Tucked behind Golden Gate Park, where stretches of the Avenues hardly subdue the Friday night energy of the city’s center, a fierce-looking crowd starts to gather on the corner of Third and Fulton. Heavily-inked arms and necks creep out of beat-up leather jackets and vintage concert tees. There are mohawks, pierced faces and even some gold teeth. Vinny Ferraro is the group’s leader, and once he arrives, the crowd mobilizes. They follow him inside, completely filling the venue with more than 80 heads. The crowd quickly takes their places on straight-backed chairs or small circular cushions on the floor. The gnarly looking punks hang on Ferraro’s words, even imitate his slow, steady breathing. Pretty soon, the Friday night session is under way, and the space hums with the meditative silence of the Dharma Punx.

Far from your typical Noe Valley yoga crowd, this loyal group of former fast-living punk rockers claim to have found an enlightened path through the practice of Buddhism and meditation. Inspired by the now-notorious Noah Levine, former druggie, ex-con and all around SF punk, who finally turned clean and sober after turning down the Eight Fold Path, scenesters are finding a way to grow old gracefully by giving up the brain-melting narcotics and still staying true to the music. The lifestyle offers both salvation and stylish inclusion, and made its founder, Levine, one rich gutter punk.

The Book
Buddhism’s First Noble Truth states that all life is suffering.

By age 10, Levine was a veritable chemist in the realm of hardware store highs. The euphoric dizziness brought on by sniffing paint thinner and engine cleaner were suitable distractions from his drugged-up mother and an abusive stepfather. Levine spent his youth in a self-induced haze of drugs and alcohol, at punk shows and in and out of court hearings, usually topped off with month-long stints in juvenile hall. Levine raged against authority, especially that of his father, Stephen A. Levine, a best-selling Buddhist author and a renowned teacher of meditation practice. Spirituality was the last thing Levine expected to save his life.

At the suggestion of his father, Levine tried some simple meditation techniques during a particularly low emotional period while in lock down. Despite his inclination to resist his father’s words, Levine found that the meditation helped to bring his mind into the present moment. Levine says that it was in recognition of the present experience of being that he found some freedom from the regret of the past and the fear of the future.

In his eyes, the union of punk rock and Buddhism practice made perfect sense. In 2003, Levine published “Dharma Punx,” a memoir that follows a despairing and self–destructive kid through his spiritual realizations and onto an existence of guru-like status among those who have read his book and seen the light.

The Converts
Buddhism’s Second Noble Truth states that suffering is caused by craving and aversion.

Urban Dharma meets at 7:30 p.m. every Friday night at the Cultural Integration Fellowship. While Friday night seems like an unlikely time for silence and introspection, Ferraro says that’s part of the reason he chose it.

“Are you really down for it, or are you just down for it when it’s convenient?” wonders Ferraro, who leads the Friday night sessions. Tonight it is packed. There are no more open chairs, and despite the rain, people continue to file in throughout the first hour. After a brief talk, Ferraro rings the bell and the room goes silent. Meditation lasts 40 minutes. The only company one has to keep during that time is one’s own thoughts. And for many in this group, it is not a pleasant exchange.

John Bullen was a drug addict and an alcoholic. As a kid, he went through the kind of shit that might make sobriety, let alone focused introspection, a living hell. He embraced punk rock for its undeniable current of dissatisfaction.

But, as for others in the punk movement, dissatisfaction led to utter self-destruction. Bullen was given Levine’s book while in treatment for addiction.

“Punk and Buddhism, it’s the same message; to go against the stream, to stay awake,” says Bullen, who believes that the group’s strong demographic of former druggies, criminals and punks revolves around a common thread.

“People who have spent their lives suffering are better able to face their suffering and question it – which is what Buddhism asks you to do,” says Bullen.

But not everyone in the room has a rap sheet, and you don’t need a Mohawk or a neck tattoo to be let in the door. And while most people can do the partying after getting serious with meditation, the leaders of the groups emphasize that Buddhism is not about rules or telling people what to do.

“Buddhism doesn’t tell you to stop believing in something that you believe in,” says Zack Hilty, 26.

Hilty was inspired by reading Levine’s book and went online to do some more research on the group. He started going to Urban Dharma two and a half years ago, and while he never sought treatment for drug or alcohol abuse, he says that once he got involved with the practice of meditation, the drinking and drug use just didn’t fit into his life anymore.

“When you start to question your suffering, you tend to not be the person who pushes away,” Hilty says. “I stopped blaming other people for what was going on with me.”

Yet coming to terms with his suffering doesn’t mean he has nothing to yell about. Hilty still plays with punk bands across the Bay Area, including Shield Your Eyes and Ghost of Glory.

The people in this group relate because of the ways in which they have suffered in their lives, and how they are dealing with it today.

“Suffering and devotion are connected. In India, I’ve never seen so much devotion,” says Ferraro. “God is dead in this country. We’re too comfortable.”

The Crew
Buddhism’s third truth is that suffering can be overcome and happiness can be attained; that true happiness and contentment are possible.

Noah Levine came of age with kids who have stories that mirror his own. They raged together during the peak of the punk rock movement and stood together as objects of cultural curiosity upon entering Buddhist temples in India. With the success of the book and a screenplay in the works, Levine spends less time in the Bay Area and depends on these friends to help lead the Dharma Punx movement. Ferraro now runs the group in San Francisco. He is goateed and tattooed and speaks in a low, raspy whisper. At first glance, he may look out of place seated cross-legged on a pink cushion at the Cultural Integration Fellowship. The way his black hoodie hangs out above his forehead, as he rings the bell signaling the start of mediation, makes him look almost monk-like. Ferraro, who has known Levine for more than 15 years and whose life has followed a similar script, developed a loyal following second only to that of Levine.

He doesn’t remember the music and the movement as much as the misery.

“We were punks because we beat people’s asses. All we knew about was destruction,” Ferraro says.

The Dharma Punx give young people who look like them and grew up like them a spiritual scene they can relate to. Ferraro says that, as a kid, his impression of Buddhists was of upper class white folks trying to find some peace before they checked out. “And I was the one robbing their stereos while they were meditating,” says Ferraro.

Jason Murphy leads the Young People’s Meditation in Santa Cruz. The group has about 20 regulars each week, and usually a handful of people who are just checking things out. Murphy has ‘Dharma Punx’ tattooed on his wrists. He got clean in 1987, and like many others, it wasn’t a light from above that that led the way; it was a straight up ultimatum.

“I had a choice to be clean and sober or go to prison for seven and a half years,” Murphy says. He is not mystified at why the movement has taken off, and why these angry, inked-up kids find solace in the silence of meditation.

“Most people come to Buddhist practice out of dissatisfaction,” Murphy says.

The names Noah, Vinny and Jason are evoked almost religiously amongst those who self-identify as Dharma Punx. Their icon-like status is undeniable and, Ferraro insists, undeserved.

“I just get to ring the bell, lead the group – but I am not the fucking dharma. The only robes I’m wearing are the ones I steal from the Hilton,” he says with a natural defiance.

Really?

Ferraro chuckles and says no, he’s totally against taking someone else’s property. But there’s no karma lost in maintaining a sense of humor.