The True Refuge

                                            Dharma Rose

 

 

 

When I first began to write about my spiritual journey in the context of my first retreat at White Sands Buddhist Center (February 2009), I was not entirely sure how to go about it. The words spiritual journey brought to mind a sort of quest, a search for insight culminating with some kind of achievement, some clear evidence of progress. I saw my own spiritual journey as taking place over a lifetime, made up of a lot of little accomplishments strung together but not yet complete. Even in this broad scope I felt as if I did not have enough to share, and certainly not when considering my experience specifically with reference to the three-day retreat!

It had been a physical journey, yes, and perhaps an emotional one as well, but this was due mostly to the stress of dealing with new situations. My mind had been greatly distracted, and I had no impressive gains in understanding or practice to show for my time at the Center. The only real triumph I could see was that I had survived without breaking down under the pressure of my anxiety! That anxiety, not peace or joy, was the dominating feeling. My participation in the retreat could hardly be called a spiritual journey, I thought, consisting as it had simply of a struggle moment to moment not to give in to panic.

The more I thought about it, however, the more I came to realize that this was the very essence of a spiritual journey. I had thought of such a journey as unfolding over time, but in reality the spiritual journey can only take place in the present moment. As Thây reminds us, “Every step of the journey is the journey.” Each moment is an opportunity to practice, and so each moment is a spiritual journey. Furthermore, you don’t need any grand circumstances. The journey can occur during everyday life, right in the middle of mundane, worldly activities. Nor must it result in epiphanies or revelations. A spiritual journey is simply a transformation, like a tense visage relaxing into a smile. In this way, my first retreat was indeed a spiritual journey. Each moment was an exercise in transforming anxiety into peace and joy. To do this, I relied heavily on the practice of taking refuge.

Looking back, I now see that the entire retreat was a practice in taking refuge. It closed with a formal ceremony, but the act had taken place over and over again and again in each and every moment. I sought refuge in the Three Jewels, of course: the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha. I solidified my faith in the experience and example of the Enlightened One, in the truth and power of his teachings, and in the nobility and sincerity of his students. At the same time, I began to learn how to trust my own potential and have confidence in my own insight and abilities. I also went to the Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara for refuge, finding comfort in the presence of limitless compassion. I took refuge in the practices of sitting and walking meditation, sitting for the sake of sitting and walking just to walk. I took refuge in the act of bowing, touching the earth with gratitude and joy. I took refuge in my breath and in my smile, and in the sound of the bell gently calling me home.

For me, taking refuge is like having a good strong anchor. If I use it, it prevents me from being carried away by the torrent of thoughts and the flood of emotions, from being dragged off by worries and “what ifs.” The anchor sits deep in the calm, tranquil sand, far below the crashing waves. Secured to this stability, we still experience the tides of existence, but we are now able to flow gently with the currents instead of struggling against them, and we can do so without fear of being overcome.

The practice of taking refuge is just that – a practice. Like the breath, it must be returned to constantly, continuously. It is not a one-time occurrence. In addition, every time we take refuge, it must be fresh and new. A refuge is a shelter that offers relief from the storms of life, but in order to have this capacity our refuge must be well maintained. We cannot let our refuge become stale and dusty.

In returning for my second retreat (May 2009), I felt that I was watering the spiritual roots I had set down last time. It was my sincere hope and deep intention to have a living refuge, one that would inspire me in turn to grow and flower. I was back, therefore, to nurture the seeds I had planted, seeds of friendship and freedom.

When I arrived that first time in February, the only person I even remotely knew was Michelle Hoang, whom I had spoken with over the phone to make arrangements for being picked up at the airport. In the car on the way to the Center, I made friends with Heidi Nguyen from Germany. We got along very well, and I spent most of my time at the retreat tagging along with her. I spent time as well with Minh Bernstein from Virginia, and I also got to know Michelle’s family, Ricky from nearby Titusville, and Justin and his parents. They were among the people I looked for the next time I came, although Heidi and Minh were unable to attend the May retreat. It was a welcome luxury to be able to search out and recognize familiar faces. I added many others to my growing list of acquaintances, including Camha Dinh, who was also from Maryland, and Nguyen Tinh, both of whom exchanged contact information with me so we could keep in touch.

I tried to embrace whatever company I found myself in, whatever we were doing. Working alongside others in preparation for the retreat, or cleaning up afterwards, I knew that I was benefiting as much as the Center was. When we shared delicious meals together, immeasurable gratitude was deeply in my mind, for my friends as well as the food. Standing at the basins to wash the dishes, I rejoiced in the beautiful, busy scene, and I was so glad to be a part of it. Whether we were strolling the temple grounds, engaging in quiet conversation, or simply enjoying companionable silence, I knew that I should be grateful. One very memorable and amusing experience was joining several others to rehearse and perform the song “Happiness” during the music night. Even if I was not in particularly high spirits, when I sang the words, “I feel happy,” how could I be otherwise? Our smile is usually an expression of our happiness, but it is good to know that our smile can itself be the very source of our happiness! The song was like a lullaby for any negative emotions that were crying for attention, as it gently soothed them into tranquility. It is like the Buddha’s smile asking us, “Why suffer?”

