Category Archives: Buddhism

Jun25

Tears of Rage

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Waiting near my gate at Dulles International Airport, I witnessed a distressing scene. An irate traveler was shouting at an airline employee, every sentence punctuated with at least one obscenity. Some sentences were solely obscenities connected with prepositions and pronouns, suggesting all new lyrics for the song “Conjunction Junction.” I found my attention divided between staring at this enraged man and observing how the others gathered near the gate were reacting. Like me, they wore masks of shock and embarrassment, desperate to look away but drawn to look back in morbid curiosity.

If they were anything like me, perhaps they were shocked that one person could treat another person so cruelly, so disrespectfully, so violently. At the same time, maybe they were embarrassed at recognizing the seed of that kind of behavior inside themselves, remembering times they themselves spoke harshly to another.

Apparently, he had been at the airport for a long time—I think I heard him say 10 hours. He was facing a further delay of a couple of hours, with no promise that his flight would actually take off. He stated—quite colorfully—that he did not want to spend the night in the airport. That his outbursts left the employee at the gate flustered and unable to assist him only made the traveler more furious. Of course, as in 99 percent of these situations, the employee who was the target of the traveler’s anger and expletives was in no way responsible for the traveler’s suffering and discomfort.

None of that really matters, though, does it? Those facts are poor excuses for the traveler’s behavior. There may be explanations for his behavior (unsatisfactory as they may be), but there are no excuses, as far as I’m concerned. He was, in my opinion, acting inexcusably.

The call to do no harm means more than just not killing or physically harming another being. I remember a sign at St. Mary’s Convent, in Peekskill, which explained that silence is more than just not speaking; silence also extends to actions and motions, which can be as disturbing to silence as speech. Likewise, doing no harm is not limited to refraining from physical abuse, but extends to abusive and injurious language, gestures, temperament, and thought.

Further, I believe that it is not sufficient just to do no harm. While we refrain from harm, I believe that we are called simultaneously to commit kindness—to care for and protect other beings, to seek out opportunities to help, comfort, and console.

I was relieved, admittedly, to board my plane and escape the poisoned atmosphere of the gate area. I was choked up with compassion for the airline employees (for there were three who were absorbing the traveler’s vitriol by this time). And, I was surprised to discover, with compassion for the traveler, for the pain in his life that drove him to inflict pain on others. I wondered what must be going on at his home, his job, his place of worship, to fill him with so much anger. And I loved him, just as he was, and prayed that the Buddha-nature that lives in him, like any other being, would emerge someday soon and soothe his sorrow and rage.

[Why not walk the path with me on Twitter, too? @DharmaBeginner]

Jun17

Do Buddhists Pray?

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Prayer has been central to my life for as long as I can remember. I was sustained as a Christian by two kinds of prayer—contemplative prayer, in which I would seek a quiet place alone with God, and intercessory prayer, in which I would raise up to God the concerns of family and friends. Now that I am a Buddhist, contemplative prayer has become meditation, seeking a quiet place where I can be fully aware of myself and in touch with my Buddha-nature.

But what about intercessory prayer? Friends and family are still in need; and now, as a Bodhisattva-wannabe, I’ve taken on an additional concern for all beings. Who do I pray to now? Is it praying anymore if I don’t recognize a god who can answer prayers? Should I be offering up my prayers to the universe, to nature, to Buddha? I know the answer to the last one is “no,” I’m just making a rhetorical flourish.

But these are not rhetorical questions, people! I need answers. I feel the need for an outlet for the love, compassion, and concern that I feel for others, both those I know and those I don’t. Right now, I just feel confused and uncertain. When I detect a prayer welling up inside of me, I don’t know what to do with it anymore.

What does it mean now if I pray, “I hope Joe beats the cancer that is making him so ill”? Who is listening? Am I doing him or me any good?

