For Toby Munyon, Theresa Ferraro, my parents, and all spiritual revolutionaries— past, present, and future
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. Preface v Acknowledgments ix Suicide Solution 1 Kids of the Black Hole 5 It’s in My Blood 13 Fuck Authority 21 Teenage Wasteland 29 No Remorse 43 LiveFast Die Young 52 Nailed to the X 65 I Need Your Shelter 76 Serve the Truth, Defy the Lie 85 My Friends Look Out for Me Like Family 89 No Spiritual Surrender 94 Who Killed Bambi? 102 Love Sick 116 The Inner Revolution 127 Wander Lust 132 Meditate and Destroy 171 Die, Die, My Darling 179 Reincarnation 213 Inside Out 221 Being Here Now 226 Death Is Not the End My Friend 235 Stay Free 242 Epilogue 247Mindfulness Meditation Instructions 249 Resources 253
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Dharma Punx is my story and it’s a story about my generation: the punks, the kids all around the world who searched for meaning and liberation in the age of Reagan, Thatcher, and the Cold War’s constant threat of total nuclear annihilation. I sought adifferent path than that of my parents. I totally rejected meditation and all the spiritual shit they built their lives on. Looking at the once idealistic hippie generation who had long since cut their hair, left the commune, and bought into the system, we saw that peace and love had failed to make any real changes in the world. In response, we felt despair and hopelessness, out of which came the punkrock movement. Seeking to rebel against our parents’ pacifism and society’s fascist system of oppression and capitalist-driven propaganda, we responded in our own way, different from those before us, creating a new revolution for a new generation. Painfully aware of the corruption in the government and inconsistencies in the power dynamics in our homes, we rebelled against our families and society inone loud and fast roar of teen angst. Unwilling to accept the dictates of the system, we did whatever we could to rebel. We wanted freedom and were willing to fight for it. The situation was compounded by the personal despair that I and so many of my generation were facing: broken homes, addicted parents, useless school teachers, and a total lack of elders to look up to. Most of our parents weretoo busy to pay attention to us as they tried
to survive the aftermath of the sixties or succeed in the race for riches in the seventies and eighties. In my case, my mother was battling with addiction and two broken marriages, doing her best to raise four children. My father was so dedicated to spiritual practice and service that at times it kept him from being asavailable to me as I probably needed. So I and countless others hit the streets, fueled by the music of revolution, anger, angst, fear, despair, hatred, and a total dissatisfaction with the status quo. We dyed our hair or shaved our heads, we donned a new uniform to set us apart from the mindless masses of adults and brain-dead herds of kids who were going along with the lies, buying into the greatAmerican fallacy, playing sports, going to school, and listening to the awful popular music of the eighties that carried no meaningful messages and was just another symptom of the disease of apathy and materialism that plagues our society. Drugs and booze seemed to be the only effective escape from the feelings of hopelessness and despair. Many of us went directly to narcotics as teenagers. Eatingacid like it was candy and chasing speed with cheap vodka, smoking truckloads of weed, consuming gallons of cheap beer, all in a vain attempt to get numb and stay numb. We embraced a nihilistic outlook on life. Set apart from mainstream society, we were a constant target of violence and ridicule. Fighting to survive, fighting for our views and right to be different, we often found ourselves...