speaks of Buddha. She speaks of the Eight Fold Path. She speaks of Laozi. She speaks of The Way. She speaks of Jesus Christ. She cites the Gospel of John and Revelations. She speaks of the Apocalypse. She speaks of Salvation. She speaks of Heaven.

The Dao master enters the room. He is greeted with another rhythm of bows from the six robed men as he whisks his whiskers, and takes to the podium. "We are gathered here today to witness our newest friend David receive the Great Dao." This is the nightmare of a twelve year old boy who doesn't believe in god. Twenty three years of living and the closest thing I have had to a religious experience is being sad and hungry in church at my grandfathers funeral, taking communion and being smacked by my mother because I didn't know any better. All I wanted was a cracker. Twenty three years and the closest thing I have had to religious indoctrination is a circumcision. I have always been proud to call myself a heathen. I can't do this. I need to leave. But it might get interesting. I've never been in a cult before. I haven't eaten meat in four days and I really want a hamburger. I can't do this. I need to leave. If I cross my fingers does it still count?

Sweat pours from my brow like the Nicaraguan rainy season. I smile and nod. OK. "Before you receive Dao, we must first teach you the three secret treasures." I am given the three secret treasures. I'm not allowed to talk (directly) about the three secret treasures unless in (direct) communication with Buddha, but I will do my best to outline them for you now. First there is the "Mysterious Door." This is the physical path through which the soul leaves the body to reach heaven. However, I cannot show you where it is. Secondly, there is the "Secret Password." If you couldn't guess, this is the password to enter heaven. It is also used to communicate with Buddha in the waking life. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you what is it. Lastly, the third treasure is the "Holy Hand Sign." This is the way one must situate themselves whilst communicating with Buddha. I can't show you what it is, though. However, I will say that the "Holy Hand Sign" is pretty gangster.

After receiving the three holy treasures, I am ready to receive Dao. I kneel before Buddha while my great master circles me with incense and advises me to stare directly into the flame of the brass, oil candle holder mounted on the ash stained white wall behind the Buddha. The rain is pounding on the metal roof, and I focus on the kerplunk of as many drops as I can pick out. He dictates an ostensibly ancient incantation and I repeat, in Chinese. I am being baptized by fire and spirit (so I suppose there's still room for Christianity). I state my name and the amount I have donated to the temple. I burn a piece of paper with my name on it and part of my soul leaves with my name on Route 66 to salvation. This is to inscribe my name in the scrolls of heaven and bypass the process of reincarnation. Impatient Buddhists. Jumbo-Shrimp. My seat in heaven will be somewhere behind the right field wall with the Bleacher Creatures. I have finished receiving Dao. I am humbly enlightened.

I am given a few more rules about receiving Dao and the day pushes on with the normal ceremonies of a typical service. Chanting and bowing. Offerings and sacrifices are made to Buddha; just fruit, no blood. Mrs. Huang never looked so proud. She beams at me. The ceremonies come to a close, we move back downstairs and I am again greeted with a symphony, this time of congratulations. I am a celebrity, as is Mrs. Huang. I continue to put on a wonderful show, but then again it doesn't take much. I have another sit down with the Dao Guru. He tells me stories of past reactions to the entire process. Others who have experienced great things while receiving Dao. He tells me stories of happy Buddhas and flying rooftops. Angels and deities. Mormons and epiphany. He is setting a precedent. He wants a story, so I give him one. He looks pleased enough, so Mrs. Huang and I make our way to the door and catch a ride home with another constituent. I leave the temple with two books, three pieces of fruit, and a membership card. The rain has refused to let up all afternoon. We are dropped off at the hardware store. Mrs. Huang gives me a blue poncho and I ride my bicycle home. I call up Josh. He is going to bring over a few steaks to cook up for dinner.

Some final thoughts on the day. Due to the fact that I will now be bypassing reincarnation, all hopes of coming back as a monkey are out the window, or rather, the mysterious door. I now have an incomplete soul. Will I continue to make friends wherever I go? Of course I will. They all turn out to be interesting characters, this once just happened to be in a cult. There's a Hare Krishna festival coming up in a couple of weeks. I think I'll attend, however, I will pass on the punch.