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Doi Suthep- Part X: The Power of Sangha
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When I was fifteen years old, I was a music geek. There. I admit it. During my first two years of high school, when I wasn't busy fending off the ravages of teenage acne or struggling in vain to figure out girls - an activity that has continued unabated and unsuccessfully to the present day - I spent most of my time immersed in the vast high school chorus underground. I sang in concert choirs wearing a starched white shirt and clip-on bow tie, in barbershop quartets donning a striped vest and Styrofoam hat, and in madrigal ensembles squeezed into a pair of black tights....which, strangely enough, I didn't mind all that much.....
During the summer after my sophomore year, however, I came to the startling realization that high school was half over and I hadn't experienced much of it outside of the chorus room. I was missing out on all the other great things about high school- you know, getting beat up in the bathroom, ignored by the cool kids, and participating in the pink and lime-green Benetton revolution of the mid-1980s. That summer, I decided that things were going to be different. I dropped most of my chorus classes, decided not to audition for any plays, and swore that life was going to change.
The first day of my junior year, I went to have lunch in the cafeteria. This was a unique experience for me, since music geeks typically ate our brown-bagged lunches in the privacy of band practice rooms. I remember standing in the middle of the cafeteria holding my lunch tray, the heavenly bouquet of fresh tater tots hanging in the air, having absolutely no idea who I was going to sit with. It was a self-conscious and paralyzing moment for me, and I felt myself filling with doubt about my decision. Of course, I eventually found a place to sit down and eat before my tots got cold, and I ended up making some of the best friends that I have to this day- my high school gang. Within a few weeks, I was no longer a music geek. I was a "geek-of-all-trades" now, involved in student government, debate team, AND the honor society! It was a calculated risk I took in the cafeteria that day, but it paid off.
Nearly a decade later, I met a great woman who eventually became my wife. While the marriage had its fair share of shining moments, it was a difficult one from the get-go. The harder we tried to make things work, the more we isolated ourselves from our friends and family, and of course, things didn't get better, they got worse. Finally, after five years of marriage, we legally separated and I moved into a one-bedroom apartment in a bland suburban community teeming with other men fleeing their failed relationships. That first night, as I lay down on my futon - after all, what self-respecting, soon-to-be-divorced guy would sleep on anything other than a futon?! - I felt that same pang of isolation and regret as I did that day in the high school cafeteria. It took some time, but I eventually reconnected with my old friends and established new relationships, and I now have a large group of people that I consider to be part of my extended family.
I found myself thinking about these experiences during my time at Doi Suthep because the feeling I had there was so eerily similar- that awful feeling of being alone. Being alone is different from just feeling lonely. Lonely is a temporary state driven by a lack of company or conversation, and I don't find myself feeling lonely very often. But feeling alone is that utter conviction that you are completely and wholly on your own. It's the sense that no one else is going through what you're going through- that your existence and experience is a solitary one.
Here I was at Doi Suthep, surrounded by people on a daily basis, knowing that they were likely experiencing the same endless parade of emotions as I was, but unable to speak with anyone. There was one meditator in particular that I thought about. He had arrived several days after me, so we had spent quite a bit of time together. There were days that I could tell were tough for him - I recognized the look in his eyes. And all I wanted to do was go up to him, put my hand on his shoulder, and ask.... "How are you doing??"
Because, to me, sharing the human experience is what makes us whole. If something happens to us, and we can't share it with someone, isn't almost as if it wasn't real. When my marriage ended, my world opened up, because I finally had the courage to talk about my experience to other people. Not in a hostile, bitter kind of way, but just openly and honestly. And when I did, I realized that I was part of a community - albeit a pathetically dysfunctional community of divorced thirty-somethings. But at least I knew I wasn't alone, so my failure didn't seem so personal. It was just....human.
Of course, the reason most of us meditate is to plug back into the most important connection we will ever have. A long time ago, we stopped listening to ourselves. We didn't like what we heard- the self-hate, the doubt, the failure, and the fear. So we just tuned it out and replaced mindfulness with white noise. We lost our center and forgot how to get it back.
At a place like Doi Suthep, we learn how to listen to ourselves again, starting with breath and body. Because once we start hearing ourselves, then we can experience moments as they unfold - as rare witnesses to the present moment instead of distracted bystanders in our own lives. More importantly, we can start being truly available to the people in our lives, because we can't really listen to a friend or loved one if we aren't listening to ourselves. We realize that human beings are far more alike than different, and we start to bring a whole new level of empathy and compassion to our lives, one that makes our connections more significant and our communities more precious.
In Buddhism, the community is called a "sangha." Buddhists take refuge in the sangha, because they know that walking a spiritual path is an arduous one, and it's good to know that you have company along the way. Even though I wouldn't change a thing about my weeks of silent meditation at Doi Suthep, I'm constantly reminded of the power of sangha and the importance of community. Finding your center and learning to be present are great tools to have, but mainly because they help us relate more profoundly to the people in our lives. The Buddha taught that only by taking care of ourselves can we find compassion for our sangha. By doing this, we ultimately deepen our connection with all of humanity, which in this day and age is something that we could all use a little more of.
Coming Soon- Part XI: Floating Then Falling
Latest Comments (3)
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Wow (reply)
Feb 21, 2008 15:02 EST by kristen77
I totally agree with 'dvornicky' and you are very courageous to take that voyage! Good for you! And thanks for that insightfulness...it is so very true, what you say. I do think you should consider self-help books, my friend! You are very inspiring and perhaps have met your calling. Screw grants and fundraising! And by the way, THANK YOU, for the hysterical chronicles that was your HS experience. ... show all
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A long overdue hello. . . (reply)
Feb 15, 2008 17:03 EST by tlcinnyc
It looks like you're having the time of your life - I'm so happy for you. And jealous - I barely have time to breath these days, let alone learn how to reconnect with myself. I can't wait to hear your stories in person! Tricia
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introspection... (reply)
Feb 15, 2008 10:01 EST by dvornicky
...has such potential to foster profound self-awarenesss, but can be alienating and downright scary. way to go for breathing through it and coming out on the other side even richer and more awake than before! a great example for all of us reading this in the western hemisphere, which of late seems to be devoid of much substance other than fast food...
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