May2

Disappointment to Compassion in 24 Hours Flat

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In roughly the last 24 hours, I have progressed from deep disappointment to an even deeper compassion. How, you ask? (Or I hope you ask.) Well, sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip…

I have been planning for months to attend His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s conducting of the Solitary Yamantaka Initiation and a subsequent public talk on ethics and meditation. I used miles to purchase my flight, saved money for the hotel, rental car, and meals, read more than a dozen books recommended by the host, Gaden Shartse Thubten Dargye Ling monastery in Long Beach California, and spent many hours meditating and preparing to take the bodhisattva and Yamantaka vows.

The disappointment began yesterday when I drove almost two hours south to Escondido to meet my dad at one of Thich Nhat Hanh’s monasteries, Deer Park. When I arrived, the monastery’s gate was closed and no one was answering the monastery’s telephone. But most importantly, I got to spend time with my dad, who I hadn’t seen in over a year.

When I returned to Long Beach yesterday evening, I learned that due to a mechanical problem the Dalai Lama’s plane had been delayed. Personal check: feeling a little concern, but certain all would be fine. A short while later, an email arrived saying that His Holiness’ physicians had recommended that he not travel, and therefore both the initiation and the public talk were cancelled. Personal re-check: massive disappointment. No, that word is not strong enough. Not getting to see Deer Park was disappointing; this was…devastating.

I could sense at my deepest depths that disappointment was not the proper emotion to be feeling, but damned if I didn’t wail and weep and gnash teeth (figuratively, at least). To my credit, I didn’t get angry. Small victory. But I was untethered for a time, wondering what I was to take from this turn of events, momentarily entertaining the notion that His Holiness’ failure to appear was somehow the result of something I had done wrong, or maybe my unworthiness to participate in the initiation. I dismissed this in favor of briefly wondering what someone else attending the initiation had done to cause this. Meditation helped me to settle, but I drifted off bereft.

This morning I attended a replacement talk by Khen Rinpoche Jangchub Choeden, abbot of Gaden Shartse monastery in India, and the speaker Friday night. This was the first of three times today that I heard Rinpoche apologize for His Holiness not being able to make the events. Each time, he nearly brought me to tears. His humility, compassion, and heartfelt sadness for us made my face burn with shame remembering how I had reacted to the news. Bless him for helping me to turn my focus to what these events and conditions were meant to teach us.

Here’s the precious gem I found in his presentation: “The realization [of renunciation] never comes in a jackpot, but in the way you save your money day by day.” Enlightment is not a sudden and miraculous happening, but a slow and steady process. I think maybe I was trying to hit the jackpot with this trip to Long Beach. Perhaps I saw an initiation conducted by the Dalai Lama himself as a shortcut to being a bodhisattva. Much more contemplation is needed, and I’m sure there are other lessons waiting to be uncovered.

This much I am sure of: A day in which you get to hear Khen Rinpoche, Robert Thurman, and Thupten Jinpa speak can only seem anything less than stellar when you were expecting to hear the Dalai Lama. Under any other scenario, that is a major trifecta.

Throughout the course of today, the disappointment seeped away, to be replaced with compassion for people who truly have a right to be disappointed that the Dalai Lama could not be here:

– The volunteers who have worked so hard over the past four days and more, and were looking forward to a welcome reception with His Holiness

– The organizers of these events, who have devoted so much time and resources to planning and implementing them

My heart is filled with love and compassion for them, not to mention gratitude for everything they have done. This weekend may not have been what I expected, but it certainly was nevertheless very special, in no small part because of their effors and their relentlessly high spirits despite the disappointment they must be feeling.

But it was Professor Thurman who really drove the message home. At a lunch for sponsors, he said something to the effect that the Dalai Lama carries all of the suffering of Tibet in his heart, so he’s entitled to have a sore throat and get an extra day of rest. Indeed. And then, at the afternoon talk, Dr. Thurman very gently launched this explosive device: “We’re missing the Dalai Lama [today]; how do you think the Tibetan people feel?”

Wow. My heart, already brimming with compassion, burst at that point. If the lovely woman next to me, Rhonda, noticed my sniffling and tears, she was kind enough not to mention it. That puts it all in perspective, doesn’t it? I didn’t have His Holiness for one day; they haven’t had him in their midst for over 50 years.

