Religious Phanatic

It's 9:30 AM on a Friday. I am lying in bed, phone in hand. I've been in this position for nearly two hours. By this time, I have caught up on celebrity gossip, scrolled Reddit and Twitter, and finished my daily Wordle (yeah, I’m one of those people). I have moved on to Instagram when I see a post that feels like a personal attack.

It is from a writer I deeply respect. Above the caption is a lovely photograph of a stack of books on a desk with a floral arrangement. The caption is a promise the writer has made to herself: the next time she finds herself mindlessly scrolling social media, she vows to pick up a book instead. 

Oof.

I shut off my phone and burn with shame. I am a completely worthless bag of bones. I have just wasted - wasted - the entire morning online. I have lost at least an hour and a half that I will never get back. Sure, I am now caught up on the Kim/Ye feud and how Pete Davidson has been responding, but at what cost?

Wallowing in a never ending pool of ugh what is wrong with me?, I head for my Zen tarot deck. I don’t even shuffle the deck. I remember one of the cards that has made me feel better so many times in the past. Labeled “Guilt,” it shows a woman pulling her hair out with both hands, a pained expression on her face.

Hard relate. 

I pull out the book and flip to the card’s description.

We all seek to be better - love more, be more aware, be more real to ourselves. But when we punish ourselves for our failures by feeling guilty, we can be locked into a cycle of despair and hopelessness about ourselves and the circumstances we are in. You are absolutely okay as you are, and it is absolutely natural to go astray from time to time. Just learn from it, move on, and use those lessons not to make the same mistake again.

I feel better. Forgive myself a little. It's like this any time I get to feeling down. Grab the deck. Pull a card. Read the description. Feel better. 

In early 2019, I found this deck, the perfect intersection of two of my interests - Zen and tarot. It’s not exactly based on the traditional tarot, but it has a “major arcana” and “minor arcana” with different suits and face cards. Each card correlates to a relevant Zen teaching. It is a great way to start the day with a bit of reflection on a Zen concept in a randomized fashion.

I set my routine and have hardly wavered. I think of an issue I’m having. I put my hands on the deck and concentrate. I shuffle the deck three times. Cut it three times. Pull a card. Read the accompanying description. Then I write in my notebook about the concept and how it relates to me and my problem.

For three solid years now, this has worked for me. I have recommended this deck to friends and family. I’ve written about it here and talked about it on the show. If I’m feeling particularly frustrated about something, I’ll go pull a card and meditate on the concept. 

I’ll be the first to admit, none of the advice is particularly groundbreaking, but the concepts on the cards dovetail with the other books I’ve read on the subject. My first foray into Zen was Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg. Then I moved on to stuff by Cheri Huber and Bernie Glassman. That’s the extent of my study - read about it, journal about it, try to remember to put it into practice in my everyday life.

The deck is just another way to keep up with my daily practice. One of the cards, for instance, is labeled “Courage.” The image is a daisy growing up out of a crack in some stone. The accompanying write-up says, in part:

When we are faced with a very difficult situation we have a choice: we can either be resentful, and try to find somebody or something to blame for the hardships, or we can face the challenges and grow.

The seed cannot know what is going to happen, the seed has never known the flower. And the seed cannot even believe that he has the potentiality to become a beautiful flower. Long is the journey, and it is always safer not to go on that journey because unknown is the path, nothing is guaranteed. Nothing can be guaranteed.

There was no danger for the seed, the seed could have survived for millennia, but for the sprout many are the dangers. Great is the cross to be carried, but a dream possesses the seed and the seed moves.

The same is the path for Man. It is arduous. Much courage will be needed.

Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, right? Well, it does for me at least. 

After reading the Guilt card, I feel better immediately. When I'm in the shame spiral like the one I'm in from wasting all this time on social media, I turn to the deck. It’s salve for my soul.

Grateful for the thoughtful, helpful words that have shaken me from my self-flagellating freak out, I decide to Google the author. In all these years, I have never stopped to wonder who compiled these Zen teachings for me into one convenient deck.

I take out my laptop and type in the name printed on the deck's guidebook.

No.

No, no, no, no no.

I see his face. I recognize his name — his old name, the one before he changed it to what is printed on the book.

Osho, formerly known as Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh. Of the Rajneesh movement. From the Netflix series Wild, Wild Country.

My stomach drops.

I have accidentally been following a cult leader for the past three years.

