When the Buddha calls, write him a letter.

  Trading my weekly dip into the inner world for hours of screen time, I'll make up for it by ticking away on the keyboard again. Instead of going to meditation tonight, I spent precious Sunday moments first by watching an it-that-shall-not-be-named Scottish dramedy on Nextflix. Then, I watched "The Power of Ideas," Episode 2 in PBS's The Story of India, which covers shifting political tides during the life of the Buddha and his influence on our world today.

  Tonight I was reminded that the Buddha and his sutras have traveled a long way to our weekly dharma sit in the Unitarian Church in San Francisco. Now, decades after a few east-coast Jewish intellectuals ventured to his homeland, some of whom have become idols themselves in California, I will make my own way to India.

  For the past two summers I traveled to Asia, a place I'd previously discounted as a travel destination. Full disclosure, for Trip #1: I was allured by photos of the amazing beaches in Thailand, and then for Trip #2: I received an unexpected invitation to apply for a teachers' program (Note: I'm not even a teacher). And now, Trip #3, I'm traveling to the land of the Buddha, on purpose. I want to meditate there. I want to trek through mist in the foothills of the Himalayas. I want to roam around India's sacred sites, eat its food and drink its chai.

  Over the past two years my interest and knowledge of Buddhism has grown. I was first introduced to the Buddha's legacy on a 10-day Vipassana course in Thailand (Trip #1, 2013) and made more deeply aware of his cross-cultural influences during a visit to the revered Mogao Caves in China (Trip #2, 2014). Having meditated on and off for over a decade, I decided I wanted to do the full 10-day Vipassana course during my time in Thailand, after the beaches and elephant riding. I was relatively unaware of Buddhist teachings or that the course would focus on Buddhist practice and terminology. I'll spare you the details of my own personal journey during that retreat, but it suffices to say that after the 6th or 7th day (I'm not sure, as time blended), I had a brief and transformative period of blackness, weightlessness, and emptiness that offered a glimpse into the depths of where practice could take me. This crash course, experientially and didactically, prepped me for the ongoing weekly sits at SF Insight, where I had a context for terms like dana, dharma, sutra, dukkah, and panya. Following my return, I began to read about vipassana practice and the suttas and continue to meditate more regularly on my own.

  I am excited and yet trying not to plan too much for the trip, to allow for the joys and tribulations we will undoubtedly face. But before I tread over roots that spread under ancient Indian soil, I'd like to write The Buddha a letter.

 

  Dear Buddha,

  Hello from 2015, where I can watch you on Amazon.com and blog about you in my pajamas. I know you're not into all that apotheosizing crap, but I want to give you a simple thank you. Thank you for being a courageous model for what it looks like to take a deep look at your actions and live in accordance with your values. I embrace this image in hopes of emboldening myself to make my own courageous steps to be kinder and wiser.

  Thank you for your teachings, whatever they were. I find that I let my own curiosity wonder about what YOU really said or really did, even though I think the gist has survived: every living being will suffer, will die, and with our gift of awareness we'll be able to let it wash over us. Your belief in yourself, those around you, and in each of us living after you, to be able to seek our own truth strengthens my resolve to continue to practice.

  I'm not the kind of person who accepts what people tell me. If for some reason you need to verify, I invite you to ask my parents, who have 32 years of evidence. To share one example from my early mediation days, I astonished several fellow retreat-goers when I walked out during the gurupurnima. Even at 22 years old, I felt an aversion to this seemingly fabricated notion of idolatry. Later I discovered, it is believed, that you also rejected this type of senseless worship and instead favored a faith in each of us as our own curious observers.

  Thank you for sustaining this curiosity, for the ambiguity and seemingly contradictory aspects of your teaching. To have faith in each person's ability to access the truth, and yet distance herself from identification with the self; to witness the experience of suffering, and yet avoid passivity in the face of injustice; to avoid attachment and seek enlightenment. I wonder if you ever felt a leaning toward enlightenment or if you'd never considered it until the moment you suddenly experienced it. 