I think I can make it a little longer without being in his presence. Though I don’t have to, because he’s already in mine, occupying my mind, filling my heart. As Professor Thurman put it, in his inimitable style, “Stop moping about him not being present; he is present in your lives, every day.”

Apr3

What kind of Buddhist am I?

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I’m not sure that I realized until a couple of years ago that there are various sects of Buddhism. It didn’t occur to me that Buddhism wasn’t just a single, undivided religion. My perspective was evidently limited; I mean, I was well aware of the fact that Judaism had multiple branches, so why wouldn’t Buddhism have fractures somewhat in the 2,500 years since the Buddha awoke?

When I first became aware that there was more than one type of Buddhism, it seemed to me that Buddhist sects were as plentiful as the denominations of Christianity. I was mistaken (gasp!) on that point as well. As it turns out, the variety of names used to describe the same schools of Buddhism makes them seem more numerous that they really are. Theravada is the Lesser Vehicle is Hinayana, for instance (though I understand that Hinayana is a pejorative that is little used in common parlance). My limited understanding tells me that there are three schools of Buddhism—Mahayana, Theravada, and Vajrayana—though Vajrayana is really an offshoot of the Mahayana school. Vajrayana is alternatively referred to as Tibetan Buddhism and Tantric Buddhism. And within Vajrayana there are the Kagyu, Gelug, New Kadampa, Nyingma, Sakya… *Sigh* See what I mean?

So why does any of this really matter? After all, it took me years to realize I was a Buddhist in the first place; wouldn’t it have made sense to live with that epiphany for a time before trying to refine myself into a specific kind of Buddhist?

At the same time that I was coming to understand I was a Buddhist, I was feeling a keen need for community. A couple of years of study and meditation solidified my association with the Buddha and rooted my spirituality in the Dharma (truth, in Sanskrit, I believe), the collection of Buddhist teachings. The third of the Three Jewels—the Sangha or community—was absent, however, and the solitary spiritual exploration I had worn for more than two years was beginning to look a bit threadbare. My religion may have changed, but the basic human need to belong, to be with others similarly minded, was not.

Don’t keep us on the edge of our seats, Dean! Tell us what happened next. Okay, you dragged it out of me. I did what any semi-compulsive (semi?) academic researcher would do—I scoured the Internet. Seriously, I googled “Buddhism New York.” Did you know there are, like, a bajillion Buddhist monasteries and centers in New York? Not a million, not a billion—a bajillion. How to sift through the multitudes? The first cut was pragmatic—it needed to be relatively near to my home, so I could actually visit and participate in the community. Otherwise, I could just have affiliated myself with Thich Nhat Hanh’s Plum Village in France. (Turns out, Thây has a center in New York, too—Blue Cliff Monastery—though it’s a bit too far away.)

The next cut turned out to be simpler than expected. My focus centered on Tibetan sects almost exclusively. There’s just something about Tibet, isn’t there? It has drawn me in, tugged at my heart, for decades. The precariousness of the life of occupation, the plight of the exiles, the depth of the people’s spirituality in the face of adversity, the majesty of the Himalayas, the charisma of His Holiness, the 14th Dalai Lama. All of these things had occupied my mind, commanded my concern, stoked my moral outrage, long before I had an inkling I would be a Buddhist. The depth of the Tibetan people’s spirituality and fortitude in the face of adversity convinced me that they must know something that I should learn.

Compassion is a common foundation of all Buddhism, though I sensed a particularly strong devotion in Tibetan Buddhism to showing compassion to all beings, to seeking enlightenment not out of self-interest but in order to benefit others. Could it be a coincidence that I had been raised to believe that very thing?

