Witness the flurry of books and research projects we’ve seen in recent years exploring Buddhism and neuroscience, Buddhism and physics, Buddhism and psychology, Buddhism and therapy.

But something about this comparison rings false to me. Neuroscience and physics and psychotherapy are the fascinations of scientists and intellectuals, but they are not the dominant forces that have shaped our culture’s religious and philosophical heritage. For better or worse, Christianity still takes that prize: despite waning influence in recent years it remains the dominant spiritual zeitgeist of our era. Even if you grew up Jewish, or a Dharma Brat, you are not completely exempt from Christianity’s influence, just as the most diehard Mac users are still, in some ways, dependent on the much larger world of PCs.

"I'm a Zen Buddhist if I would describe myself," he says. "I don't think about what I do. I do it. That's Buddhism. I jump off the cliff and build my wings on the way down."

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"The guy keeps writing about Jesus, but he doesn't consider himself a Christian," Weller says.

"He says faith is necessary but that we should accept the fact that when it comes to God, none of us know anything."

Calligraphy, the art of beautiful writing, has a deep history in much of Buddhist Asia. At one level, the art of writing can be an act of merit: repeatedly copying sutras or mantras. It can also be a practice of mindfulness: being absorbed in the moment, focusing fully on the movements of the hand, the flow of the ink, the feel of the pen or brush on the paper, the repetition of letters.

At another level calligraphy is deeply tied to Tantric schools of Buddhism. The visualization of a seed syllable (b?ja) or mantra as part of meditation is made easier by learning to write them. Particularly beautifully written letters are valued in this context.

Is it possible to make a Soto Zen sangha flourish in a small rural town in Eastern Africa? Apparently, it is. This article describes the dojo of Morogoro town, in rural Tanzania, but also explores my feelings of amazement when I visited it. For years, I have asked myself how to reconcile the need to attend the sangha back home, in Europe, with my deep passion to work in developing countries as a humanitarian nutritionist.

In February this year, during a sesshin in Spain, I asked my Zen Master Roland Yuno: “…I have lived for many years in developing countries and I have realized that my practice has become stiff, lonely and sometimes sterile because of the absence of a sangha. Soon I will go back home to Kenya and I do not know what I should do really”. The Master, in the most direct and easy way ever, popped up the solution I had been seeking for years (and I never dared to ask): “Well, my Belgian disciple lives in Tanzania (neighboring Kenya!). He also works in humanitarian activities, and has set up a sangha. He is an ordained monk. Why not get in touch with him?”

It may be useful to take a look at the four noble truths again and try really, really hard to language them to apply to relationships. I'll go first. Let me know what you think.
1. Relationships are uncomfortable.
2. Thinking they're supposed to be comfortable is what makes them uncomfortable.
3. It is absolutely possible to love and be loved unconditionally.
4. There is a path that teaches you how and it really works.

You would certainly recognize your signature on a piece of paper, but do you know your own emotional signature? We all have one. It’s our predictable way of reacting to situations. Your friends probably recognize your emotional signature better than you do. When you get into a fight with your partner, for example, they can predict just how it will go. They know if you’re likely to slam a door, storm out of the house, or call your mother. They know if you’ll be processing the argument for days or immediately shut down and clam up. How do they know so much? They know because they’ve seen it all before. Our behavior may seem spontaneous to us, but to those who know us, we’re not too surprising.

I’ve found this approach to be so much more intimate, because then I can just be with that person in their moment of pain. It’s as though I’m gently whispering, “Yes, I too know what it’s like to feel fear, to feel anger, to feel despair.” Compassion arises naturally from this practice, and mindfulness extends from the inner world to the outer. The Buddha originally taught mindfulness of both, explaining that it isn’t only our own internal suffering that we ought to attend to, but also the suffering of others. This, I’ve been finding, is the bridge from focusing solely on “my liberation” to having a genuine concern for the welfare of others. It’s with this in mind that I offer a deep thanks to all those people who have offered this gift to me—I know it was freely given.

As a former Buddhist monk, Professor James Hughes is concerned with realization. And as a Transhumanist—someone who believes that we will eventually merge with technology and transcend our human limitations—he endorses radical technological enhancements to humanity to help achieve it. He describes himself as an “agnostic Buddhist” trying to unite the European Enlightenment with Buddhist enlightenment.

Sidestepping the word “happiness,” Hughes’ prefers to speak of “human flourishing,” avoiding the hedonism that “happiness” can imply.

As I continue to practice, I start to see suffering in the attachment and preference of one side or the other. No matter how hard I try to get rid of the unpleasant sensations they continue to arise. I continue to have bodily pains and things change constantly. The key, I found, is to let things arise and pass naturally. Holding on to nothing. Surrendering over and over again to what IS. Gradually, by learning to relax into the moment there is freedom. As the Buddha taught, “dwelling happily in things as they are.” Love arises with a deep stability outside of these conditions. I am human. This is it. Here is true happiness—the simplicity of being alive.