A mantra is a syllable, word, or group of words that has psychological or spiritual power. The earliest mantras go back three thousand years, when they were first used on the Indian subcontinent. The resonance that arises between a sound vibration and our thoughts, feelings, and intentions happens naturally, much like two tuning forks resonating at the same frequency. Today, there are a multitude of phrases readily available throughout the world’s meditative traditions. 

The word mantra is derived from two Sanskrit words—manas, meaning “mind,” and tra, meaning “protect.” Together they translate to “protection,” and in some cases, “compassion.” Our original, still mind is always here, but our worries and fears leak all over everything, so our original self goes unnoticed. 

A mantra has the power to protect us from this leaking. And since compassion can be described as wisdom actualized, a mantra also cultivates clarity and wisdom. A mantra, then, is a tool that protects the mind, cultivates clarity and wisdom, and actualizes compassion. 

Although most prominent in Eastern traditions, mantras are also used in other traditions and religions. A popular mantra for Protestant Christians is simply the name Jesus. Catholics commonly repeat the Hail Mary prayer or Ave Maria—my Catholic grandmother used to work her prayer beads continually with the Hail Mary or Ave Maria. Many Jewish practitioners recite Baruch atah Adonai, meaning “Blessed art thou, oh Lord.” 

The very first phrase I used to mindfully focus my thoughts, feelings, and highest intention—knowing almost nothing about Buddhism—was from The Teachings of the Mystics by W. T. Stace. It was Jesus’s simple phrase, “the peace that passeth understanding.” I repeated it, over and over, during a train ride from San Francisco to Salt Lake City. This was before I began a meditation practice or even knew what meditation was. I discovered that if I repeated it continually with heartfelt effort throughout the trip, I became surrounded and permeated by a feeling of deep spaciousness and joy. Once I fell into the groove of it, the sense of spaciousness sustained itself through the remainder of the trip. 

Most of the mantras I have used since then have come from the Buddhist tradition, with one exception. During the three or four years I spent with a Lakota spiritual guide, I followed his advice to repeat Mitakuye Oyasin, which translates to “all my relatives.” Whenever I felt walled off, as if I were somehow excluded from the interbeing nature of all life, I would chant Mitakuye Oyasin. 

Mitakuye Oyasin reflects the Lakota worldview that all beings are interconnected. And time after time, I fell into the same deep spaciousness and joyful sense of interbeing I’d experienced many years before when I first heard it. If you do this yourself, you may find that the joyful stillness you aspire to is closer than you think, closer than your own breath. 

Teacher and author Sally Kempton said that a mantra is “a bit like rubbing a flint against a stone to strike fire.” She goes on to say that it’s the friction between the syllables of the mantra that ignites the fire and, over time, shifts your inner state. 

One way that the fire shifts your inner state is by burning through the turmoil and the incessant mental chatter that can get so stirred up during our meditation. As we come back to our word or phrase again and again, there is the potential to open into a great spaciousness that includes everything and is, at the same time, infused with a deep calm—even in the midst of so much seemingly insurmountable turmoil. 

Yogis have used mantras for hundreds of years to experience the profound sense of calm that mantra practice can bring about, and Western science is finally catching up. Modern brain-imaging techniques have confirmed the benefits of this ancient practice. In one study in 2017, researchers from Linköping University in Sweden measured activity in a region of the brain called the default mode network—the area that’s active when we are remembering, regretting, and rehearsing—to measure the effects of mantra practice. The researchers concluded that mantra practice induced a state of deep relaxation, and furthermore, they found that a regular practice could promote the ability to deal with life’s stresses more skillfully. 

Mantra Practice 

Find a mantra that resonates with you and try to set aside ten to twenty minutes a day to practice. Once you’ve chosen a specific mantra, it’s best to stay with it for some months, giving it a chance to do its work, before considering a switch to another one. 

Begin by sitting in a comfortable position. Repeat the mantra a few times silently, on each inhale and exhale. Don’t try to focus on the mantra too hard; simply allow your body and mind to relax into it. Just like you would in any other type of meditation, when thoughts or feelings enter your mind, simply notice them and then return to silently reciting the word or phrase. 

The most frequently recited mantra in the Zen tradition comes from the Heart Sutra: gate gate paragate parasamgate (gate is pronounced ga-tay). It translates to “gone, gone, gone beyond, gone completely beyond.” You can repeat one word or the entire series of words. 

When I was having an especially difficult time staying focused during a seven-day retreat, Suzuki Roshi suggested that I make this mantra the focus of my meditation. It was a surprising suggestion because, at that time, Suzuki had never talked about using techniques of any kind, much less mantras. All these years later, I continue to be grateful for this instruction, and I still use it whenever I’m experiencing some difficulty in my meditation. 

Gate gate paragate parasamgate is about going beyond our limiting beliefs, which cloud our ability to see clearly. And going beyond strongly held beliefs requires that we go beyond the three types of poisonous glue that hold these beliefs in place. The first type is greed: we grasp at any shiny object that promises immediate pleasure. The second poisonous glue is hatred: we push away anything that interferes with our getting what we want. And the third is ignorance: our tendency to ignore everything else. 