All the activity got to be tiring at times, but I had a lot of fun. It was so nice just getting to know everyone. I have always tended to keep to myself, have always been shy and quiet, slow to open up and let others in, to feel at ease around others. But I must say that I was deeply moved by the sense of belonging that washed over me, the feeling of fellowship that permeated the retreat and the Center itself – the Sangha Jewel shining brightly. I must also apologize to anyone I have failed to mention because of forgetfulness, or because I simply was not exactly sure of their names or how to write them! Such omissions in no way diminish my appreciation.

Indeed, I realize that I am forever indebted to the community of White Sands Monastery. More than a few times I found myself overwhelmed, humbled by inexplicable kindness and generosity. It was so striking, so baffling, so refreshing! I may strive long and hard and still never be worthy of such benevolence. How can I ever possibly repay what was so freely given? To be surrounded by wonderful people, so loving, so caring… Words cannot describe what it meant to me. There were moments when I could almost have cried, I was so touched. I remember being filled by such heartwarming energy that if it could have showed, I would have been glowing!

I felt very much at home staying at the Center, so peaceful is the setting. The calm energy of the place flows effortlessly into you. The tranquility invites you to bring that same profound quiet into your own heart and mind. Some of my moments of greatest ease came while sitting or walking alone, when I had room to breathe and space enough to experience and appreciate the simple, joyful beauty of my surroundings. There is something sacred to be found in silence and stillness. It is when we stop doing that we start being, when we can stop talking that we are able to listen, when we learn to stop looking that we begin to see. The truth of reality is just waiting to reveal itself to us.

During my stay, I often found great enjoyment in observing the ways of nature. I was sometimes surprised at how long I could simply sit and watch the trees swaying gently in the wind, rhythmic and dynamic, their leaves dancing in the slightest of breezes. The pond was another good focus for contemplation, especially the calm surface of the water while reflections of clouds floated across, as clear as their forms in the sky. I tried to let that same quality of stillness arise in me so that my mind might become a mirror, showing life not as I wish or fear it to be but as it actually is. The various flowers blooming around the Center echoed this art of effortlessness, reminding me that awakening unfolds in the same way, naturally and without struggle. All that the human flower needs to bloom are the right conditions. The ways of nature are our own ways as well. Staying at the Center helped me to slow down and realize this.

Walking meditation was a great way to get in touch in the natural surroundings, and the warmer weather of the May retreat made longer walks possible. Moving slowly and mindfully among the trees, I felt like just another extension of the forest. I smiled. I reminded myself that I was not walking in order to reach any destination, not even peace or happiness, not even awakening. As it is said, there is no way to peace, peace is the way. My destination was in each step. I only had to arrive in the present moment. Each time I placed my foot, I visualized a lotus blossom springing up from the earth to adorn my steps. I offered these flowers, these steps, to the Buddha. What a beautiful way to honor his Enlightenment, I thought, by embodying it yourself, even if just for one step.

We take refuge in the Buddha, and the Buddha also takes refuge in us. The Buddha lives in us as long as we keep the aspiration of liberation alive in our decisions and in our actions. The Buddha is relying on us to be the continuation of awakening, to carry the teachings into the world and into the future. We all have Buddha nature, but it is up to us to make that potential into reality. It is up to us to keep that light from going out. We are entrusted with a responsibility to humankind and all living beings to bring peace into ourselves and into the world, to bring compassion and understanding to life. Enlightenment depends on us, individually and collectively. Every single one of us is infinitely valuable.

The Vesak ceremony to commemorate the Buddha’s birthday was a concrete reminder of this, a tangible way to acknowledge and celebrate our own Buddhahood. It was a chance for us to rejoice in the birth of the historical Buddha, as well as an opportunity to clearly see ourselves as Buddhas-to-be. Right now, we ourselves are baby Buddhas, not yet fully developed in our practice. But we know that within us, and standing behind us as if propelling us forward, is a full-fledged Buddha. As I poured water over the statue to gently bathe the baby Buddha, I renewed my vow to take good care of the seed of awakening in me, to do everything I could to nourish my practice, and to do this with patience and loving-kindness.

Encouragement is essential if we are to persevere on the spiritual path. That is one of the benefits of going on retreat. We get to see our Sangha and be surrounded by their support. We have a chance to see beyond our habitually narrow view of being separate from everyone and everything else. My second retreat at White Sands was a much needed opportunity for me to do just that, and I look forward to having this honor and privilege again.