The Buddha Nature of a Layperson

“He who rejects change is the architect of decay. The only human institution which rejects progress is the cemetery.” –Harold Wilson

Many, many moons ago when petrol was almost half the cost it is today, traveling for several hours on Sundays to The Zen Center was affordable.  Now that petrol is where it is today in price, such travels are outside of my budget.  It goes to say today my practice is solitary.  No Zen centers or structured sitting groups here in this small hamlet.

Traditional Buddhists will say I am not practicing properly because I do not sit on a regular basis with a teacher.  In countries that have an established and prevalent Buddhist community such a view is feasible.  I say that viewpoint is impractical in the United States.  Access to the community is limited in most places.  And for many of us it does not exist.  Many of us will practice as laypersons without formal teachings.

Besides the scarcity of others to practice with, let alone a mentor or teacher to seek guidance from, I question the authorities who want me to believe the only way to be a fully practicing Buddhist is to be someone’s student.  In one breath I hear that the act of sitting is ‘the practice’.  In another I hear to sit is enlightenment.  And then a few breaths later I hear to fully practice and be a Buddhist one must sit regularly with a teacher.

I believe the American layperson practicing Buddhism in solitude is going to change the face of Buddhism.  I see it starting a new school, a new tradition.

The Choices of a Social Hermit

“Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.” – from “The Teachings of Buddha”

My truth: The relationship status I have with myself is best described as “it’s complicated”.  I admit there are a few not-so-flattering facts I have come to realize about myself. 

 I have held close people who did not truly care for me, the real me; they cared only what I could do for them.  As soon as the money ran out, my mental energy faded or my good nature wore thin, “loved ones” disappeared to leave me to pick up the debris in the aftermath.  Physical and emotional. 

I have held close people who did not believe in my ability to accomplish what I set my mind to, even when it bucks convention.  When I needed true support when times got tough, I was given cursory encouragement and superficial assistance.

For the past two years I have stayed single.  So far I do a better job at not complicating my life with nonsense bullshit.  (Or should I say bullshiters?)  There is a reason those who can empty their lives of physical and emotional expectations choose monastic lives.  They separate themselves from the interference inherent when bringing into one’s inner circle the drama junky, the deceiving wretch, the confused child, the bratty twit. 

Even well meaning folk can derail us as they make requests of our time and energy.  We become a parent, a daughter, a sister, a son, a brother, a friend, a boss, a colleague, a student, a client…the list goes on.  We can spend days, weeks, or years being someone to others and not to ourselves.  It is the making of an unfulfilled life to be someone to people who would do not love you.

You Say Tomato, I Say Tomahto

“Passion is a positive obsession. Obsession is a negative passion.” –Paul Carvel

I know several people who have read my blog.  I have gotten one of two reactions:  “I’ve learned something about you I didn’t know before” and “I have read over and over your stories.  I feel you were saying mean things about someone I know.”  A person’s response is a great litmus test to how they take the emotion elicited by my blog and transform it through their thoughts. 

The fixation generated about reading a few stories that I equate to life lessons and my desire to share them.  Other than one person, I don’t use actual names to identify anyone.  Some of my life events occurred anytime between twenty years ago and up to recent times.  People who weren’t there wouldn’t have a clue about who was there with me through my life lessons.  I have heard people tell me, “So-and-so said they couldn’t believe you wrote about them in your blog for the world to see.  There is a good reason for what they did.  You just misunderstood their actions/their words.”  My thoughts are this.  Why isn’t so-and-so asking me out right about my blog?  Why is so-and-so talking to others about what they assume to be my truth?  Why is so-and so spending so much energy telling others my life lessons misrepresent what really happened or what was really said; “The lady doth protest too much, methinks”.

The enthusiasm generated about getting to know a bit about me through stories I normally would not disclose over coffee.  This is the other side of the same coin.  The same emotion my blog creates as it runs through another’s psyche, another’s filters.  My blog is a catalyst for discussions about how I got to be this person at this point in time.  And it shows people they are not alone in stepping on landmines as they navigate this life.  My blog also shows people they can recover with their sanity intact from the damage inflicted by such landmines.

Why I consider the reaction to this blog as a litmus test is simple.  If you fixate on a few stories that you believe are an injustice for me to put out there, I think there will not be any common ground for us to meet.  Well, other than your sense of self importance.  If you read, reread and reread again my blogs, then accuse me of being unfair to others without having been a firsthand participant, then I know you have come to plead for another’s case.  Which I begin wonder if you have already approached me with bias and another’s agenda at hand.   If you read my blog with the desire to help me celebrate how far I have come in this life after almost being aborted, well then you get it.  You understand the story is not about the people, me or others, but about the celebration of realizing we are infallible beings. 

I have a right to express myself.  I have a right to share what has happened to me.  I choose to use this forum to send out to the void what I see as my truth.  If you don’t agree, fine.  If you agree, fine too.  You have a choice to keep coming back to read this blog.  Or not.  Simple.

What Is Violence?

“Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.”  --Isaac Asimov

Most of us think of a fist to the face as violence.  That’s not where my mind goes.  I think of nonconsensual interactions between beings.  I think of ‘bait-and-switch’ tactics and hidden agendas to lure others into relationships.  I think of malicious, seemingly never ending mind fucks.  I think of all the things people do to others to justify their unawareness, to validate their petty selfishness or to satisfy a mean spirited nature.