So far, I have mentioned several mantras from which you may choose. Here are three more that you might find to be useful: 

May I meet this moment fully.
May I meet it as a friend. 

In the first sentence you are affirming that an alert and balanced mind, which is not caught by before or after, is a possibility for you. In the second sentence, you are affirming your ability to welcome whatever comes with an open heart. 

Real, but not true 

This mantra affirms that your thoughts and emotions are real— but not necessarily true. When we believe something to be true, we naturally contract around it. If you can relax into this short but insightful mantra, new meanings and possibilities may be revealed. 

Things as it is

This expression originated with Suzuki Roshi and has since become a popular mantra. While grammatically incorrect—which I foolishly pointed out to him once—Suzuki’s odd nomenclature has a unifying effect. It acknowledges conventional reality, which is often referred to in Buddhism as “the 10,000 things”—and then, in the same breath, affirms the no-thingness of ultimate reality. 

Choosing a mantra is not complicated. Just select one that resonates with you, engages you, and burns through your mental chatter. Thich Nhat Hanh suggested “deep” on the in-breath and “peace” on the out-breath, or “present moment” on the in-breath and “only moment” on the out-breath. It really can be that simple—and at the same time quite powerful. 

The nineteenth-century poet Alfred Lord Tennyson discovered that he could calm his mind by merely sitting still and repeating his own name. Here’s how he described the experience: “My individuality itself seems to dissolve and fade away into boundless being . . . the loss of personality seeming no extinction, but the one true life.”

I’m sure it’s obvious by now that the specific mantra is not so important. What is important is consistency and engagement. When you catch yourself trying to empower the mantra yourself, just return to the actual practice of pouring your whole body and mind into the mantra and letting go of any thought of gain or loss. Your effort is to simply be present with the mantra—wherever it takes you, there you are, fully present and at one with the mantra, which, within itself, includes all beings.   

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From Enlightenment Is an Accident: Ancient Wisdom and Simple Practices to Make You Accident Prone by Tim Burkett, edited by Wanda Isle © 2023 by Tim Burkett. Reprinted in arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Inc. Boulder, CO. www.shambhala.com

The post Mantra Practice: A Matter of Resonance appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Tina Turner is an American icon—a remarkably versatile creative artist whose career has spanned more than sixty years. The winner of eight Grammy Awards, Turner was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1991 and received a Kennedy Center Honor in 2005. But her path has not always been easy. Tina has overcome domestic abuse, discrimination, professional setbacks, life-threatening illness, and devastating personal loss. Throughout it all, she has credited her practice of Nichiren Buddhism as the source of her hope for a better world and her determination to overcome every obstacle in her life.

Born Anna Mae Bullock in 1939, Tina began her musical career in 1960 as a member of the Ike & Tina Turner Revue. She divorced Ike in 1978 and, after virtually disappearing from the music scene for several years, rebuilt her career, launching a string of hits including her 1984 solo album, Private Dancer. In 1986 she published a bestselling memoir, I, Tina, which was turned into the Academy Award-nominated film What’s Love Got to Do with It in 1993. Tina’s latest book, Happiness Becomes You: A Guide to Changing Your Life for Good, draws lessons from her personal life about using Buddhism to transform sorrow into joy and break through all limitations to achieve a happy and fulfilling life.

When Tricycle contributing editor Clark Strand interviewed Tina this past May, they discussed topics ranging from her first encounters with Buddhism to how she maintains a positive outlook in a world plagued by pandemic and social unrest.

You were already a successful songwriter and performer when you began practicing Buddhism in the early 1970s, but your personal life was in crisis. You’ve credited your spiritual practice with getting you safely through turbulent, sometimes frightening times. How did you discover Nichiren Buddhism? By 1973, I was distressed and exhausted from domestic abuse, and it was getting harder to hide it from some of the people around me. When I was on my own in the studio with our recording team, they’d sometimes give me looks, like they wanted to say “When are you getting out of that mess?” Which wasn’t all that helpful. Then one day a young sound engineer said something different: “Tina, you should try chanting. It will help you change your life.”

Chanting sounded like it was probably more for college students than a mother in her thirties like me, so I put it out of my mind. A couple of months after that, my youngest son, Ronnie, came home carrying what looked like a rosary but was actually Buddhist chanting beads. He said he’d been chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo at a friend’s house up the street and asked me to go there with him to a chanting meeting.

I wanted to, but in those days I was basically a prisoner in my own home. So I told Ronnie I couldn’t, and that was that. Then a few weeks later, Ike brought home this nice-looking lady to see me. He was always doing that, bringing people around to “see Tina.” Well, wouldn’t you know, she started talking to me about chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. Here we go again! [Laughs.]

Obviously the universe had been trying to send me a message, and I was finally ready to receive it.

What is it about the practice of chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo that works for you? When I first learned about it, I liked the fact that the practice offered me a simple, practical formula for happiness. As I began studying Buddhist teachings and chanting more, it led me to take responsibility for my life and to base my choices on wisdom, courage, and compassion. Not long after I started chanting, I began to see that the power I needed to change my life was already within me.

