by T.C. Eisele
1
I first started reading about Buddhism to pass the time whenever I had to sit in the car to do alternate side of the street parking. If you’re not familiar with alternate side parking, it refers to the days and times when car owners in New York City are required to move their vehicles so the street sweepers can clean. It’s basically something every New Yorker detests, because even if the sweeper doesn’t show up (and sometimes they don’t) you’re still required to sit there for 90 minutes or risk getting a ticket.
But getting back to Buddhism, I began my involvement with that after I started chatting online with this hot Asian chick. It’s all she ever wanted to talk about, because according to her, she was sick and tired of dating ignorant, unenlightened men who just wanted to keep her stuck on the wheel of samsara with them.
While her and I ultimately never clicked, the psychological elegance of Buddhist thought (especially Zen) stuck with me. In fact, though I never joined a temple (or even a study group) for a long time I contemplated the 4 Noble Truths whenever I could and was even known to sit in full lotus position, burn incense, and meditate from time to time.
One thing that has always impressed me about Buddhism, is that the thoughtfulness it nurtures can help to expand your overall awareness of life. The Buddhist’s would call this mindfulness, and it eventually ended up helping me to discover a real Buddha in my own life.
Oddly enough, it all began with alternate side of the street parking.
2
For several years I have resided on east 85th street between First and Second Avenue. It’s generally a nice block, containing mostly walk-up apartments along with a couple of small restaurants and a neighborhood Irish bar. It also happens to be a direct crosstown artery leading into Central Park, so even though where I lived was generally quiet, there was also a steady stream of traffic day and night heading over to the Westside.
Being a car owner in New York City helps you to notice a lot of things that non-drivers don’t. The most obvious being empty parking spaces. Even when I’m just walking around, I always make a mental note of any empty parking space I happened to see. That’s because if you’ve ever had to park in Manhattan on a regular basis, you learn to quickly see that some parking spots are much better than others. I also take special notice of how cars are parked, especially the ones that are in front of or behind my car. It mostly has to do with how much room they’ve left me to get out, though I’m also a connoisseur of the ability to get into a tight space.
I don’t recall exactly when it was, but at one point I started to consistently notice a particular car on the block.
It was a classic Oldsmobile, so it kind of stood out among the newer cars. I don’t know very much about cars, but I would guess this one was from the 1970’s with its prominent hood ornament, oversized square lines, and plush, faux-leather seating. It was also a sort of hunter green color that you don’t see much anymore. The most important thing I noticed about this car though was that it was always perfectly parked. It was never more than a few inches away from the curb, and it was always absolutely equidistant from the car in front and the one in back. I’m not exaggerating. This damn car was always impeccably parked.
Another thing that piqued my interest about it was that I had no idea who the owner was. It seemed the only times I ever saw this car was when it was parked, and it was always in a great spot.
Yet despite the unusual fascination this vehicle seemed to hold for me, there was one thing about it that I was absolutely sure of. Whoever owned this car was an adept when it came to parking in New York City.
3
The day I finally got to see the owner of this mythic vehicle was when I went out one morning to do alternate side of the street parking and that Olds was sitting right in front of my car.
I was particularly surprised to see it because I had gone out the previous night at about 9p.m to get a bottle of wine and there was a different car parked in that spot. People in this neighborhood don’t usually move their cars that late, so I couldn’t help but be curious as to how the Oldsmobile got in front of me.
On alternate side parking days, I always tried to get out there a little before the 9a.m start time. That’s because a lot of people usually move their cars just before 9, thus making it a lot easier to upgrade to a better spot.
I was already in a pretty good spot that morning, so there was nothing else to do except warm up the engine and wait for the sweeper to arrive. It was at precisely the stroke of 9 when a rather portly fellow dressed in a faded gray baseball cap, lightweight fatigue jacket, green khakis, and beige hiking shoes sauntered up to the Olds in front of me and unlocked the door.
