What, for sure, I know about Buddhism is you wanter have clean socks t’do it in. I know that because I’m right now at a downtown han meeting—which is whenever enough middle-management yuppie peo-pie get shoeless together and chant in Japanese. First off they rattle through Lotus Sutra—to the fetching tune of, far as I can tell, here a quack, there a quack, everywhere a quack-quack. Mind, in our believe-whatever nation, you better not show disrespect for color, race, or creed, especial when that creed is hotter than sun spots, the way Nichiren Shoshu of America (NSA) has been, just look what they did to Mr. Jimmy Greek—and he said nice things. So I am open-minded. More or less what we all are after chanting a quarter-hour—open minded as in VACANT TRY ELSEWHERE.
NSA people appear decent, amiable types, tho somewhat spoony. They’d clap and hoo-roar at a paper-trained dog, if he was in need of encouragement. “Keith is visiting with us tonight.” Yaw-whee, let’s hear it for Keith. This Buddhist sect was first thought up by a preacher called Nichiren Daishonin before a.d. 1300. I don’t understand it much—no one seems to—but the thingamabob that’ll do the job is Nam Myo-ho Renge Kyo. Over and over again. Nam means devotion. Myo-ho mystic law. Renge is your basic lotus. And Kyo stands for the verbalization of Buddhist doctrine. Diagram this sentence however you want—after some while it sounds like Nommyno Foreign Dago—endless repetition is what will clear up that fuggy karma you got.
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