“You could say that chanting is a kind of spiritual performing art.”

For me, the practice feels active and invigorating. In the Soka Gakkai tradition of Nichiren Buddhism, we chant with our eyes open and in vigorous rhythmic repetition, which I’ve always loved. Little by little, it brought out my courage to break away and live an independent life on my own.

Some friends in my neighborhood chanting group had been practicing for years before I started. They promised I’d become happier than I ever dreamed possible if I stuck with it and never gave up. They were right! I truly believe that anyone can do the same.

Years ago, a Broadway actress told me that chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo was the most popular type of Buddhist practice among entertainers. What is it about this form of Buddhism that attracts so many people in the performing arts—from actors and dancers to singers and jazz musicians? That’s a great question. Buddhist teachings in general promote an open-minded, accepting, and nonjudgmental outlook, which artists find appealing.

With Nichiren Buddhism in particular, chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo has such a clear, musical rhythm—it’s similar to singing. I think performers are naturally drawn to practices that involve rhythm and sound, and that may be why so many prefer chanting over quieter forms of meditation. You could say that chanting is a kind of spiritual performing art.

You have sometimes identified yourself as a “Baptist-Buddhist.” What does that mean to you? I was raised in the Baptist tradition, and virtually everyone I knew in my hometown was Baptist. The Baptist influences of my childhood didn’t just disappear because I started to study and practice Buddhism. I’ve always respected my heritage, while also having a seeking spirit. My way of communicating with Mother Nature and the universe simply changed vocabulary, from Baptist to Buddhist. The language of Buddhism works for me. And as I’ve learned about the world’s religions and philosophies, I’ve seen common threads shared between them all. It’s important to me to celebrate both—to find unity in diversity—which is what my Buddhist practice guides me to do.

Was it that impulse to find unity in diversity that led you to become involved with the Beyond Music Project, a not-for-profit movement that weaves together music and inspiration from Tibetan Buddhism, Christian, Hindu, Nichiren Buddhism, and other traditions? Yes, definitely. I feel passionate about promoting interfaith and intercultural unity, which is why joining Beyond was appealing to me. The music we’ve created with Beyond is an invitation for all people to open their hearts to the Other, beyond any differences, and to be united as a global community.

And yet we seem to be living in an increasingly polarized world. What’s your view on the divisiveness that currently dominates politics, both in America and abroad? I believe the remedy for divisiveness is to cultivate and spread compassion for all living beings. It seems in so many places there is a drought of love and kindness these days. Some people react to pain by inflicting more pain on themselves and others. This is a vicious cycle that creates more negative karma and makes things worse for everyone. Our human family must end the toxic karmic pattern of divisiveness before it ends us.

America was already reeling from violence and division before COVID-19. If anything, the pandemic seems to have made everything worse. As someone who has survived racism, family trauma, financial ruin, and the premature death of loved ones, what advice would you offer? The most important thing is to never give up. No matter what. When we choose hope over despair, we have already won. “Winter always turns to spring” is one of my favorite sayings from Nichiren. The trick is that we have to do our part to help it along.

Buddhism has taught me that hidden inside of our challenges are the lessons we must learn in order to break through to a better life. As hard as that might be to grasp in the midst of difficult times, when we can see our problems from that perspective, things naturally change. Then even the impossible becomes possible.

Choosing hope is crucial, as is finding ways to use our difficulties to move forward. In my life there were a lot of so-called impossible circumstances that I couldn’t control or change, but my epiphany was that, through my spiritual practice, I could change my way of responding to challenges. I realized that the most valuable help comes from within.

What, for you, is the most important aspect of Buddhism for people to keep in mind today? Buddhism teaches equality—the empowering principle that everyone has the potential to attain enlightenment and become absolutely, indestructibly happy. When we come to see this potential in ourselves, we can see and respect it in everyone else, too.

As the Soka Gakkai International (SGI) president Daisaku Ikeda says: “When we realize that our lives are one with the great and eternal life of the universe, we are the Buddha. The purpose of Buddhism is to enable all people to come to this realization.” This is so important because it’s open to everyone, regardless of culture, language, even religion. It’s a reminder that everyone equally has the potential for Buddhahood, for enlightenment, and that our salvation is up to us.

What makes you such a strong believer? Actual proof. Nichiren taught that spiritual practice should result in “actual proof.” And my personal practice has shown me, time after time, that it just works. Nothing is more convincing than actual proof. And that makes me a very strong believer.

You’ve never stopped struggling to better yourself, never stopped striving. What has been your biggest challenge recently? Staying physically fit and healthy after my health challenges. In the past ten years, I’ve experienced cancer, vertigo, strokes, and kidney failure. That would be a lot to handle at any age, but I got through it in my seventies! No matter how challenging it was, or might yet be, nothing can defeat my spirit.

Now at eighty, I can say with a smile that I have truly won in every aspect of my life. I am thankful that the discipline of my spiritual practice helped me to keep calm and collected, regardless of what happened, and I never felt low for very long.

