Buddhism's teachings have much appeal in a complicated life, but they can be a little perplexing at first, and I had initially hoped the book would provide some explicit guidance for putting its principles into practice in some way. Reading it for the first time, I kept waiting for the author to get to the - well, not to the point, because he did make the central point again and again - but to the secret, the method, the trick even - or at least, a conclusion. We expect a book, whether fiction or nonfiction, practical or fantastic, to have a logical narrative flow. If it doesn't, we think it's a bad book.

But Buddhism teaches that there is no secret trick, and, in a sense, no narrative, since there is no reality to the perceived distinction between this and that, then and now. Indeed there is no "I," no cork floating in the stream, but only stream, only thus. Shouldn't a truly Buddhist book, then, also be only stream? Buddhism counsels us to be aware when our mind is "leaning," whether it's towards something we want to have or away from something we want to avoid. If we "want" Enlightenment, if we "want" to gain something from reading a book, we've already defeated our purpose. The book, then, should not be an instrument of our "leaning" this way or that.

From the standpoint of a student of literature and child of Western culture, one of the fascinating things about Buddhism as presented in this book is its use of small words to mean big things.

Whole. Mind. See. Awake. Thus. These words refer to aspects of the same phenomenon: simply being present.

The more we search for Truth among our thoughts and beliefs, the more subject to doubt we become... Anything that can be grasped must of necessity depend on other things for their validity. Hence, they are doubtful and perplexing... Ultimate Truth...can't be countered or doubted or discounted because it is immediate, direct experience itself.

Words can never fully embody concepts. And Buddhism says concepts are artificial anyway. So words, any words, are twice removed from the Whole.

One apparent problem - for me, anyway - with Buddhism is that it seems unscientific. Of course, deity-based religions like Christianity, Judaism and Islam are also unscientific, but they can co-exist peacefully with science because they rely on faith, which by definition does not require rational or scientific proof. (In fact, it's when religion tries to pass itself off as scientific - as with "creation science" and its more insidious modern iteration, "intelligent design" - that bitter conflicts arise, with science put on the defensive by an enemy it cannot, by definition, engage, and religion - Christianity, in this case - devalued and shamed by its own professed champions.)

Buddhism, however, does not require "belief" or "faith" as such. In saying that all sensations, concepts and thoughts are artificial and unreal divisions of the Whole, it is profoundly unscientific, since science is the attempt to ascertain objective truth by studying observed phenomena.

Yet at the limits of science comes a recognition that we cannot ever completely arrive at objective truth; the best we can do is approach it asymptotically. The limits of our perception, the imperfections of our brains, will always be with us, preventing our understanding from becoming absolutely complete. So maybe Buddhism and science don't conflict so badly after all.

We have to see where we can effectively apply our effort and where we can't. When we're not seeing we'll put most, if not all, of our energy into the areas where we have no control. We'll try to control situations, people, and things over which, in fact, we have little or no influence.

So says Buddhism Plain and Simple. And science, reason, and my therapist tell me exactly the same thing.