We know women who trusted a ‘Dom’ who tricked them into being bound and then commits assault.  We know someone who entered into an M/s relationship and then found their wallet emptied and credit trashed by the ‘slave’ who was full of excuses why they could not get or keep a job.  We have experienced the person who agreed to join us in a poly lifestyle and then built outside intimate relationships without our knowledge.  (Notice I do not use the word ‘consent’.  Many poly people do not require consent, or veto rights, only knowledge.)  We know couples who enter this lifestyle and each person has different motivations: one wants to please the other and one wants legitimacy to have extramarital sex.

The crazy thing about my life is that most people out there would call me the deviant who likes violence.  However I challenge their assumptions.  I believe the deviant people are those who are responsible for committing true violence by assuring us their motives are pure, full of love for us, while they create harm and deception in order to hide their real agenda.

Lyle & Britten Wrote a Great One

“Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.” –Robert Frost

I’ve read my share of love poems.  When I am asked to voice my insight I tend to start with the poet.  I find the choice of words and the way they are fixed together very telling.  One can surmise if the poet reminisces for what has been or prays for what could be.  Sometimes it is both that are within the person’s fantasies; desires folded in layers and seeped in emotional longing.  A poem comes from the inner recesses of imagination, fantasy or ambition.  I believe it is the exceptional poet who knows from which emotional precipice they draw their idea of love from.  Far too many will not find the source and simply lay down a mash of words.

What I've Figured Out So Far

“Never say never, for if you live long enough, chances are you will not be able to abide by its restrictions. Never is a long, undependable time, and life is too full of rich possibilities to have restrictions placed upon it.” –Gloria Swanson

Self-evaluation is as complete as it’s going to get in this moment.  The self-imposed unspecified time period has reached it’s limit.  And here’s what I’ve figured out. 

I developed some survival tools that are unhealthy, and at times personally destructive, to adapt to living in an environment rife with parental alienation.  As much as I’d like to think that ‘off and on’ therapy has helped me distance myself from these learned patterns, I am still sliding down into my childhood ‘comfort zones’ more often than I want to admit.

I am grateful to my friends who listen and gently remind me to take ownership of ‘me’.  And to realize the greatest gift I can give myself is the commitment to extend loving compassion to ‘me’.  This in turn allows appreciation of all the life lessons presented to me within the lifestyle.  A positive side note: I have a new energy bubbling up during zazen.

My current musing?  I see no reason to return to therapy.  Staying present with my actions and staying real with my ‘family’ of friends in order to glean their wisdom has allowed me to understand my part within my life.  Therapy? We don’t need no stinking therapy!

More Life Lessons Learned at a Snail's Pace

“You will either step forward into growth or you will slip back into safety.” –Abraham Maslow

This is what happens when you put your thoughts out there for people to read: you get feedback.  Others have spoken to me about their own experiences, observations and perspectives.  Here is a synopsis of what people have shared with me.

*What I experienced isn’t rare; unfortunately, it is more common that the community would like to admit.  *I know so many transgendered ladies who take hormones; therefore, I am unaccustomed to the vestiges of overt masculine behavior that arises from those who do not.  *Assholes are assholes regardless of gender identification, label, title, orientation or status.  *Single women at events unfortunately deal with bullshit from too many guys believing they’ve shelled out several hundreds of dollars to be at this event (ticket, hotel, play items, etc.)  and are entitled to receiving some sort o’ nasty.  Nutshell: “Dammit! I’m gonna get mine cuz I came here to have wild and kinky sex.”

My thoughts on their thoughts will have to wait for later blogs.  However, what I’ve come away with is that I have been going to events with an unreasonable mindset.  Once I pass through registration, I let down my vanillaland guard and mill about with ‘safe, sane, and consensual’ as my security blanket.  I believe I can go to events to be myself without censorship.  What my friends have helped me realize is my belief does not match up well with reality. 

My first thought when I was in the grips of the first bear hug was to wait for the pressure to let up and then punch her in the balls and, if needed, to do a front snap kick to create a bit of distance.  However, for the several seconds that elapsed before she released her grip, my mind started to censor my desired reaction.  We were in a smallish, crowded vendor space.  My luck she would have knocked over someone, they would have broken a hip or something and I’m facing a civil action for negligence.  Or my actions could have had me thrown out of the event (and perhaps barred) for throwing the first punch.  Self-censorship.

The second bear hug I received a few hours later from different gal was not so forceful.  It was less about showing off ‘male bravado’ and was more about placing an exclamation point to her statement that I might not be a real Domme.  My mind said, “Fuck you, bitch.”  My words said, “I am a Domme and I don’t submit.”  Self-censorship.

The third time it was when I leaned in to kiss and hug someone good night for the evening.  When we finished hugging, she grabbed my arms and kept kissing me.  I’m sure to onlookers  she looked like the drinking bird toy and I was the glass of water.  After a few pecks I said, “This is too much.”  She stopped for a second and gave me a few more, released my arms and made a few statements about her being so  happy to spend some time with me.  My mind said, “What the fuck!  Not again!”  My words said, “Good night.”   Self-censorship.

So, where there any positive notes from the event?  I’m going to BL5 in April.  (Thank you, Top)  A wonderful guy spent the wee hours of the morning on the last day as my practice toy for different rope ties and getting to know me.  (Thank you, Walt)  I was able to briefly lean on, and collect some righteous energy, from a wonderful little.  (Thank you, Sara)  I received words of wisdom from two incredible women.  (Thank you, Dee & Di)  The generous holiday gift I received from a dear friend.  (Thank you, Peter)  A few unfortunate events that required me to reevaluate my belief about events being a safe haven.  (Thank you for the lessons presented me.)