Mental attitude is always half the battle, and my mental state has been clear and strong, thanks to chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo.

What would you like to share with people who are just beginning their Buddhist practice? Have patience and be determined. Never stop growing and learning. Be open to expanding your heart and mind. Become bigger than any problem you encounter. Continually broadening your inner world is the key to happiness. In the Soka Gakkai tradition, we call this process “human revolution.”

Can you say a bit more about that for our readers who might not be familiar with this principle? Human revolution is an inner transformation, a revolution of the heart. It’s the process of growth that happens when we work on expanding our best qualities in order to overcome obstacles or adversity. Think of it as a way of getting comfortable with voluntary growth.

“When you can see clearly, you can transform any situation.”

Stepping out of your comfort zone for the sake of self-improvement and contributing to the greater good is a lifelong practice. But wonderful things come from opening your heart and mind to new possibilities. I believe we can find a higher purpose in nearly anything we do—in work or in life. That is human revolution.

What’s the most surprising thing you’ve learned in your eighty years of life? Regardless of age, life will always have more surprises in store for you! Some surprises will bring joy and some will bring suffering. Either way you have to roll with it and, most important, learn from it. Smile and appreciate the ride—it’s a reminder that you’re alive!

If you could convince everyone in the world to do just one thing to make it better, what would that one thing be? Always be kind. You will find it comes back to you.

That’s good advice for anyone, and I suspect there are circumstances where you must first be kind to yourself. A large part of your story of personal transformation was your escape from an abusive relationship. Do you have advice for people who may feel trapped in an unhealthy relationship? You may not have direct control over what comes your way, but you do have control over how you respond. You are stronger than you think. Take care of yourself, love yourself. Through spiritual practice, you can come to see yourself and your life clearly. And when you can see clearly, you can transform any situation. Never settle for a relationship in which you aren’t respected, honored, and cherished.

You have spoken publicly about your positive view on aging. How did you manage to rise above the youth-obsessed culture of the music and entertainment business? I’ve always welcomed getting older and owned my age with pride. I’ve definitely run up against ageism in my career, but I overcame it by doing my best and showing that experience is valuable.

Experience brings wisdom. If we aim to be a happier version of ourselves today than yesterday, then age is only a number. At every stage of life, I’ve felt fortunate to experience what comes with each year. In my heart today, I feel more youthful than ever. That is because I treasure every moment.

You’ve taken on the air of an unflappable hero over the course of your long career. After all you’ve overcome and your years of spiritual practice, do you still get angry or feel despondent? Yes, of course, I’m a real human being, after all! [Laughs.] And like everyone else, I experience the full range of human emotions—including anger and sadness. But I’ve learned not to let negative feelings linger.

Whenever I feel the shadows creeping in, I increase the light however I can. Exercising, doing yoga, meditating, reading, chanting, going for a stroll, spending time with friends or family. Even just taking a nap can work wonders. But it’s also possible to transform those feelings, to “change poison into medicine,” as Nichiren called it.

It’s the idea that when you raise your life condition, when you improve your state of mind, you can use the resulting wisdom, courage, and compassion to convert any negative into a positive. It starts by facing problems with the knowledge that you have the power within you not only to overcome them, but also to thrive because of them—to accomplish more than you have before and reach new heights. And when your confidence needs a boost, you can recharge it by doing whatever positive practice lifts you up. Elevating your life condition is the key to creating meaningful, lasting changes.

Today, those coming to Buddhism for the first time are often in their twenties. As a friend observed recently: their first memories are of 9/11. Then came climate collapse. And now the pandemic. Do you have any advice for young people today? Be part of the solution to our world’s challenges, in whatever way suits you best. Be honest, work hard, and be true to yourself. Hard work will serve you well. Don’t be fooled by the allure of an easy path. Only toil gives rise to solid character.

Devote yourself to becoming the type of person who can always bring out the goodness in yourself and others. That’s how to create real value, satisfaction, and sweetness in life.

The post Absolutely, Indestructibly Happy appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

The first time I heard the chant “Namu-myoho-renge-kyo” was at a meeting of Japanese and Japanese American Buddhists in Amarillo, Texas. Although this was 50 years ago, I can still vividly recall entering a room filled with people facing a small altar, the resonant sound of their chanting, and the piney smell of burning incense. I felt enveloped in the warmth and welcome of the gathering. It felt like home.

This was my introduction to Nichiren Buddhism, and to this day I continue to claim a deep and abiding faith in the teachings of Nichiren Shonin (1222–1282) and in their source, the Lotus Sutra. There are more than thirty schools of Nichiren Buddhism, and for all their differences, they are all characterized by reliance on the Lotus Sutra as taught by Nichiren Shonin and by the practice of chanting the Odaimoku, “the great sacred title” of the sutra. Today, even as a priest and an elder in the sangha, I still experience that same sense of warmth I felt so long ago. Buddhism has been for me a journey of fresh discoveries, one I believe will continue until my death, and perhaps beyond.