  To be honest, I let my own ego get the best of me more than I'd like to admit, like when I said to myself, "I wonder when I'll be enlightened?" Or better yet, "maybe I already am enlightened or on that path at least." I feel shy to expose my moments of self-inflation. I feel worse thinking of times I've hurt people with my words or thoughts. I even worry that writing this letter is somehow blasphemous. I even preemptively feel embarrassed that I somehow missed the boat, and anyone reading this would think, wow, she really doesn't get it? While I cannot shirk responsibility for any wrong behavior and don't plan on taking up some other precepts by living in monastery, I also cannot wear my own guilt and shame like shackles. I'm human, and I find comfort knowing that once you were, too. When I'm on a meditation cushion, and I make little jokes to myself, conjure up my next travel plans, work out my interpersonal conflicts, or try in vain to keep my left foot from falling asleep, I sometimes crack a little internal smile wondering if you had your own 5th century B.C. version of this. 

  I also wonder amidst all the insights and wisdom you experienced during meditation, how did you turn it into something you could teach? I wonder about what you kept private and why. I wonder if you ever felt good about your progress as a teacher or if you had moments of self-doubt. I question if it's ok to allow myself to feel excited about my growth and insights and even entertain the notion that I'd like to teach someday.

 Throughout my travels, I've seen hundreds, maybe thousands, of images of you, and I like to believe that's not really you, but someone's idea of who they want to revere. I like to think of you as a friend from another era. Like so many others I allow myself to enjoy this image I've created of you: wise, gentle, kind, open, intelligent, and quiet. In the absence of a response from the enlightened afterlife, I will continue to try to observe reality for myself.

  From me to you with love, Elaine

Dark matter

Each December Jesus and I celebrate another birthday, and shortly thereafter, the passing of another Gregorian year. Per usual in the warm sun on the beach in Naples, I sat with my journal on my lap to reflect. I’ll spare you the drama-filled fruits of that labor, and instead share some thoughts I’ve had since. Also, because I managed to skip 2014 entirely, I decided an entry was due to the blogosphere. Tonight I sit in the crowded waiting area of New York’s JFK Airport with my laptop, right here, on my lap. NYC still proves to be a fascinating place that I’m thrilled and terrified by. In a nameless bagel shop the face of the old Jewish man donning a kippah/yamaka clipped onto his almost absent, orange-colored hair reminds me of loneliness. An impassioned sound bite, “…decent to one another…,” from a middle-aged black woman to a much older white woman, touches my heart. I’m reminded of the humor surrounding the inimitable life in NYC from a knowing glance, followed by a half-smile between two strangers on the M86 bus as they remove their fogged glasses, steamed with rain and heat. As an outsider I feel the raw experience of humanity here, and it’s no wonder that it has always been a place of writers, artists, lovers, rich and poor, young and old, stylish and plain. I always feel good to get away, even if each moment may not feel good. When I’m outside of my day-to-day, I tend to dig deeper into my darkness, and sometimes unveil difficult feelings I’ve left unattended. Other times, I am able to unlock a sense of joy that has lain dormant. I always return having changed a little. I may feel renewed after experiencing inspiration or deep rest. I may feel relieved to be back home after a challenging emotional encounter. After this quick trip, I’m feeling edgy and still in need of a break. December felt full and yet uneventful. It was my first birthday that I just let pass. We rode a scooter all around town, visiting the sights of our remarkable city and ate homemade chili in my kitchen. Christmas and New Years came and went with little more than a family meal and a fireworks show. January, however, has descended with a bang. The annual burst of anxiety about the status of my current life choices beckons an oppressive onslaught of rhetorical questions: shouldn’t I be farther along? Happier in my relationships? More at ease with myself? This anxiety is followed a most unwelcome and embarrassing, almost ferocious anger. The intensity swallows up the cordial, easygoing parts of my personality and nudges out any hopes of restful nights. Even new episodes of Downton Abbey aren’t enough to soothe my soul. Visceral shame tugs at my gut. My heart swells with worry. I wonder if maybe I'm just not cut out for this kind of work, or worse, that sustained contentment in a relationship is out of my reach. My mind, however, takes charge, reminding my body to breathe deeply and to remember that it’s only temporary. P.S. On our visit this weekend to the Museum of Natural History we saw the show "Dark Matter" at the Hayden Planetarium, hence the chosen title. Nothing like a little ride through outer space to ground you in the present.