From that point on, the results of the search were in the hands of serendipity. Somehow, some way, I settled on Kagyu Thubten Chöling, a monastery in the Karma Kagyu lineage in Wappingers Falls. (Karma Kagyu is but one of several branches of Kagyu. If I had been pressed, I couldn’t have distinguished one from the other.) I became a member and shortly afterwards signed up for KTC’s Dharma Path program to formalize my education in the Dharma. Last weekend, I was fortunate to see KTC’s abbot and guru, Lama Norlha Rinpoche, give a talk. Lama Norlha Rinpoche is getting old and has been ill in recent years, so I am told; he moves slowly, monks and nuns nearby to assist him if needed. Frail though he may be, he radiates peace and holiness, a palpable sense of wisdom, compassion, strength, love. I can honestly say that I would have done anything he asked from the moment I first saw him.

Can’t explain it; don’t need to.

That afternoon, Lama Norlha Rinpoche conducted a Buddha Amitabha empowerment; an empowerment is a ceremony in which the guru initiates his followers into the practice of a given tantric deity. I understood going in that participation in the empowerment required taking refuge. I thought that meant that one had to have taken refuge in the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha, which I had. I learned upon arriving that it was more formal, an actual formal offering of refuge by Lama Norlha Rinpoche. He offered to take responsibility for guiding my spiritual growth and protecting me, and I gratefully accepted, along with 20 or so others.

When I boarded the train in Tarrytown that morning to attend the event, I had no clue that the afternoon would end in so moving a fashion. The lightest touch of his fingers on my head left me feeling shaky for a couple of hours, like I had mainlined pure caffeine. Long after my jangling nerves had settled down, through this very moment, I still feel the warmth of realizing my journey toward enlightenment was no longer a solitary trek. I’m in community. The Sangha includes me.

Mar13

Fear of the unknown

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“People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

A recent sports story involving Ohio State football coach Jim Tressel intrigues me. The key parts of the story are, as I understand them:

  1. he was notified a year ago that some of his players, including the team’s star quarterback. may have violated NCAA rules by selling their team-related memorabilia
  2. he chose at that time not to report what he had been told or to otherwise act on it, perhaps because he feared the players would be suspended, undermining a season in which many were predicting Ohio State would win the national title
  3. the possible violations were ultimately revealed and the players were suspended for several games, at which time he claimed not to have been previously aware of the situation, and
  4. more recently the whole story came to light, Tressel was fined and suspended by Ohio State, and likely faces additional fines and suspension from the NCAA.

I don’t pretend to understand why Jim Tressel chose not to pass that initial tip along to Ohio State’s compliance officer right away, but the situation has the ring of familiarity. Who knows what the effect on the team’s chances might have been if Tressel had reported what he knew right away? It is certain, however, that the ramifications would have been far less than they will ultimately be—a multi-game suspension and $250,000 fine for Tressel, both of which will likely be augmented by the NCAA, and possibly sanctions for the university itself (voided wins, lost scholarships, and so on). The delusion that this potentially bad situation would simply disappear if he ignored it has already cost Tressel over a quarter of a million dollars of his own money (when you factor in lost salary during the suspension) and his reputation.

How many times do we choose to ignore potentially bad news because we are afraid of what we may find out if we acknowledge it? The simple answer, I think, is “a lot.” Maybe everyday.

Warning signs flash all around us—a rattling in our car, a pain in a limb, constant fatigue, a child’s declining grades. All too often, my inclination is to look away and hope that, when my attention drifts back in that direction, the offending omens will have vanished. But they almost never do. The rattling becomes a seized engine. The pain becomes a heart attack. The fatigue becomes metastatic cancer. The falling grades become an arrest for under-age drinking.

I knew someone who, for years and years, hardly ever went to the doctor. He had a relatively minor ailment that he was scared was something very serious, and refused to discuss it with his doctor. Then he was rushed to the hospital in pain and, in the span of one weekend, he was gone. Turns out, had he received treatment for the ailment any time in the last few years, he would still be alive. He feared that he might be seriously ill, and in fear he tried to hide from his imagined illness.

Worse yet, I think I had an inkling that he was ill, and said nothing. Maybe I was hoping it would just go away, afraid to find out that he might be sick; that if I asked, then he might tell me he was dying.