Behind his silver, wire rimmed glasses that rode on the end of his nose were a pair of heavy -lidded eyes, along with a generally placid expression that was accented by a very subtle half smirk. Over the next few minutes, I watched him closely (though pretending not to) as he started the car, idled it for a bit, and then got out to begin methodically rearranging some things in the back seat.
It was about 9:15 when he squeezed back into the driver’s seat, but rather than beginning his vigil for the street sweeper like the rest of us, he instead slowly pulled out of the spot and drove away.
4
It must have been a week or so later when I saw him again. He was sitting on a bench in the small public area in front of a high-rise on the corner of 85th and 2nd . It was mid-afternoon, and as he sipped on a Starbucks, he appeared calm, still, and inscrutable.
As I walked by, my mind recalled how during that week I had noticed his car parked in a couple of different choice spots on the block. As usual, in every instance that Oldsmobile was perfectly positioned, with its wheels never more than a few inches from the curb.
Over the ensuing weeks I would see him from time to time, either in that sitting area on 85th and 2nd, or in the street café outside the Starbucks on 85th and 1st. He was always dressed in the same clothes and sipping a coffee with that calm, beatific smirk.
5
As the seasons changed and the fall slowly darkened into winter, I never failed to see that green Oldsmobile parked perfectly somewhere on the block.
One night after being out late, I was coming home from the train station when I unexpectedly spotted the green Oldsmobile parked in front of a fire hydrant in the middle of the block. The light was on inside the car, and I could see the driver reading a book.
Why is he sitting in his car in the middle of a cold winter night reading? Had something gone wrong in his life so that he was forced to live out of his car? There were people like that in this neighborhood. My interest was piqued, so when I arrived at the front door of my building, I lingered for a bit in the outer vestibule so I could spy on that green Olds and see what the driver was up to.
I didn’t have to wait long before something curious happened. Out of nowhere, a man came walking down the street and got in a car that was parked a couple of doors away. Within seconds, he started the car and immediately pulled out. Wow, I thought to myself, that’s unusual. People don’t often surrender their parking spots so late on a winter night unless it’s an emergency or something.
Almost immediately afterwards, the headlights of the Oldsmobile went on. I watched with great interest as it slowly pulled out and inched its way down the street, like some great meandering beast, until it came at last to a stop next to the car in front of the parking space that had just been vacated. Then, with luxurious and mindful slowness, that Olds backed its way methodically into the vacant space. It was a perfect parallel park, and I was mesmerized by it. To tell you the truth, I don’t know how long I stood there after the driver locked up and left, but it was more than a few minutes. The way he parked had been masterful. I had never seen anything so slow, so powerful, so precise.
After a while, I eventually exited my building and slowly crossed the street to where the Oldsmobile was parked. Upon walking through the space between the Olds and the car behind it, I looked down and marveled at how the wheels of that Hunter green chariot were no more than 3 inches from the damn curb.
It was then that I was struck by a very strong feeling. It wasn’t entirely clear, and I dared not give voice to it for fear of speaking a blasphemy, but a notion came upon me at that moment like the unexpected hoot of an owl on a winter night.
As if the voice of a spirit were whispering to me in that cold winter wind, I could clearly hear the word “Buddha” being softly enunciated in the darkness under the streetlights.
6
That spring I began to see the driver of the Oldsmobile more often, yet the circumstances I saw him in now where much different than in the past. Previously, he had always been alone and contemplative. Now, he was rarely alone. I would often see him in the outdoor seating area outside the Starbucks on the corner of 85th and 1st, where he would be talking with others. He would usually be the one speaking, though occasionally someone else would talk, like they were asking a question, but then he’d resume his lecture as the others gave him their full attention.
There was also the ongoing paradox of my never having seen this great master participate in alternate side of the street parking. At first, I thought this was unusual, but as of late, I instead began to see it as an added testament to his power. He parked late at night on the spiritual plane rather than in the daytime streets the rest of us toiled in. The proof of this was that he always had a great spot, and that Oldsmobile was never more than several inches away from the curb.