For Nichiren Buddhists, faith is a necessary element of the spiritual path. Faith, practice, and study are the essential building blocks for the development of a fully realized life. These form the foundation for a full-fledged engagement with the dharma. Intellectual knowledge is not necessarily required at the outset. It does, however, become increasingly important and valuable as one proceeds. Many Buddhist practitioners in the West are inclined to view Buddhism more as a philosophy than a religion, and so they regard faith with some suspicion. To me, it does not matter what we call our way of approaching the dharma; what matters is that we each find an efficacious practice that supports our lives. When that happens, we tend to develop faith in the possibilities and the reliability of whatever our practice is. For Nichiren Buddhists, practice is built on faith, and faith can only be sustained through actual practice.

Nichiren Shonin was a monk of the Tendai school of Buddhism in Japan in the 13th century, the Kamakura era. This was viewed by most Buddhists of that time and place as the onset of mappo, the millennia-long age of degeneracy of the buddhadharma. Nichiren felt that the times demanded a renewed emphasis on the Lotus Sutra, including a practice that could make its teachings available to monastics and laity alike, no matter what their status was. After years of intensive practice, study, and exploration, Nichiren found what he felt was the key to practice for his time and for the times to come. He determined that the simplicity of chanting the Odaimoku was a way for anyone to bring fundamental spiritual change to their life. This practice was a way of planting seeds of awakening in the lives of those who undertook it. Entering the path to Buddhahood required nothing beyond the simple act of chanting.

In the Odaimoku, the word namu means “devotion to” or “respect for.” Myoho-renge-kyo is the Japanese pronunciation of the ancient Chinese characters for the Lotus Sutra. Myo means “wonderful, mysterious,” as well as “to open” or “to be reborn,” and ho means the dharma, or law, taught by the Buddha. Renge means “lotus flower,” which, because it produces flower and seed at the same time, is indicative of the simultaneity of cause and effect. The lotus plant also grows in muddy swamps while producing a flower that is untouched by the dirt, indicating that our lives are formed out of the “mud” of the world of suffering and delusion, or samsara. Kyo means “sutra,” a teaching of the Buddha. The Odaimoku thus means “devotion and respect for the Sutra of the Lotus Flower of the Wonderful Dharma.”

Nichiren Shonin shared the teachings of the sutra through the simple practice of chanting the Odaimoku. This is in keeping with his assertion that the entire meaning and purpose of the sutra was to be found in its title and therefore one need only to chant the title to achieve buddhahood. He was not the first to espouse this practice; he was however, the first to recommend it widely. He once said,

The spirit of our five- or six-foot body appears on our face. The spirit of our one-foot face also appears in our eyes. It is the same with “Namu-myoho-renge-kyo.” A single letter of the 69,384 characters in twenty-eight chapters in eight volumes of the Lotus Sutra is the same as all the characters. This is of vital importance in all matters. The essence of the Lotus Sutra is the Odaimoku, “Namu-myoho- renge-kyo.” When you chant it twice, it is the same as reciting the sutra twice, so 100, 1,000, or 10,000 times of chanting is equal to 100 recitations, 1,000 recitations, or 10,000 recitations. Those who chant the Odaimoku constantly are the people who constantly read the Lotus Sutra.

The Lotus Sutra was compiled in India beginning in the first century BCE and traveled along the Silk Road to China, where it became arguably the most influential Buddhist scripture; it is often referred to as the “king of sutras.” In a 2006 interview in Tricycle, the Buddhist scholar Jacqueline Stone spoke about why the Lotus Sutra came to be held with such reverence:

The text [of the Lotus Sutra] suggests that not only is this the final teaching of Shakyamuni Buddha, or the historical Buddha, it is the final teaching given by all buddhas before they enter nirvana. It is, in other words, the final word on Buddhism. … The scripture is equated with the Buddha’s body, and so to hold the sutra is to hold the very body of the Buddha. We can’t know the intentions of the sutra’s compilers, but one could read this as saying that the sutra is not about the dharma, it is the dharma—that is, it is the embodiment of ultimate truth. Certainly this is one way it has been seen historically, at least in East Asia.

The sutra is said to be the “one vehicle” (Sanskrit, ekayana), the teaching that includes yet goes beyond all other Buddhist teachings. It teaches the timeless nature of the Buddha, asserting that all buddhas in all realms and times are manifestations of the Eternal Buddha. The sutra claims that through its teachings all beings can eventually reach full buddhahood. Toward this end, the sutra establishes the five ways of practice for sharing the dharma: receive and keep the sutra, read the sutra, recite the sutra, copy the sutra, and expound the sutra.

For Nichiren Buddhists, faith can only be sustained through actual practice.

In my experience, Nichiren Shonin’s teachings on the Lotus Sutra provide a sanctuary and a refuge in which we can stretch and challenge ourselves and awaken to Buddha’s wisdom. While chanting the Odaimoku we develop the kind of faith that is a vehicle for bringing us home to our true selves.

