There have been times in my life when I turned to Buddhism and Buddhist practices. This interest has been ongoing. Buddhism has become much more recognized and accepted in the West over the last few decades.  Core Buddhist beliefs and practices include:  the Four Noble Truths; meditation practice; and renunciation of the ego, at least to some degree.  Some of its ideas, like reincarnation, karma, mindfulness, and vegetarianism no longer need to have ideological strings attached.  In its non-dogmatic form it has become a refuge for many atheists and agnostics, as well as Christians who seek to deepen their inner life.  The blunt simplicity of Buddhist philosophy appeals to existentialists, materialists, and diverse spiritual seekers.   Many who study Buddhism do not revere the Buddha, or belong to a Sanga (community), or follow its Dharma (teaching) exclusively.

I discovered Buddhism in 1972, when I was seventeen.  I had been introduced to yoga by a young man who was a 3HO devotee.  He was Canadian, and had converted to Sikhism.  Ted came to Don Mills Collegiate one evening a week for a couple months to teach a free hatha yoga session to whoever wanted to come.  There were only a few of us, and I probably only attended three times.  I was impressed by his well-being and ease.  He described once, the true nature of happiness. You can imagine or recall a day in which you are exceptionally happy.  The sun is shining.  Everything is going your way. You have no troubles.  Yet this does not come close to the joy of the inner life that comes from inner devotion and surrender of the ego. A few months later, I started practicing Raja Yoga, based on the book by Dr. Rammurti Mishra.  It is a combination of hatha yoga, meditation, breathing exercises, and other concentration exercises.  I experienced the boundless inner joy that Ted had referred to.  Shortly afterward I discovered the Chinese Buddhist Association of Canada, which was centred in a bungalow nearby.  Two meditation sessions a week were offered by a monk from mainland China, who spoke very limited English.  Surprisingly, those that came to the sitting mediation were not Chinese, but middle-aged people of various backgrounds, who appreciated the simple practice of sitting and following the breath.  On Sundays, there was a two hour meditation, including some devotional chanting to the Buddha.  There was a break in the middle to slowly and mindfully walk in a line around the large room.   Afterward there would be some tea and discussion.  They offered What The Buddha Taught, by Walpola Rahula as a basic text, as well as The Dammapada, a book of moral aphorisms attributed to the Buddha.  I also read widely in the available Buddhist and Eastern literature, including, Alan Watts, The Way Of Zen, which gave a good overview of Buddhism.  I also studied the Bhagavad Gita and read Be Here Now, by Ram Dass.  I experienced a joy in living that was very full. 

Like most new converts, I experienced a chasm between myself and others did not appreciate the depths of my new practice.  Didn’t they know that the ego caused them endless suffering?  Wasn’t it obvious how other belief systems were essentially a dead end?  Christianity seemed to be in a process of dying.  Attending a church service was a painful and empty experience.  I had been brought up Catholic, but hadn’t attended church for a few years. I remember being bewildered as a child by the Stations of the Cross, and the whole pantheon of worship in the church. It wasn’t even something to rebel against.  It seemed empty and unappealing.

Yet after a few months of daily meditation I came to a sudden inner conviction; that life is not about meditation, but about lived experience.  I realized that, even though I had been regenerated by meditation, I was also, in a fundamental way, detached.  I still had a lot of life to live.  It was necessary to renounce the bliss that I experienced, and be fully engaged with life, without the emotional security blanket of meditation.  Although I inwardly grieved this decision, I accepted it.  Shortly afterward, I became interested in Gurdjieff’s ideas, and eventually joined a study/practice group.  There was a focus on being fully present in the body in everyday life and self-observation.

In the late seventies I became interested in Tibetan Buddhism, particularly in the writings of Chogyam Trungpa.  He was a colourful teacher, eager to remove Buddhism from its monastic constraints and dogmas.  He advised making friends with the ego, but at the same time, he ruthlessly exposed all of the ways in which it can deceive and make us lose touch with essential reality of being.  I went to talks and meditation sessions a few times at the Dharmadatu centre in Toronto, sometimes with my future wife, Marilyn.   

It is interesting that Tibetan Buddhism emerged in our culture at the same time as humanistic psychology developed.  Gestalt psychology, for example, recognizes the many ways in which we have become conditioned, and are unfree. The role of the therapist is to help the individual to recognize and renounce the unconscious rules, roles, and habits that make up our identity.  This is a difficult process, and inevitably requires a disillusionment with who we believe ourself to be.  Ideally, a deeper, freer self emerges.  Trungpa stated that we have ‘basic goodness’, but must develop a warrior’s fearlessness in unmasking the ego. 

Trungpa addresses our compulsion to have a fixed and prized identity.  In his book, Dharmas Without Blame (1973) he wrote:

“Buddhism doesn’t teach religion: it teaches spirituality, or rather, a way of life.  It doesn’t promise anything.  It teaches us to be what we are, to become what we are, constantly; and to relate to our living situations in that way.  That seems to be the way to proceed on the highway without being distracted by the sidetracks and exits of all kinds.  The signs would say: ‘Tibetan Village, next exit’; Japanese Village, next exit’; Nirvana, next exit’; ‘Enlightenment, next exit – Instant one’; ‘Disneyland, next exit.”  Turn right, always turn right.  If you turn right everything is going to be OK.  You get what was promised.  But having gone to Disneyland or taken part in the Nirvana Festival, then you have to think about how you are going to get back to your car; and how you are going to get home.  This means you have to get back on the highway.  This portrays the basic situation, the process we are constantly involved in. “

By coincidence, when my wife Marilyn and I were on our honeymoon in Halifax in 1982, Trungpa was visiting there, and gave a talk that we attended.  At the end of his talk, Trungpa was physically assisted in walking by two male disciples.  He had had a stroke in 1967 which left him somewhat disabled.  Marilyn thought that he should use a walker, so that he did not depend on others.  It seems that he believed that it was better to allow them to help him.  It was a demonstration of his acceptance of vulnerability.