7
As the Summer began to slowly move into the Fall, the Buddha and his disciples were a daily fixture in the Starbucks outdoor café. I also began to feel that for some unknown reason he was beginning to notice me. Where before he had seemed completely oblivious to my existence, now he appeared to occasionally direct his calm blue eyes in my direction.
A slowdown at work was allowing me more spare time than ever before, so that now it was possible to immerse myself more deeply in my Buddhist studies. Earlier it had just been something I did to try and impress a chick or kill time when I had to sit in the car on alternate side parking days. Now though, I was meditating daily to cleanse my energy body and deepen my connection with the supreme life force.
I was also starting to delve more deeply into the Zen school of Buddhist thought. This was a profound shift for me. I was extremely impressed when I first read that Zen had originally been developed by the Samurai class in feudal Japan. It was because as warriors they didn’t have hours and days to spend in deep meditation and contemplative study. They needed a path to spirituality that took into consideration the fact that they potentially faced a violent death at any given moment. A Samurai was forced to live on the precipice. Theirs was not the way of begging or studying sutras, but the way of the sword.
That’s why I also began to study martial arts in my apartment. I bought videos and spent endless hours perfecting my forms and testing my endurance by fasting and going with as little sleep as possible. As a way of vigilance training, I would even locate the Buddha’s Oldsmobile and then observe him for hours as he practiced his parking Zen late at night.
Eventually, I became his guardian on the spiritual parking plane.
8
Then one day it all changed. Suddenly the Buddha’s small group was gone. Once again, I began to see him all alone sipping his coffee as if he were in a different dimension from everyone else.
At first, I didn’t know what to make of this. Then I started to think that maybe the time had come for him to transcend this mortal plane. Perhaps his teaching here was done, and it was time for him to become one with the Tao?
As his parking guardian, I wondered if I would be required to make the journey with him? Or was I merely supposed to help him transcend? I began to worry, both for his transition, and for whatever my subsequent responsibilities would be.
I struggled with this dilemma for many days until I finally came across something in my readings that showed me what I needed to do.
A 9th century Buddhist Sage named Linji Yixuan told his disciples, “If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.”
I knew instantly that I had lived a past life with Master Linji and through this omen he was telling me what I had to do. I would assist the Parking Buddha’s transcendence as an instrument of his divine mission. After that, I would then be free to follow my own path through the mysteries of the 10,000 things.
That night, I waited and let the Buddha park his Oldsmobile for the last time.
At the sacred moment, a raven sang out from a bare branch of the tree the car was parked under and, in response, I sent the Buddha of East 85th street to his rightful place in eternity.
9
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” said the Psychiatrist with a gentle smile on his face.
I bowed my head in acknowledgement. “No, thank you Doctor. It’s nice to be able to speak with someone who understands.”
With a faint smile of acknowledgement on his lips, the Doctor looked at me through his wire-rimmed glasses and calmly replied. “Our session is over for now, but for your next visit I would really like to try and get deeper into talking about the specific act you committed, and why you’re here.”
“We may speak of all sorts of causes,” I replied, “but we will never know the one ultimate cause.”
“Then we will try the best we can,” he said.
My legs and lower back were now starting to feel stiff, so I attempted to adjust myself in the chair, yet the usual samurai-like smoothness of my movements was being mocked by the tinkling of the shackles attached to my wrists and ankles.
“How long will I have to be restrained like this?” I asked.
“These sessions are designed to help you,” said the Doctor, “but you are here because you have committed a violent act. As a result, you are considered a risk to yourself and others. For as long as you are incarcerated in this facility you will have to wear those restraints every time you leave your cell.”
When the Guard arrives to transport me back to my cell, I smile at the Doctor and bid him a heartfelt, “Adieu.” When he smiles back and replies, “Until next time,” I can’t help but notice how his bespectacled face has the exact same half-smirk as that of my late Buddha.
It is then that a new destiny suddenly becomes clear to me. I now know my purpose for being in this place. I must guard another Buddha until it is time for his transition. I will watch over this Doctor until the Ascended Master Linji shows me how to proceed.