Many convert Buddhists wonder why we Nichiren Buddhists focus on chanting instead of silent meditation. Some might challenge our practice as being antithetical to how the Buddha originally practiced. Certainly, stories about the Buddha’s awakening tell of his practice of silent sitting meditation. But we might also consider the manner of transmission of the Buddha’s teachings, in which communal chanting was essential.

In the time of the Buddha, knowledge was transmitted through the spoken word. It was not until long after the Buddha’s death that the dharma was written down and written texts were made available. The idea of oral transmission is one of the critical elements of chanting practice. Chanting supports one’s ability to learn and understand the meaning of the teachings. For Nichiren Buddhists, chanting is at once an offering and a way to enter into a one-on-one conversation with the Buddha. This personal conversation can be done in any condition in which one finds oneself: in grief, in rage, in joy, in laughter, in tears. Somehow, reverent dialogue with the Buddha brings a feeling of profound acceptance and comfort as well as knowledge and insight about one’s life and practice.

There are several ways Nichiren practitioners traditionally approach chanting: as ritual, as meditation, as learning, and as connection to the three treasures.

A beginner’s practice may consist simply of chanting the Odaimoku, typically for about 10 minutes or more. This is known as shodaigyo, or “chanting practice.” One might simply chant, or one might include ritual forms, silent meditation, prayers, and the transfer of merit. The important point, though, is to begin a disciplined practice by chanting twice a day, morning and evening.

It is helpful to establish a sacred space by setting up an altar. The altar might include an object of focus or veneration, such as a statue of the Buddha, and offerings such as flowers, water, incense, and candles. Keeping the altar clean, orderly, and fresh is itself part of the ritual of practice. Although these ritual elements are not necessary for entering the dharma, such small routines contribute to establishing a sacred space distinct from mundane concerns and affairs.

Over time, one might include, in addition to the Odaimoku, the practice of chanting chapters of the Lotus Sutra. This can be done in one’s native language or in shindoku, which is the Japanese pronunciation of Chinese characters. The Odaimoku is an example of shindoku. Shindoku is often referred to as the language of faith, and it is commonly practiced by various schools of Japanese Buddhism, such as Zen and Pure Land.

Chanting as meditation occurs when one’s mind is fully engaged with the chant’s sound and rhythm. One must be fully present to chant properly. The full engagement of body and mind brings one into deep meditation. Conversely, if one is distracted, one will fall out of the rhythm and harmony. It becomes immediately obvious when this happens, and so chanting becomes a key to mastering one’s mind, rather than being mastered by it, and a method of polishing one’s life. When one chants with integration of body and mind, one enters into a deep connection with one’s buddhanature.

Chanting is also about learning, bodily and mentally. Chanting creates a deep interaction with the teachings. It is said that chanting in shindoku inscribes the Lotus Sutra in one’s life. This is a way of bypassing the conceptual mind, since it doesn’t require understanding the words at that level. Alternatively, chanting in one’s native language provides a way of engaging with the sutra intellectually. In this manner, one becomes intimately involved with the Buddha’s teachings, learning to directly apply them in a personal and immediate manner. What’s more, chanting in one’s native language can become a stream of consciousness, in which understanding merges with the kind of feelings connected to the shindoku practice. Whether in shindoku or in one’s own language, through chanting we are engaging with the sutra and the sutra is engaging with us. This mutual engagement is a means of transmitting the dharma to each other and to ourselves.

Chanting establishes one’s connection to the three treasures—the Buddha, dharma, and sangha. This connection is the essence of Buddhist life. By engaging and unifying all the senses, focused chanting allows one to go within and awaken to the dharma and one’s buddhanature. Chanting in a group is a principal element in sangha building, allowing individuals to connect with others in one united voice. We call this experience itai doshin, “different in body, one in mind.” Chanting together in shindoku allows disparate individuals from different cultures to transcend language barriers and come together with openness and harmony.

All of this sounds great in theory, but what does it mean practically? I tend to think of the Odaimoku as working like a kind of natural law, much like gravity. Whether we believe in gravity or not, it still operates, as it does whether or not we grasp the physics to explain it. For me, chanting the Odaimoku generates a response in my life that I personally do not completely understand. Over the years, though, I have developed a deep certainty about the practice. I know the sound of my chanting permeates my entire life. I have come to believe that the Odaimoku, largely in response to one’s sincerity of effort, “hears” what is deep within one’s life. I have observed its effects in the lives of many individuals with varying issues, all of whom managed to change their lives through fully engaged practice.

My personal experience—and that of many others—of following this simple practice has been quite profound. I cannot recall when I realized how much my own thinking had changed as a result of the practice, but without my even seeking those changes, they happened. I found that, as Nichiren Shonin once said, “If you truly believe in the Lotus Sutra, you will be rewarded and protected by the buddhas.” When I encounter difficulty in my daily life, I have learned that, by chanting, I can find my way through. I have found in Buddhist practice a way to answer questions of ethics, character development, and standards of behavior. This is not magic. These answers arise within my own life. I have come to realize and accept that I don’t need to fight with myself to grow personally.