In 1978, I became seriously interested in Anthroposophy. Rudolf Steiner had given thousands of lectures, presenting a spiritual worldview that was practical and original, if not ‘scientific’ or ‘mystical’, in the accepted sense.  I became less interested in Buddhism, partly because Steiner revealed deficiencies in Buddhism, when compared with Christianity.  According to Steiner, Christ gave new purpose and meaning to human life which was lacking in the time of Buddha.  Anthroposophy has several practical offspring which can make modern life more balanced and healthy.  Anthroposophists also work to strengthen thinking, moral responsibility, and emotional equanimity.  Over the last four decades I have attended the Consecration of the Human Being service often.  It is the contemplative and devotional communion service of the Christian Community, which Steiner also helped to found a hundred years ago.

Over last forty years I have continued to occasionally read or hear about other Buddhist teachers.  A new generation of teachers has emerged that teach out of their own experience.  These include: Sogyal Rinpoche, who wrote, The Tibetan Book Of Living And Dying; Tsultrim Allione, Feeding Your Demons:  Ancient Wisdom For Resolving Inner Conflict; Pema Chodron, When Things Fall Apart:  Heart Wisdom for Difficult Times; Christopher Germer, The Mindful Path to Self-Compassion; and Burgs, Beyond The Veil.

For most contemporary Buddhists, accepting uncomfortable emotions has become a core practice.  While we are sitting, quieting our mind, unconscious wants and desires come up constantly.  Even if we do not identify with them, they are there. Thoughts of regret, frustration, anger, self-indulgence, ambition, and quirky or banal distractions randomly persist. For many people mindfulness and self-compasssion have become an everyday practice.  Self-criticism, which is so endemic in our society, can be softened and less overwhelming.  The need for self-care has become widely accepted, but this often seems to lack a deeper moral or spiritual foundation.  Facing our shadow and all our internalized voices is hard work, and requires incredible resilience and courage.  Eventually, this inner work makes us more compassionate, because we are less likely to project our weakness on others, or be triggered by them.  Loving-kindness can be practiced out of wisdom, rather than fear of punishment.

A few years ago, I started attending a weekly local Qi Gong group.  The teacher, Hae Kwang, is an ordained Korean Zen priest.  In his early twenties he had suffered severe panic attacks.  He was drawn to meditation practice because, being present in stillness, he was able to mitigate the overwhelming anxiety that he felt and become calm.  After nine years at a remote monastery in Korea, he went to Thailand and learned Qi Gong.   I appreciated the Qi Gong classes, but generally felt frustrated with his teaching of Zen, which he gave at the end of the class.  It seemed to lack an appreciation for individual identity and meaning.  I know that Zen is a minimalist version of Buddhism.  The whole point is to not be attached to our thoughts, but also not to push them away.  It makes sense to me that serious Buddhists go on meditation retreats, sometimes for months, or even years.  These make possible remarkable breakthroughs that can be difficult to come to when having a relatively modest practice.  Hae Kwang found a way to bring an experience of inner stillness through Qi Gong.

The divide between grace, or spontaneous awakening and personal effort is one of the inherent paradoxes in contemporary spiritual practice.  Hae Kwang contrasted the ‘Little Mind’ of the ego with the ‘Big Mind’ that is unconditioned. Yet this freedom from conditioning may only come in rare glimpses. Much dedication is required.  Ideally one has a teacher who is spiritually mature and can provide personal guidance.  There is a need to balance the desire to experience a more liberated state, while at the same time living a morally positive, helpful, and harmless life.  The Eightfold Path clarifies these practices.  In this sense, Buddhism may not be much different than other religions.  There is a call to go deeper and also become more loving.   Mahayana Buddhism’s central ideal is to strive to become an enlightened Bodhisattva who will continue to incarnate in order to relieve the suffering of other beings. 

Buddhist practice may have some advantages over a typical Christian perspective.  Personal shortcomings are worked out over many lifetimes.  Karma is personal in its effects, but impersonal in its implementation.  It may be easier to accept one’s shadow and moral weaknesses, as one develops more impartiality, curiosity, and self-compassion. There can be a sense of working for the good of everyone, rather than focusing on ‘personal salvation’.  Personal effort can provide a basis for transformation, rather than a higher agency. There is a sense of cause and effect. There is less need to defend a ‘good’ self-image.

In his book, The Mindful Path to Self-Compassion:  Freeing Yourself From Destructive Thoughts and Emotions, Christopher Germer states that the purpose of mindfulness is to prepare us to practice loving-kindness.  It seems that in the West most of us are so goal-oriented and results-driven that introspection and insight are secondary.  Many Christians practice loving-kindness as well, but our culture is inherently judgemental.  It is difficult to put aside our criticality—or see any reason to. 

Personal transformation tends to be gradual and nuanced and difficult to explain.  There tend to be ‘Ahah!’ moments, as well as moments of grace or surrender.  We grow through our relationships and experiences. I feel certain that each of us are being led,  inwardly, as well as in in the course of our life.  We each have a conscience–our spiritual sensibility and receptivity to being guided.  It is impressive, that more that two thousand years later, Buddhism has found a new home in Western hearts, in the midst of so many new therapies and spiritual practices.