Finding the Dharma (Part 2)
The Flotation Device I Never Thought I Would Need
Once my husband was gone, I became tasked with taking the children to dharma school on Sundays, fulfilling an obligation to him and the agreement we made about how to raise our kids. That is when I began to attend service on a regular basis— as the children’s chauffeur. Week after week, a baby strapped to my back, squeezing across pews while the sangha chanted because it was such a struggle to get everyone out the door on time and we were late again. My heart pounding, beads of sweat on my brow, wrangling squirrely children, feeling like a failure at everything. But we showed up. And I did a lot of listening. Accidental listening at first.
Turns out, even though I had no intention of partaking in Buddhism, it is extremely appealing to someone emotionally bleeding to death. The words resonated deeply. It was like they were written just for me.
I didn’t understand everything. There were many questions at first. But I knew how it made me feel. Going to service on Sundays, being surrounded by the sangha, smelling the incense, hearing the chanting and listening to the dharma talks-- it all gave me a profound sense of comfort. It felt centering. A refuge, if even from myself and the chaos in my head for that one hour a week.
That’s when it clicked. I figured out my “why.” I needed Buddhism because it taught me tools to refocus how I saw my life. It gave me the perspective I needed to live in a meaningful way. I had been stuck at a crossroad: to wallow in my pain and begrudge reality, or to embrace the change and opportunity and heal and grow as a person, maybe becoming a better version than who I used to be. Buddhism became a roadmap I didn’t know I needed until I was completely lost.
I learned to embrace impermanence and let go of my expectations. Nothing is guaranteed. Life is fragile, each moment fleeting. All we know for certain is what we have right now.
I am reminded of Rennyo’s “White Ashes.” He wrote, “By so understanding the meaning of death, we shall come to fully appreciate the meaning of this life which is unrepeatable and thus to be treasured above all else.”
That’s why I find myself happier than I was before my husband’s death. It’s not that my life is all sunshine and rainbows. There are still storms and many days with questionable forecasts. But I have a new appreciation for each day, and that has made all of the difference.
As I took a deep dive into Buddhism and began to consider myself a practitioner, I learned those photos of me alone with my children were not reminders of what I didn’t have. Rather, they are the evidence that I have continued to live fully in each moment, witnessing many milestones with my family, experiencing the highs and lows of a human existence. Not everyone is so lucky. I don’t have to be a sad, widowed single mother. I am happy because I learned to see the moment differently. Happiness is being present and grateful, and being able to find the silver lining in all that we do. It’s an ongoing excavation project. Something we work on each day. I’m not happy every single moment, but if my happiness is measured by anything like we track the stock market, I would say I trend consistently high. I’ve been able to use Buddhism to redirect my negative thoughts, which prevents me from getting stuck.
I am so grateful to my husband for giving me both my children and Buddhism. It’s like he somehow knew exactly what I needed to live my life without him.
In the back-to-school photo, I was wearing a lotus necklace. I love the symbolism of the lotus: something beautiful growing out of the mud. On any given day, hope and new beginnings can spring from the depth of our despair.
Shinran Shonin said, “What a joy it is that I place my mind in the soil of the Primal Vow and I let my thoughts flow into the sea of the inconceivable Dharma.”
I appreciate the imagery of putting my perseverating mind and thoughts into this sea, letting the dharma remind me how to let go.