I never watched the Netflix series, but a quick skim of his Wikipedia page paints a grim picture: rigging elections, poisoning salad bars, attempting to murder U.S. attorneys.

Like I said, this deck is not my only source of spirituality. But it is something I use a lot. A lot a lot. Why does it have to be written by this guy? 

I am torn. Do I throw away the deck? It has helped me so many times over the past three years. I have yet to pull a card instructing me to try and murder an elected official or rig a municipal election. If there’s a “poison all your local salad bars” card, it hasn’t popped up in my shuffling.

In an effort to understand my teacher, I have since watched the series on Netflix. It’s one of the more popular true crime shows released in the past few years, but it has somehow slipped past my radar.

Produced by the Duplass brothers, it details the journey of the Rajneesh followers into Oregon. The Wikipedia page was not wrong. They took over a small town, faced some violent pushback, and in retaliation, started poisoning nearby residents. They even planned to kill the region’s U.S. attorney. The move toward violence was allegedly helmed by one of the leader’s most ardent followers, Sheela.

Formerly known as Rajneesh, the leader eventually started going by Osho, the “author” of this book.

Once I watched the full series, I felt a little better. But only a little. Osho, for his part, always claimed Sheela was the one spearheading the violence. He said he had nothing to do with it.

Not surprisingly, Sheela claimed they collaborated on it all. She ended up pleading guilty to the crimes and serving time in federal prison before moving to Switzerland. Osho was deported after accepting an Alford plea, in which he maintained his innocence but conceded that there was sufficient evidence that a judge or jury may find him guilty.

Osho eventually died of heart failure in India in 1990. The Osho materials I have - the tarot deck and accompanying guidebook - were published in 1994. Leftover followers took over the Osho Foundation and began publishing things in his name. Someone cobbled together bits and pieces of his teachings, formed them into a deck, and created the accompanying book.

I am not sure if this information makes it better or worse.

After finishing the series, I was relieved at one realization. For all the comfort I’ve gleaned from the deck, I’m never going to become a true follower of this movement. First of all, I would absolutely die before living in a commune with other people. I couldn’t hack it in a church camp bunk for two weeks. There is no way I’m going to live with people who chant while being voluntold to do outdoor manual labor.

Plus, their whole deal was wearing red robes and renouncing worldly possessions. I look absolutely terrible in red, and you will pry my iPhone from my cold, dead hands. Biggest deal breaker - poisoning the salad bar. I am from Mesquite, Texas. Salad bars and buffets are absolutely sacred. Messing with the ranch at the Golden Corral is a the worst thing a person could do. Folks should be able to scoop their mushy mac and cheese with reckless abandon and face only the usual danger they willingly undertake that comes along with choosing to eat at the GC.

Feeling defeated by the new knowledge of my former guru, I put away my Osho deck. I reach for a new one: my Philly deck. I shuffle the cards three times. Cut the stack three times. I pull the top card.

The Fool.

It’s a beautiful illustration of the Philly Phanatic. The corresponding booklet reads:

Chaos, New Beginnings

This silly monster is unaware of how foolish he can look, perched wildly on top of a flooded Citizens Bank Park in the blazing sun. Embrace the parts of yourself that are full of blissful ignorance, fresh starts, and idiotic mirth, and you will thrive as a true Philadelphian.

I don't think I'll ever be a true Philadelphia — too much snow and too many Eagles fans — but the rest of the card sure fits. 

I now know the awful truth about my Zen cards. It doesn’t change my view of Natalie Goldberg or Cheri Huber or Bernie Glassman or any of the other Zen books I have. But this discovery gives me pause. Makes me think about whose interpretation I’ll follow going forward. Where I’ll source my comfort from, how I’ll see my problems.

At least I know the Philly Phanatic won’t let me down. He’d never poison a salad bar or break federal laws.

Yeah, maybe he got into a fistfight with Tommy Lasorda, but that was self-defense. 

The lesson then, I suppose, is that no leader is wholly infallible. Not even the Philly Phanatic.

Silly monster, indeed.

Knowing what I know now, I have no choice but carry on. To pull a new card. To remain unaware of how foolish I can look. To wholly embrace the parts of myself that are full of blissful ignorance, fresh starts, and idiotic mirth. 
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This piece first appeared in Sunday Morning Hot Tea. Subscribe so you don’t miss another piece.