Following the five ways of practice has provided a solid basis for my spiritual path. To receive and keep the Lotus Sutra means to follow the teachings in the sutra, making them the foundation of my life. Reading the sutra reveals the basics of Buddhist thought, such as the four noble truths, the eightfold path, the twelve-linked chain of causation, and so forth. Reading also provides a kind of road map for living. I find this especially in the latter portions of the sutra, where the activities of bodhisattvas are described. Reciting the sutra is the practice of chanting the Odaimoku as well as the text. This requires developing the ability to still the mind and allow the syllables to flow out into space. Whether one understands the words or not, the sutra thus becomes inscribed in one’s life and is transmitted to others. To expound the sutra means to share it. For me, this has come to entail taking it into my life and living the teachings as best I can. It means sharing the teachings by sharing my life, trying to embody the dharma.

Embodying the dharma is, of course, one of the most difficult aspects of practice. It requires one to take responsibility working for the benefit of others. I think of this as a practice for grownups. But we must begin simply, at the beginning. The simple practice of chanting the Odaimoku provides just such a place to start. Following the five ways of practice takes us along the path. I believe this path leads us to realizing the deepest happiness in life. Over time, by embodying the teachings, by sharing the Lotus Sutra as our life, we come to realize the Lotus Sutra as our sanctuary and refuge. As home.

The post Chanting as the Whole of Life appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Mom thought Saturday would be a good day to die. Definitely. No one expected to see her that day all dressed up in her white uniform with the shiny brass RN badge on her lapel. Harlem Hospital’s prenatal unit would be closed, and Saturday meant no school for us kids. Grandpa would drive us across the Brooklyn Bridge for the weekend. It was a sort of free day for Mom. Yes, this was her plan: suicide on a sunny Saturday.

How do I know this? Because before she died, she shared her memories of this day with me in detail.

Manhattan sparkles in spring, and that day when Mom glanced at the glistening New York City asphalt, she felt a deep relief. She had been contemplating death for years. When Dad moved to Mexico City with his secretary, everything unraveled for us four. Mom’s drug addictions kept her in a continual cycle of hate, anger, and despair—a cycle that always led to her violent abuse of me and my two younger sisters. Inside our swanky West Side apartment, we were living in hell. Now, after a decade of fruitless attempts to heal, Mom was broken in body and spirit and consumed with self-hatred. Suicide seemed like her only out. A few days earlier she had written in her journal: “How mercilessly I beat them, almost daily. I am alone. I’m using mescaline, pot, speed, psychotropics, and sleeping pills, sleeping around, and just so beaten up by life.

I will kill myself.”

Something else she knew: this Jewish American princess would not go down with bad hair. Before overdosing on barbiturates, she would go to the beauty salon. She was only 33 and she didn’t need color treatments, but she had always hated her natural curls. As Marilyn, the stylist, sprang into action, Mom tried to relax in the soft leather chair. Her hair fell back into the shampoo bowl, her head filled with worries. Who would take the kids? What would her mom and dad think—would they even care if she left this earth? Oh, but it felt delicious and decadent to have Marilyn massage her scalp. She decided to enjoy the moment.

“How are the kids?” Marilyn asked.

“They’re great,” Mom smiled.

She had already decided that she would call her boyfriend for a final fling. He was a top-notch New York City narcotics officer, and whenever he apprehended his dealers, he would confiscate their drugs and save the best to share with Mom: uppers, downers, mescaline, Quaaludes, psychedelics, hashish, and new strains of hallucinogens. Remembering this period of her life, Mom later wrote in her diary: “Who the fuck was taking care of my babies? Boy, our apartment was a fucking den of sex and drugs. Poor Leslie, I remember her so depressed and how I would beat them if they tried to get anything they needed from me. . . . How I hated having to take care of them and how I wished they would all go away.”

As the hum of the blow-dryer filled the air, Marilyn exclaimed: “You look so beautiful!” Though Mom felt ugly, she fixed her eyes on herself in the mirror. Staring at her own blue-green eyes, milk-white skin and finely chiseled nose, she ignored Marilyn’s chatter and felt sharp pains in her stomach. Her insides cringed at the person she had become.

She had tried to stop beating us. She had tried to heal herself though primal scream therapy, rational emotive therapy, Gestalt therapy, psychoanalysis therapy, Freudian therapy, Synanon Game therapy, traditional therapy, and a myriad of drugs. Nothing had worked, and with each failure her rage toward us three intensified.

Worst of all were the night beatings. Speed possessed Mom at about midnight and did not leave her bones until about three a.m., when her sleeping pills and smooth vodka kicked in. We expected it nightly. Like chameleons, we adjusted to our maniacal mom. Over time, being dragged around the smooth hardwood floors by our long wavy hair no longer fazed us. She would hurl guttural screeches at us for hours and then make us clean, sweep, dust, fold, rinse dishes, change bed sheets, organize toys, and wet-mop the floors. We wanted to live, so we scoured the house and didn’t utter a sound during the craziness. In a sleepy daze, bearing her slaps and kicks, we cleaned and then cleaned what was already clean until she finally fell asleep.

As Saturday’s sun set in gold and red on the Hudson River, Mom decided to defer death. She would try one more thing before suicide.

