Heart of the Way: Belonging
by Kukyoku
As for most of us, my early years shaped “life koans” I
still work with today. A life
koan is accepted as a struggle and
potentially great teaching that shows up repeatedly through one’s individual
lived experience. We all have them. For me it is a sense that I don’t belong.
It seems maybe each of us, as we make our way through life, grapples with finding
our place in the world and it presents itself in different ways.
When I was about 14 my parents were recently divorced and my
Catholic father somehow found his way to a Siddha Yoga ashram near where he
lived in Massachusetts. During one of our weekend visits, he introduced my
younger brother and I to chanting by sitting us down on large pillows, lighting
incense and candles, turning down the lights, and putting on a cassette tape of
the Krishna Govinda call and response chant that I still remember today. I
connected to the experience and was changed by it. Curious, I made at least one
trip to the ashram with my father to experience this in person.
Not too many years later a family member gave me a book from
the ashram on Hatha yoga which I say became my first teacher. By the time I was
through high school I had learned the entire book including all of the asana
practices, breathing techniques, philosophies, and meditations and was
practicing regularly. I still return to this practice when needing to reconnect
to my yoga practice and myself. It wasn’t until my early 20’s that I
experienced an in-person class with a teacher, who in a very short amount of
time moved away, leaving me back where I started – practicing on my own. For
the most part I was content to walk my spiritual path alone with many unanswered
questions, not realizing the importance of having a teacher. At some point it
became clear to me that I might be missing something.
Half a lifetime later of denying the inklings to teach, in
2012 I completed a standard 200-hour yoga teacher training at Kripalu. Although
I learned a lot, liked the teachers, and felt fulfilled in my experience, I
still could not connect with the tradition as one where I was truly at home.
This was a disappointment on some level so I decided that after 25 years of
actively experimenting with different spiritual traditions, I needed to pick
one. It was more a rational choice than an intuitive one that led to Buddhism.
I had already been exposed to Tibetan Buddhism and so started there. And yet
that didn’t fit either.
I learned about Taihaku and Shao Shan Temple from a dear
friend I met at the yoga studio where I was teaching in Montpelier in 2015.
After having had some not-so-great experiences and a few okay ones with
spiritual teachers I was justifiably skeptical and a little afraid. When my car
first turned towards the driveway to the temple I had a distinct thought, “This
is it.” Meeting Taihaku for the first time I looked into her wide, joyful,
penetrating eyes through her thick glasses as she took me in and was intimidated,
humbled, and yet open. Although my trust was not established right away, I knew
at least in that moment, I had found a spiritual home.
It took time for me to fully understand the connection of
myself as an individual to the Three Jewels of Buddha, Dharma, and sangha. By regularly
attending study group and participating in events and rituals, I got to know
the other people connected to the temple. The steadiness and compassion
surrounding these activities allowed me to humble myself to trust more deeply,
to practice zazen with more attention, and settle in to the process of returning,
returning, returning…. to temper my mind. I knew within a short amount of time
that I wanted to commit to whatever it was that was being offered. Finally,
this was a homecoming. I took vows with Taihaku as my teacher in 2019. Through
her guidance I was able to cultivate a sense of belonging in my practice that
carries through even during times when it feels ethereal and irrelevant. It is
a roof over my head, the earth under my feet, and a place to stay warm.
Standing on the temple porch facing west during a recent Zazenkai,
my attention was caught by the light of the setting sun. I missed Taihaku
deeply in that moment and the tears began to flow. She could be stern, her
intentions forceful, and also gently nurturing. I hear her, “Just enjoy it.” As
I took in the scenery I was, for that moment, content. Everything belongs, even
me. I’m grateful when interbeing is easily accessible so that when feelings of
separateness, grief, fear, extreme elation, and other powerful experiences
become overwhelming there is the memory of something different. Everything is
perfect. Everything is connected.
Gate gate pāragate
pārasaṃgate bodhi svāhā
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