using the arrow buttons.
by clicking on the page.
the page around when zoomed in by dragging it.
the zoom using the slider when zoomed-in.
by clicking on the zoomed-in page.
by entering text in the search field, and select "This Issue" or "All Issues"
by clicking on thumbnails to select pages, and then press the print button.
displays sections with thumbnails and descriptions.
displays a slider of thumbnails. Click on a page to jump.
allows you to browse the full archive.
about your subscription?
Lions Roar : January 2007
SHAMBHALA SUN JANUARY 2007 99 † “hidden hearth of bohemian culture” for fellow seekers such as Watts, novelist Tom Robbins, and bebop pioneer Dizzy Gillespie. The image of a crumbling foundation in the Mojave desert opens into the story of how Aldous Huxley, already acclaimed in England for writing Brave New World, embraced mystical experience in the early 1940s during a season of hermitage near the ruins of a failed commune. The book Huxley conceived there, the cross-cultural classic The Perennial Philosophy, laid the groundwork for the cosmic syntheses of the Sixties counterculture. For generations of pilgrims from elsewhere, going West has meant seizing an opportunity to look within, shed the manacles of worn-out creed, get healthy, find a teacher and a community, and hope to be reborn in a flash of authentic revelation. Growing up in Los Angeles, Davis came of age in the crowded aisles of the spiritual supermarket, where the marrow of a thousand traditions was repackaged as fast food for the soul. He was first exposed to the Christian gospel by lis- tening to his mother’s beat-up vinyl copy of Jesus Christ Superstar, and his own philosophical stirrings were nurtured in the traveling circus of auspicious synchronicity that trailed after the Grateful Dead. “By the time school beckoned me east,” he writes, “I had met and broken bread with teen witches, born-again surfers, Hare Krishnas, wandering Christian mendicants, Siddha yogis, est seminar leaders, psychedelic Deadheads, and a spindly metaphysician who taught English at my junior high and read my aura after class.” Eventu- ally, Davis’ quest led him to Zen study with Pat Enkyo O’Hara and Reb Anderson, a virtual plunge into the “cyberdelic” culture wittily chronicled in his 1998 book, TechGnosis, and annual immersion in the gleefully trashy Eleusinian chaos of the Burning Man festival. The occupational hazard of those determined to achieve rebirth in this lifetime is the ailment that Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche diagnosed as “spiritual materialism”—an ego-driven mania for grasping after the latest new-and-improved shortcuts to ego death. But reading Davis’ affectionate accounts of failed utopias, debauched preachers, and abandoned land- ing strips for “space brothers” who never arrived, it’s easy to identify with the yearning that has populated his home state with fantastically ornate churches, mosques, mandalas, and tabernacles of every stripe. In the often sloppy exuberance with which Californians have made a lifestyle of the peren- nial possibility of awakening, Davis recognizes the seeds of an inclusive, global, anti-fundamentalist, shoshin-driven spirituality that could be a powerful healing force in the gnarly decades to come. ♦ Above: The structure called Temple of Stars at the Burning Man art festival, in Black Rock City, Nevada. Below: Venkateswara Temple, in Malibu Canyon. STEVE SILBERMAN writes about science, creativity, technology, and the brain for Wired magazine. He lives in San Francisco.