Let dukkha "do what it do"...

Too much of a good thing can be a bad thing, or at least that's how the saying goes. A Shakespearean character asked the question, "Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?," and Mae West said that "too much of a good thing can be wonderful." Being a person who is given to over-indulgence, but also exceedingly self aware, I try to stay somewhere in the middle. (Or somewhere between moderation and indulgence.)

As I sit here alone on a Saturday night, I keep trying to remind myself of the concept of dukkha that I absorbed from Buddhism. All phenomena are impermanent. When the reality set in that tonight would be an evening of solitude, I found myself surprised that I wasn't happy with it. I had become so accustomed to it before, so much so that I preferred it.

That feeling started when I was talking to my "romantic interest" and he informed me that we wouldn't get to talk tonight because he was going to see a movie and had to run errands. My first thought was, "but we didn't get to talk last night." Thankfully I didn't utter that desperate remark, but I was alarmed by the fact that I would even think that.

I thought about "Sitting with Unsatisfactoriness" as the title for this post but decided that a little twist of the urban phrase "let it do what it do" would be better. When it all comes down to it, there isn't a better way to look it this situation and just about every situation.

Dukkha is a Buddhist term, meaning unsatisfactoriness, misery, suffering, dissatisfaction, etc. The concept is central to the Four Noble Truths, and if I take nothing else with me from Buddhism (although I certainly will) this will be it.

It's not that two nights without talking to a beau drags me into misery. But after I had already called a couple of friends to see what they were doing and they weren't available, and my mother and sister were out to dinner with people from church leaving me at home alone, a hint of despair did creep in.

It really caught me off guard. In the instant that I felt the feeling come in, I realized how some people get trapped in negative cycles of thinking, emotionally spiraling out of control. It wasn't that I actually wondered whether or not he was going to the movie or on a date with someone. The thought came up that the same circumstances would lead someone to think that. I was glad that I didn't think that, but then I was equally upset that I wouldn't allow myself to go there.

There I was at a stoplight thinking to myself, "what purpose does it serve to let your mind go on this tangent?" I could only think of one; protection from misery. Logically, I would not expect a person who I've met only once but have talked with at length, who is also 2,500 miles away to be exclusive. I'm the one who disappeared on him two years ago. Based on that fact alone I understand if he has his reservations.

In that moment, I decided that I would sit with the unsatisfactory feeling, that I would let "dukkha" arise, do its thing, and move on. I wouldn't apply superficial labels to it. I made peace with it and left inner space to see what was at its core.

I prepared my dinner of food from my first visit to Trader Joe's, and as I plated my food and poured my glass of wine, I felt what I was waiting to feel. I didn't open myself up to the world, make efforts to deepen and maintain my friendships, only to spend another night like this.

The depth and honesty of that feeling helped me to realize that spending three to four hours talking to someone on the phone wouldn't alleviate that feeling anymore than not talking to them would be the cause of it.

Bringing myself to the Torah

I started reading Judaism as a Civilization today, and in my usual fashion, I did not start at the beginning. I skipped to the chapter on the Torah as a way of life. Something about the title of that chapter spoke to me, and though I wanted to start at the beginning of the book, I just had to read this chapter first.

Although I'm not done reading the chapter yet, I felt the need to stop and blog about a realization I just had. I remember when I first began to formally practice Nichiren Buddhism in 2007, I was having a hard time with the concept of the Gohonzon, which is the scroll that Nichiren Buddhists enshrine, and chant in front of.

Through years of independent Buddhist practice, I learned the value of meditation and chanting. I didn't even have a problem with a Buddha figure, but when people at SGI were talking me into getting a Gonhonzon, I really didn't see the point, and for some reason, I even felt uncomfortable about it.

This discomfort went away when I read an analogy between the Gohonzon and other pieces of paper that we assign meaning to such as money. A scroll with Chinese script hanging in a wooden cabinet does not have inherent meaning or power, just as a piece of paper with Benjamin Franklin's picture and the number 100 has no meaning to someone who has no frame of reference for it. We are taught these things, buy into these things, and then use them move through the world.

