Author’s Preface

P
assage to nirvana is a different kind of story. It is a memoir,
but not just a memoir; a collection of essays, but not just a
collection of essays; a treasury of Zen teachings, yet not just a
treasury of Zen teachings; a sailor’s yarn, yet not just a simple
sailor’s tale spun over a glass of rum. The story ranges far and wide,
covering many themes: Traumatic Brain Injury, divorce, sailing, Zen,
love, compassion, poetry, hope, family, kids, dogs…. Except the story
is about more than Traumatic Brain Injury, divorce, sailing, Zen, love,
compassion, poetry, hope, family, kids and dogs. “Passage to Nirvana”
is about the poetry of living.
At its core, the story is about healing, it’s about what happens when
everything that defines you, everything you are, is totally, completely
stripped away. “Passage to Nirvana” is about finding a path to happiness
after a traumatic life event. The title’s acronym PTN could just as eas-
ily stand for finding a path to “Post-Trauma Nirvana,” a path that will
confront all of us at one point in our lives, whether we’re affected by
the death of a loved one, a divorce, or an extreme physical trauma­— an
accident, a debilitating addiction or a life-threatening disease.
The book is a work of nonf iction, based on real life experi-
ences. Even though much of the story revolves around two traumatic

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brain injuries, there is little discussion of parts of the brain, modern

neuroscience, neurotransmitters and other state-of-the-art medical
understanding. There are plenty of other good books on those sub-
jects. Instead, using art instead of science, the book conveys what it
feels like to live with a Traumatic Brain Injury, or care for someone
with a Traumatic Brain Injury. The story gives a sense of the struggle,
the darkness, and the joy of finally finding a path out of that darkness.
“Passage to Nirvana” is an artist’s expedition of discovery into the
mysterious oceans of the human mind.
“Passage to Nirvana” is not a conventional narrative. A voyage to
nirvana is not easy; the passagemaker moves forward in fits and starts,
is sometimes driven backwards by howling storms, and is sometimes
becalmed in maddening, airless doldrums. The voyager’s route can
fetch up against impassable reefs so they must double back and set a new
course. “Passage to Nirvana” mimics that process. Part I, “Prologue:
A Journey Begins,” is an introduction that lays the framework and sets
the course for the journey, providing keel, ribs, fasteners, planks, charts,
parallel rules and compass. Part II, “The Book of Po,” finishes the fit-
ting out and puts to sea, providing the necessary equipment: sails, masts,
paint, winches, ropes, anchors, caulking, bunks, portholes and hatches
for gazing at the sky, provisions for nourishment and sustenance. “The
Book of Po” is the log of the voyage.
Part III, “Bricolage,” is like fine adornment: varnish, brass lamps,
decorative rope work, cinnamon and nutmeg in the coffee, things
that give the voyage another layer of enjoyment. Some people consider
these components essential enhancement, while others consider them
unnecessary, extra ornamentation. Personally, I consider man’s urge to
expand his world to be an fundamental need. As my father often quoted
to me, “Variety is the spice of life.”
“The Book of Po,” is designed so that one can read sequentially,
like a conventional memoir, or by titles that catch one’s fancy, such as
“New England Nirvana” or “Lover’s Lament,” since each chapter is a
self-contained essay. The chapters are like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle;
by putting them together the picture will slowly come into focus, but
there is no “right” order in putting together the pieces.
If you have ever talked to a brain-injured person, you know it can
be a frustrating, challenging experience, with the level of frustration

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dependant on the degree of the person’s injury. The brain injury sur-
vivor can get angry, can say inappropriate things; they sometimes have
trouble focusing on the conversation and sticking with any one thread
of thought. They can just stop in the middle of the conversation, lost, or
they can simply be slow on the uptake. “Passage to Nirvana” mimics
not only the course of a path to nirvana, but also the way the traumatic-
brain-injured-mind works, having trouble concentrating on one thing
for any length of time, jumping from unruly shaped puzzle piece to
unruly piece, dancing back and forth from the present moment to
memories to future possibilities and back again, searching for a way to
make sense of the chaos.
But dealing with a brain-injured person can also be an immensely
rewarding experience. The brain-injured person can be thankful,
upbeat, just happy to be alive. They often operate without guile or
falsehood. There can be an energy around them that is infectious. For
the “normal” person who is dealing with a brain injury survivor, one
usually needs to bring an attitude of patience and compassion, other-
wise you may be driven crazy. Coming face to face with a brain-injured
person can be an experience that teaches you about yourself. “Passage
to Nirvana” mimics that odyssey as well.
I had a philosophy teacher in high school whose classroom had a
clock on the front wall that had stopped working. She refused to call
maintenance, saying that since she taught existentialism, having a class-
room where normal rules didn’t apply, where time stood still, fit right
in. I feel the same way about “Passage to Nirvana.” It does not follow
the “normal” rules for how a book should behave. This difference can
be exasperating, it can be challenging, but it can also be enlightening,
forcing you to slow down and rethink your assumptions. Since this is
a story about existence, having a narrative that operates without guile,
that relishes the joy of being alive, that energetically jumps forward,
backwards and then sometimes stands perfectly still while it makes
sense of the chaos is not a thing that needs fixing.

–Lee Carlson, March 2010