Pema Chödrön is so wonderfully reassuring on this topic, her most recent book being Taking the Leap: Freeing Ourselves from Old Habits and Fears. As did her teacher, Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, Pema speaks of awakening bodhicitta and becoming “warriors of nonaggression who hear the cries of the world.” Bodhicitta (or bodhichitta), as I understand it, is tantamount to our inherent ability to love, our deep-seated need to love in order to realize our Buddha nature, our overpowering compassion for all living beings. Bodhicitta is at the heart of the bodhisattva way of life, a life devoted to achieving enlightenment in order to ease the suffering of others.

In Comfortable with Uncertainty: 108 Teachings on Cultivating Fearlessness and Compassion, Pema writes: “A warrior accepts that we can never know what will happen to us next. We can try to control the uncontrollable by looking for security and predictability, always hoping to be comfortable and safe. But the truth is that we can never avoid uncertainty.”

In other words, hiding is a delusion; it is not actually possible. When we try to hide, we do not manage to avoid contact with illness, accidents, discomfort, painful emotions, or unpleasant situations.

The only things we actually avoid—in the process of trying to hide from our fear—are opportunities to show love and compassion to others, the kind of contact we most desperately need.

Mar6

All gestures great and small

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Who could fail to be impressed by the $10 billion donation made by Bill and Melinda Gates to fund the development of vaccines for AIDS, TB, pneumonia, and other illnesses? Even for someone as wealthy as the Gates, that is an inspiring act of charity and compassion.

You know what inspires me even more?

  • The person who bends over to pick up the umbrella dropped by a frail, elderly woman in the supermarket, handing it to her with a smile that fairly well beamed, “I’d be happy to pick it up again 100 more times.”
  • The person who overhears an offhand remark about some item a coworker needs, leaves the office to obtain the item, and places it on the coworker’s desk without a word and, seemingly, without a second thought as to whether anyone would know what she did or whether she would ever be thanked for it.
  • The person who sits at an empty table in the lunch room, rather than at the last open seat at another table, so that the next person to arrive would not have to sit alone.
  • The person who risks the wrathful horns of the line cars behind her in order to allow pedestrians to cross the street.
  • The man in the business suit who stops to help the stranded driver change a flat tire.

I don’t have any links to offer that lead to CNN coverage of those everyday acts of love. Look around and see them for yourself, taking place right before your eyes, “live on the scene,” so to speak.

This morning in yoga class, I unrolled my mat next to the pole in the middle of the studio. I’ve never seen the 8 am Sunday class so packed, and was grateful for it. The more people following this practice I so love, the happier I am.

Fifteen minutes into the class, though, after repeatedly hitting the pole with my hand, then contorting to avoid hitting said pole at the beginning and end of each sun salutation, my focus was shredding and I momentarily considered rolling up my mat and leaving. Mirijana is one of my favorite yoga teachers (at Club Fit or anywhere else), in no small part because of her gentle attentions and kindnesses as she wanders the studio. (Maybe it’s just me, but I tingle when, deep in a pose, I hear my yoga teacher softly say, “Beautiful.”)

Mirijana quickly noticed my distress and suddenly a fellow practitioner in front of me was offering to switch places. Gratitude welled up at her gesture, and continues to warm my heart and lump my throat at this very moment. I’m unsure of her name (Sue, maybe?), am certain that she does not know mine, and therefore am all the more touched. It was evident after class, as I thanked her repeatedly, that her offer of her uncluttered patch of hardwood in exchange for my metal pole was made without hesitation. I have no doubt that she would have done the same for anyone, perhaps completely unaware of just how loving and compassionate she was being.

Five minutes after changing places, I was in triangle pose, my focus returning, big smile spreading across my face. I can’t imagine I smiled any bigger when I heard about the Gates’ big donation.

Mar6

Becoming

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It was not until a few months ago that I first called myself a Buddhist. Yes, I’m a bit slow on the uptake. In retrospect it would seem I’ve been a Buddhist for a couple of years at least.

