I immigrated to New York in August 1968 and completed my Associate of Science degree at Nassau Community College on Long Island.
In 1970, I received a scholarship to attend Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute (RPI) in Upstate New York.

The winters were harsh, but I loved the beautiful foliage and landscapes of New England.
Rensselaer was very challenging academically. The educational standards were very high. I spent lots of hours studying, doing lab work and cramming for exams. I was very committed academically, trying to achieve the highest grades. My student life seemed to progress normally.

A major event occurred in my senior year. Suddenly, without any preparation and unexpectedly, I had an initial spiritual glimpse which was beyond the way my ordinary mind functioned until now.

It must have been in 1972.
One night, as I was walking on campus, going to the library, I had an out-of-body experience.
Walking in the dark, I experienced myself looking down at myself walking on campus. I was looking at myself from a distance in space. Beyond the clouds.

I was both the one in space looking down as well as the one walking. This man walking on campus was me, and this observer in space was also me. The same me. How could I be in two places simultaneously?
This immediately raised a very deep question. Which one of the two was I?

The experience was unsettling, vivid and kinesthetic.
Am I the student on campus walking towards the library, or am I this other awareness, this other perceiving being out there in space?

This was startling, and I started to explore how my mind functions. It is as if I was awakening to a mysterious internal mind. A puzzling experience that I could not bury under the rug.

At that time, we were allowed to audit various classes. My curiosity and interest in learning about my internal experience led me to auditing various classes in psychology and philosophy, seeking to get some clarity from academia. But none of the classes was resonating or providing an answer or direction. The courses I audited seemed too conceptual. They were not providing me with any clarity.
Until…

One day, I audited a class on Eastern Philosophies taught by the chairman of the humanities department, Professor John Kohler. Eastern philosophy was new material for me.

I immediately liked the teacher, John Kohler. Possibly something about his demeanor and his way of talking and smiling.
In class, he started with the Vedic scriptures, which sounded like Chinese and did not resonate for me.

And yet, I decided to continue auditing the class.
After the Vedas, John announced that the next topic of study is Buddhism and the Buddha’s teachings. I had heard about Buddhism without knowing much about it.

I did not expect what was going to unfold that first morning of lecture about Buddhism.

I remember sitting towards the back of the class, halfway listening. Prof John Kohler started the class by casually saying that the main principle of Buddhism is that there is no personal self, or something to that effect.

As these words reached my ears, I fell into a hypnotic state. Those words went right through me to the depth of my being, to my inner heart.

There is no personal self!
There is no personal entity!
Something clicked in me.

The one-hour class had just started.
I completely lost the sense of time. It felt as if the class ended even before it started. It did not last one hour. It did not last. Time collapsed.

I rushed to professor Kohler, and asked him with intensity: “Professor Kohler, somehow I understand that there is no personal self, and yet here I am. HERE I AM. Can you explain this conundrum?”

I guess my intensity must have grasped his attention. He understood the depth of my question, and invited me to meet in his office.
This was the beginning of a long and deep friendship. We would regularly meet at his office and I would share my questions and new insights. He was always present, available and interested in listening and guiding me.
John Kohler was my first and very dear mentor friend.

To a certain extent, I did not immediately and fully understand the depth of our conversations. But every time that we met, something would shift, something would be revealed. I never left empty-handed. These shifts were subtle and quite significant.
Something very precious was slowly unfolding.

I remember one day, I was walking up the hill towards his office. As I was walking, I found a small watch, a ladies watch, on the ground. I picked it up, and went to meet with him. When I told him, “John, as I was coming over to see you, I found this watch.” to which he replied: “Did you find the watch, or did the watch find you?” Something to that effect.
Of course, his question may seem silly to many. But for me, it had a deep impact. It had a deep import. Something was being shared there.
Who is the doer?
What am I?
During our numerous meetings, there were many incidents like that, many insights, many conversations where he would say something, or I would share something, and he would make a comment, and it would take me deeper into the mystery.
It felt very precious, meaningful and profound.

One night, I was with a couple of college friends on campus and we were high. A conversation started about no self, no personal self. It was a topic that was always stirring in my mind. I was on fire with this question.

As I was trying to share my questions and my understanding with my friends, there was a very profound glimpse. It was as if an energetic field came from the right side, my right side, and traveled right through me.

In that instant the whole structure of me, my whole life, my whole family, my identity, my nationality, my beliefs, my stories, my everything was seen to be empty, completely void and collapsed like a deck of cards.
And what was revealed was a glorious, joyful and majestic field of truth and clarity. I was this reality, and it was magnificent.
I experienced a great joy, gratitude and an inexpressible happiness and a sense of freedom that was beyond the mind.
I was that. I am that.

The collapse was complete and irreversible. There was a flash of understanding that left no doubt.

The answer was given to me. I don’t know what the question was. I am not even sure that I could formulate what I understood.

Later that night, in the middle of the night, I called John. It must have been two or three o’clock in the morning.
As the phone rang once, he was there, answering: ‘Hello, this is John’.
He told me he was just stepping out of the shower (at 3:00am?).
“John, I just had an amazing experience.”

And he said, “What is it?”

I realize it now. I understand now. There is no self. There’s no separate self. It collapsed. 

We met that morning. He guided me towards Zen. Zazen. I joined a local Zen center in Sharon Springs and started sitting.

It took many decades of exploration and contemplation to be fully established in this revelation. What I can say is that, after that glimpse, I was never the same. Nothing was ever the same as it was before.

While previously I was swimming on the surface of the ocean, managing the waves, now I was diving deep, deeper and deeper.

I was no longer.
The identity had cracked.
Yes. There was a body mind named Magdi. Brothers, mother, etc. Yes, there was a school curriculum.
But its rigidity and solidity had been seen through as if seeing through a mirage.
My entire focus had shifted. My reality shifted from external limited solidity to internal formless and joyful infinity.

Zen practice at Sharon Springs became my path.
I loved sitting.
Initially, it was very difficult for the body to sit in those postures. Zazen in the US was inspired by the Japanese rigid and regimented samurai tradition.
Japanese postures are painful for westerners. But in spite of the pain, I loved sitting. I did endless hours of sitting. At home, I would wake up at five or six in the morning and sit for two hours, and then sit again during the day.
I was, one could say, obsessed with sitting. I loved the silence, the stillness, the inner looking and inner contemplation that sitting (Zazen) provided. I loved going to retreats at the Rochester Zen Center (RZC).

It took me forever to finish my Master’s degree. My heart was no longer in the thesis and in the research. Thank goodness that I had a very open-minded adviser who was very patient and supportive, allowing me to complete my Master’s thesis.

In the seventies, I hitchhiked quite often. New York to Colorado. New York to Davis, California. New York to Florida. At times, hitchhiking is an inner journey, an exploration.
Life is always unfolding. I eventually married and had two kids. Then divorced and remarried.

I will speak more about my layman’s life in the next section.
A layman’s life is a fascinating and crucial part of the spiritual journey.