I've realized that some of my issues and stumbling blocks in beginning my conversion relate to a similar hesitation to give the Torah meaning and power in my life. Though I was able to make a mental and spiritual leap in Nichiren Buddhism, coming back around to familiar names like Leviticus and Deuteronomy put me back into an old frame of reference. In some ways I've felt that accepting liberal interpretations of scripture was lower on a spiritual hierarchy, despite the fact that I vehemently do not believe in taking things literally.

But as a friend commented, you bring your whole self to the Torah. I think that is definitely what makes it a living and relevant force and symbol in a person's life. If I as a trans person can only experience its power by conforming to something that is against my nature, then it serves no purpose and has no symbolism in my life. I think the Torah becomes more beautiful and powerful when it becomes the source of "trans" liberation, queer liberation, heroic inspiration, or maybe just a way to make it through ordinary life in any era.

When I was 20 years old and feared I was backsliding into Satan's world of things, I left a desperate message at a Kingdom Hall in the middle of the night. I told them that I felt like Satan was tempting me. I did not share with them that I had been exploring some of my issues with gender and my attraction to men. On some level, I really think at the time my subconscious mind was responding to the level of risk of meeting people online and basically being naive. This was in 1999 when meeting online was sort of a new thing, as was the internet in general.

They came a couple of days later, with their Bibles and Watchtowers in tow. They told me that we as humans were not wise enough to discern right from wrong, and that the Bible provided explicit instructions for how we were supposed to live. They also said that the presence of my guilty conscience over my actions was some kind of evidence that Satan had led me astray.

I still remember standing there and literally having two currents going through my mind and body. One current told me that these people were right, that Satan had lured me away from the flock, and that the outside world (especially college, they mentioned) was a dangerous place. The other, and thankfully more powerful current, said that even though I had no other worldview at the moment and couldn't argue with them, there had to be a better answer out there.

Writing this post is like creating a empty space in my consciousness for a new understanding of and relationship with the Torah and with sacred writings in general. However, I must always remember the danger of the old ways of framing and seeing those same words.

To Jerusalem by way of Dharmsala

If anyone is actually reading this blog, you will not be surprised to find out that I am planning on converting to Judaism. I feel enormously content that I have finally opened space in my heart and mind for anything resembling religion to actually take hold in me. I used to think of being raised a Jehovah's Witness as being the worst thing that happened to me as a child, but perhaps it is the only path that would have opened me up to exploring every aspect of myself after my belief system was shattered.

Buddhism provided a warm, serene, and welcome home for me afterwards. I put my concept of an intervening God on the back shelf and learned to revere my Buddha nature. I learned to bow to it, light an incense for it, to ring a bell for it. Nothing will ever replace that period of discovery in my life, and I have said over and over again that meditation and chanting saved my life. It also opened me up to the world (in baby steps) and helped me see the Buddha nature in others. I began to see the oneness of the world and became a more fearless participant in it.

Last night and this morning I watched live streaming Shabbat services online. I felt enthusiastic that one day I would revel in the songs and in the Torah. I'm not even worried about the Hebrew, because I discovered a penchant for languages at 15, when I started teaching myself Portuguese because I loved Brazilian music so much (I had already learned Spanish).

It's funny to have read accounts of other people who converted to Judaism but first found refuge in Buddhism. I certainly don't feel as unique anymore (in that regard), and that is uncharacteristically okay with me.

Since I've developed the habit of sharing something that moved me at the end of each post, I wanted to share a quote that I came across today, from Rabbi Sharon Brous, in an article she wrote for the Washington Post. I think it captures the spiritual place I was in before exploring Judaism. She is specifically talking about the phenomenon of Eat, Pray, Love and the dropping everything for some unending spiritual journey that takes you away from the world we have to inhabit.

"You can't live in an eternal Shabbat, because the religious life is not about personal spiritual satisfaction, it is about pouring holy light into a tragically broken world."