Journey to White Sands Monastery

By Dharma Rose

White Sands Monastery in the evening

It is just half an hour by car from Annapolis to Baltimore, followed by a two-hour flight from Baltimore-Washington International to Orlando and about an hour’s drive from the airport to the White Sands Buddhist Center, but it took me much longer than that to arrive at my destination.

I was introduced to Buddhism during my junior year of high school in fall 2004, when I enrolled in a comparative religion course. Our teacher, Mr. Ellenberger, was a tall man with a wild gray beard and a piercing gaze that was softened by his sincere smile and cheerful laugh. On the first day of class, Mr. Ellenberger asked us all to answer two questions: What is your religious affiliation, if any, and why did you sign up for this course? The questions were straightforward, but they caught me off guard. I found it difficult to respond and was somehow dissatisfied when I finally did.

Walking meditation in the morning

Most of the other students seemed to have no trouble with the first question, but for me it was complicated. My father is Filipino and was raised Catholic. Although I am not sure which worship services he currently attends, I do know that he is a very strict Christian. Meanwhile, my mother, an Irish-American who had a Catholic upbringing, grew distant from the church after adolescence. Currently, she does not identify with any one religion, but remains very open-minded. My first encounter with organized religion came when my brothers and I were little; my father took us to an extremely conservative Baptist church. I must admit that it is hard for me to remember what this experience was like or how I felt about it at the time, but I am uneasy today when I look back on it. My mother, who better understood the situation, later told me that she felt very uncomfortable with that particular congregation, which tried to force some disturbing beliefs upon us. She worried greatly about the harmful effects such indoctrination could have on her children.

Consequently, after my parents divorced, my mother took us to a Unitarian Universalist church for a short while, which she felt was a more nurturing environment. The church attracted freethinkers who emphasized informed decisions over blind faith and encouraged us to think for ourselves while still respecting the views of others. Through this experience, my awareness was expanded simply through the exposure to different, sometimes contradictory opinions. In such a tolerant atmosphere, walls that had been built in my mind—barriers to my spiritual education—began to fall. Yet I still felt lost, as if I were adrift in a vast ocean with no land in sight and no knowledge of how to navigate the currents. This feeling continued to trouble me, and I tried to resolve it by finding some philosophy or moral code on which I could rely. Unfortunately, I was never completely satisfied with any that I found.

Sangha processing to the Buddha Hall for Ordination Ceremony

Stirred up by Mr. Ellenberger’s questions, all these thoughts, feelings, and fragmented memories swirled in my head. When I was my turn to reply, I summarized my religious background as briefly as I could. I did not like sounding so unsure and scattered when so many of my classmates answered with ease. When I said that I was taking the class in hopes of finding direction for my life, I thought my response sounded even more incredibly lame. Mr. Ellenberger quickly dismissed my embarrassment, stating that it was common for Americans—especially young people—to feel confused about spirituality and cut off from religion. He also mentioned that Westerners were increasingly turning to spiritual traditions outside of mainstream culture, providing Buddhism as an example. We would discuss this again later in the course.

I had been curious about Buddhism for a long time, although I didn’t know the exact reason; it most likely had something to do with the insight and peace of mind that were fruits of the practice. Now I was drawn in by Mr. Ellenberger’s enthusiasm. I listened to the story of how Siddhartha Gautama became the Buddha and became intrigued. I examined the Four Noble Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path, finding these teachings to be sensible and practical. I read about the Three Jewels and recognized the beauty of taking refuge.

Yet what ultimately captured my heart were the Four Bodhisattva Vows. The first was particularly moving for me: “Sentient beings are numberless. I vow to save them all.” I was struck by this idea, which was what I had been striving to do in some small way for much of my life, although I did not know how to go about doing it. I had grown up always trying to help my Mom in every way I could, and I was unable to rest if I thought that she was unhappy. Eventually, I just wanted to make life better for everyone around me—for as many people in the world as possible as well as all non-human life. I wanted to end their suffering. Here was a path that cherished this cause, a road laid before my feet—no matter how steep and winding—and built on perfection that could logically never be attained, but somehow strengthened my determination. As I refined my understanding of this aspiration, a keen and very touching awareness of suffering awoke in me. With this newfound yet familiar consciousness came the first buds of compassion, and I found it impossible to turn away.

Walking meditation

Mr. Ellenberger made his class as thorough as possible, but given the depth and breadth of Buddhist history and philosophy, we only barely scraped the surface. I thirsted for more knowledge. I searched for books on the subject; although I was unable to decide which author to read first, I found myself repeatedly returning to a poem we had read in class. I could not remember the poet, only the title: “Please Call Me By My True Names.” These words led me to the writings of Thich Nhat Hanh.