After more than 40 years as a “cradle Episcopalian,” it dawned on me that my personal theology had…um…strayed from the orthodox. Yes, that’s a nonjudgmental way to describe it. More importantly, my Christian religious practice as a whole was not feeding me the way it used to. The social aspect of worship, the singing, the prayerfulness still spoke to me, but my core spirituality was steadily becoming malnourished. Eventually, I was no longer receiving the essential spiritual nutrients to even make the effort to attend church.

I know now that my shift from Christianity to Buddhism was taking place at that time. Eastern spiritual practices—primarily Buddhist in origin, but also Hindu—first became a part of my Christian prayer life in my early 20s, as I was testing a calling to enter seminary and become a priest. Thomas Merton was my primary teacher, introducing me to the priceless value of meditation, but there also were Bede Griffiths and Basil Pennington. These great teachers helped to deepen my prayer life, to become a better Christian through the use of Buddhist and Hindu practices. I continue to cherish their tutelage.

The change in my life did not end there; an internal transformation continued unnoticed and unabated. You might say the percentage of me that was Buddhist grew as the Christian part diminished.

Figuratively at least, the crossover took place a couple of years ago and I became a Buddhist. I resisted calling myself one at that time. Not that I was resistant to being a Buddhist; I was reluctant to call myself anything. There was no desire to rush from shedding one label, only to slap on a different label. But my study and practice took off, and what had been a slow, steady shift in my spirituality became a tidal wave. Coming as it did at the same time that my divorce was finalized, my house was sold and Hayley and I moved to a new home, and the great love of my life, my dearest Whitney, was rediscovered…well, the change was breathtaking.

“I take refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the spiritual community until I reach enlightenment.”

I had seen the words of taking refuge in the Three Jewels, or words very similar, countless times before realizing this past fall that I had, in fact, already taken refuge in the Buddha and the Dharma. And I was actively looking for a Sangha or Buddhist community at that time (a tale for another campfire). They were never just words again for me, henceforth spoken from the heart and not just the mouth. They encapsulate what makes me a Buddhist.

“Buddhist” is not a label I need to wear. It is simply one that fits.

Mar2

Beginnings

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Perhaps it is presumptuous to consider sharing my thoughts about walking the path toward enlightenment. Barely a few steps having been taken, what meager signpost would this blog be? Holding the map in my hand, I have yet to more than peek inside the cover.

Nevertheless, there is a well of eagerness deep inside to share what I am learning, to add what little insight I can, and to offer it up to anyone meant to see it. These musings are offered out of love and compassion and a wish that others should share the joy I have received in studying the Dharma.

Contradictions?

There is much to cherish about being a beginner at anything. Yes, it is challenging. We know so little, so much is unknown, and the unknown can be disconcerting, even scary.

Being a beginner can be freeing, on the other hand. There is so much to explore, without preconception or bias. We wander where the Dharma leads us. The excitement of newness pervades.

But what if mistakes are made? What if the Dharma is misunderstood? What if…?

What harm could possibly be done, knowing so little? To paraphrase a quotation, “If knowledge of the Dharma were gunpowder, I wouldn’t have enough to blow my nose.”

Were this being kept private, it would be easy to agree that there is little harm. But blogging is not private, is it?

Agreements

No, I don’t think these are contradictions, these alternate aspects of experience. Learning to ride a bike is simultaneously frightening and exhilarating. Practicing the Dharma can feel the same way.

Think of a toddler taking her first steps. Wobbly, unconfident, but determined. Each step seems to carry the potential for calamity, a crash, tears. Isn’t your heart in your throat as you watch? And each step is an experience of joy, visibly spreading across her face in a boundless grin and twinkling eyes, audibly gurgling up as laughter. Doesn’t your heart swell with love in your chest as you watch?

Beginner-hood feels wholesome. It seems like a proper way to approach the Dharma, to approach being. It feels like something to be strived for.

Is it consistent with what the Buddha taught? Who knows? Not me, not yet anyway. Doubtless, the answer will come eventually. I mean, I’ve only taken a few steps so far. Was I expecting to have nailed it all already?