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ALIVE IN BUDDHA
TIME
We say we dedicate
our lives “For the benefit of all sentient
beings.” In prison, that’s a tough instruction
to follow for at least two reasons: First, it
seems that there’s very little sentience to be a
benefit for around this place—in either the
keeper or the keepee categories. Second, I
regularly must ask myself, “How can I be of
benefit to anyone, especially out there, even
practicing as mindfully as I can?” This is
especially vivid to me lately, being in the
midst of my 13th consecutive year of
lock-up. It seems pointless to think that
anything I do within the context of this place
can be of any benefit to any being, sentient or
otherwise. Maybe, on the grand abstract level,
it might be true. But on the
grind-out-a-day-at-a-time level, up close? How
could this be?
Is there a
difference between practicing to maintain one’s
personal sanity, poise and composure, and simply
sitting—as we are instructed to do—letting our
inherent basic goodness rise/emerge, sane,
poised, composed? Does it really matter? As
long as we can genuinely have a smile, a decent
word, a sense of direction or purpose, in our
daily world, there is great benefit. And
tremendous effect. I know first-hand: when I’m
grumpy, the entire world is grumpy; when I share
my brightness, I can hardly open my eyes for the
brilliance around me! Is that all there is to
it? What about engagement with the larger
world, being an agent of positive change? It
seems too simple to think that I’m already doing
that right where I am. But it’s true. Like it
or not, practicing the Dharma in prison is
DRAMATIC social engagement. Look at it: what
better place to encounter between-your-eyes
opportunities to learn to work with
impermanence, negativity, boredom, anger, or
compassion, patience, discipline …
…Meditation is THE
key to doing time successfully, as far as I’m
concerned. I still experience frustration,
anger, claustrophobic reactions to being held
inside, away from mountain meadows, rushing
streams, fresh night air, stars... yes, there’s
no question that I miss all that—dearly. But
what can I do about it? Get angry? Get
frustrated some more, and more? I think that’s
called samsara...
One of my primary
teachers, adopted simply from reading her books,
is Ven. Pema Chodron. I love her! I’ve read
everything that I have found in print. At the
end of one of the chapters in her book Start
Where You Are, she was speaking about
developing compassion and experiencing a deeper
understanding of one’s life:
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This is where the heart comes from
in this practice, where the sense of
gratitude and appreciation for our
life comes from. We become part of
the lineage of people who have
cultivated their bravery throughout
history, people who, against
enormous odds, have stayed open to
great difficulties and painful
situations and transformed them into
the path of awakening. We will fall
flat on our faces again and again,
we will continue to feel inadequate,
and we can use these experiences to
wake up, just as they did.* |
Isn’t that
wonderful? She understands. It isn’t
easy—but it is! It’s incredibly invigorating
and alive—and it scares one half to death! She
knows about the heart, and that is what I love
about her so much. Because I get tangled up in
mine so often. And that is what I want to
convey in these words, and through my entire
life. If I could leave my prison cell and trade
it for a monk’s cell for the remainder of my
life, I would do it. It’s time. The world has
nothing more to offer me—even though I love a
good pizza, a rowdy rock concert, intimate
relationships. Anything mutually exclusive
there? I don’t think so. Can I call up the
governor and ask him to commute my sentence so I
could enter a monastery? I wish! Seems like a
reasonable option for all concerned. But then,
am I not here already?
It true. Or my name
isn’t ...
Sam Sara
a/k/a
Nyingje Dorje
*
From Start Where You Are, A Guide to
Compassionate Living, by Pema Chodron,
Shambhala Publications, Boston & London, 1994.
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