Reading the books of Thich Nhat Hanh, I learned many things, including the mindfulness and importance of being fully present in each moment and being in touch with the here and now. I learned how to sit in meditation, watching thoughts and feelings come into and out of existence without clinging to or running away from any of them. I learned how to protect and nourish the mind and body by keeping the precepts and making conscious choices about how to spend time and energy. I learned how to put the Buddha’s teachings into action, applying them to my private life and using them to engage the social world. None of this is to say that I always remembered to practice or that I even understood all the teachings—far from it! I still don’t. My own experience was (and is) only beginning to take shape, my own insight only starting to build, but after just a short time I was able to feel at least a small sense of calm and happiness unlike anything I had known before. Most crucially, I learned how to breathe. I learned how to walk and to smile. The most valuable lesson was to be joyful in the practice rather than to struggle. I had been so focused on discipline and the “right” conduct that I had neglected breathing and smiling!

So I studied and practiced, and three years later I was a sophomore in college, working on a bachelor’s degree in anthropology with a minor in religious studies. I was a straight-A student on the Dean’s List with scholarships and a 4.0 GPA, but I was severely depressed. I hated school. I loved to learn but disliked the fact that my future depended on grades and test scores. I overworked myself and was constantly under stress. I knew that I was in college primarily so I could get a degree, find a job, and have money, but I had always been unhappy and frustrated with such reasons. Was that all I could hope for? Was that all I had to look forward to? It wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I made plans to join the Peace Corps after graduation, looking for employment and volunteer opportunities with non-profit organizations; although such options were closer to that for which I longed, I didn’t feel suited to any of them. No matter what I tried, I could not avoid feeling like a round peg being hammered into a square hole. My life simply didn’t fit.

The entrance to the monastery

My depression deepened. The more I fought against it, the more it consumed me. I was sick and tired and just didn’t care about college anymore. Quite honestly, my heart wasn’t in it. I decided to take a leave of absence from my school and returned home. I told everyone that I just needed a break—just needed some time away from it all to sort a few things out—but I knew in my heart that I wouldn’t be going back. It felt good to be free of that burden. Unfortunately, my depression was not so easily lifted. I could not hide from the crushing weight, a heaviness that had long been closing in on me and now settled squarely upon my shoulders with enough force to bring me to my knees. I was achingly lonely, but no one understood. In addition, I was assailed by guilt and shame. I felt helpless and useless. I had tried so hard for so long to take care of everyone else, but now I couldn’t even take care of myself. How did I expect to do any good for anyone else when I was such a mess?

I slowly began to return to my Buddhist practice. This renewal of the teachings suddenly made more sense and led me to realize that the teachings were much more precious in light of my intense pain. I no longer saw suffering as something to chase away or drown in. Rather, I embraced it as a means of strengthening my understanding and solidifying my practice. I was starting to have real faith in the teachings as well as confidence in my own abilities. During those periods when I felt alone, I turned to the Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara.

In focusing on my own well-being, I realized that it was not separate from the well-being of those whom I wanted to help. They were one and the same. The best way to care for others was to care for myself and vice versa. In the year since I had left college, I had finally become ready to move on. Every twist and turn in my past had led me to this decision. I knew what I had to do.

Dharma Rose and Quảng Đức from Germany

As I sifted through the listings of an online directory of Sanghas in the United States, searching for a suitable practice center in which I could ordain as a nun, I found the website for a monastery located in Mims, Florida. I immediately had a good feeling about this place. The pictures, descriptions, and reading material depicted absolutely beautiful temple grounds, a large and involved community of practitioners, and an abbot who was a young Zen Master whose insight was immense and whose tradition and teachings felt familiar to me. I wrote a letter to the Venerable Khai Thien expressing my aspiration and was subsequently invited to attend the February 2009 retreat, after which I would be able to speak directly with him. I knew I could not let this chance slip by.

Arriving the day before the retreat started, I was nervous to say the least. That first night, I hardly slept. I was worried that I didn’t belong there, that I didn’t speak a word of Vietnamese and wouldn’t fit in, that I had made a mistake in coming. By morning, my panic had subsided, although I remained anxious. People soon started flowing in and, as the retreat began, I realized that I had no reason to worry. I not only took comfort in the knowledge that we all shared a common faith and practice, but I also realized that everyone was open, friendly, kind, and generous! I knew that I had found another home, another family.

Receiving Certificate of Taking Refuge

On the last day of the retreat, I participated in the Ceremony of Taking Refuge, during which I received the name Dharma Rose. I was very, very happy. I remained at the center for two more days, after almost everyone else had gone. The monastery was calm and quiet, and I felt at peace. During this time, I had the opportunity to spend time with Thay, for which I am incredibly grateful. After talking to him, I knew that this was the right path for me to follow and that White Sands was the right place for me to ordain. I left the center with a light heart, knowing I would return.

I am very grateful for the way in which this beginning of my spiritual journey unfolded. I know how fortunate I am to have been born a human, to have met the Dharma early in life, to have been able to study and practice, and to have found my way to Thay. I am very blessed. I express my deep, heartfelt gratitude to my parents, my teachers, and my friends as well as to all beings who gave me guidance and support.

Performing the song ‘You are my sunshine’