After I was born, Mom had wanted to lose the pregnancy weight quickly because my dad hated plump women. When she told her doctor she needed to get thin fast, he immediately prescribed diet pills. As a nurse, she should have known about the link between amphetamines and aggressive behavior. Once she was addicted to uppers, Mom couldn’t sleep, and that’s when she started to accumulate an unlimited supply of sleeping pills. Full-blown amphetamine psychosis paired up with the numbness of sedation, and her heavenly hell began.

Her hair was finally dry now, and Marilyn set it with huge curlers to eliminate the frizz. Mom envisioned herself going back to the apartment, undressing, and walking around naked, singing her favorite sad Billie Holiday song, “God Bless the Child.” She’d have a glass of vodka with a bit of tonic water and then overdose.

While Marilyn was flattening the final section of hair, Mom began to plan her suicide note. “Marilyn, look!” a voice exclaimed. Mom turned from her own reflection to see the face that belonged to the voice. “I brought you a copy of the book I was telling you about, Buddhism: The First Millennium.”

The dark-haired woman, Melanie, was radiant. She was telling Marilyn about an ancient chant—and how it could buoy the spirit. Mom had never seen anyone look so happy from the inside out. “What are you on?” she asked. “Please tell me.” Mom wondered what drug could be on the market that she hadn’t yet tried.

Melanie shot a look at Mom, “No, no, I’m not on any drugs. Have you ever heard of Nichiren Buddhism? That’s my practice. It’s a devotional path that involves reciting and meditating on certain passages of a scripture called the Lotus Sutra.” Melanie went on to tell Mom how invoking the Japanese title of this sutra, “Nam-myoho- renge-kyo,” a practice known as the daimoku, could change her life by drawing out her inner buddhanature. “As your voice makes vibrations, you shift your own life condition.” Melanie shared the translation of the daimoku, “Devotion to the mystic law of causality through sound” (or “through the Lotus Sutra”), and how myo can also mean “to open” or “to revive.”

Mom laughed loudly. She still wondered if Melanie was stoned, but Melanie continued talking about how her tradition believed in the boundless potential we all possess. She told Mom, “This practice can alter destiny without drugs.” In spite of herself, Mom couldn’t help but wonder: was it possible this meeting was more than mere coincidence?

Her hair was finally free of frizz, and Mom stood up from her chair. “You wanna teach me this verse today?” she asked Melanie. “My kids aren’t home, and I need this now!” Melanie must have sensed the urgency in Mom’s voice. “Sure, honey,” she said. “Let’s go to your house, and I’ll explain more.”

They left the salon and got on the subway. On the train, Mom poured out her story: her grief at abandonment, her drug use, her abusive behavior toward her daughters, and the lure of suicide. Melanie quoted the president of the Buddhist organization Soka Gakkai International, Dr. Daisaku Ikeda: “The act of chanting Nam-myoho- renge-kyo is a drama of profound communion or interaction between ourselves and the universe. . . . It is the revolution that rewrites the scenario of our destiny.” Mom’s body shimmied and shook during the subway ride. Was she in a dream? It all seemed so surreal. Was it possible that she could become a Jewish American Buddhist?

As Melanie stepped into the apartment, she passed the large barrel of marijuana in the entryway and asked Mom where they could set up “a spiritual corner.” They settled on turning the wet bar into an altar. Melanie and Mom placed their hands over their hearts and began to make sounds. Within moments, the harmonics of their vibrating voices began to create a feeling of relief for Mom. Her heart hummed and her soul was soothed. She tasted hope, something sweet. An intimation of unconditional love. A stranger had saved her sanity that day.

As Saturday’s sun set in gold and red on the Hudson River, Mom decided to defer death. She would try one more thing before suicide. In her journal that evening she wrote, “And that’s when I started to chant and began to see my life. . . . Death can wait.”

When we three kids got home from Grandma’s the next day, Mom stormed in my room and declared, “We are going to be Buddhists now.” “What the hell?” I said. “No way! Have you gone completely crazy?” “No,” she said in a calmer tone. “I think this might help us, help our happiness along. It seems positive and we are all gonna try it.” As Mom spoke, I glanced at the transformed white marble wet bar, now missing its bottles of bourbon, gin, vodka, and whisky and the shiny glasses.

To me it was clear that Mom had finally flipped. Her bar had become a Buddhist altar. Her drug-and-desire table now featured a sacred scroll, white candles, green leaves sprouting from a clear vase, a bowl of apples and bananas, green incense lying flat in a wooden box, a tiny sparkling gold pillow supporting a black bell, and a white lotus-shaped water dish. At 13 years old, I was defiant. “No, no, no, no, no,” I said to her. “If you want to make strange sounds, go ahead, but I am out.” As the oldest of three, my mission had always been to manage Mom’s hysteria and brace for our regular beatings. I felt a semblance of safety by thinking I could control her next rage. But mumbo-jumbo chanting? I had no strategies for that. And besides, I was numb to the notion of having peace in our violent home. In my mind, I was so much smarter than my mother was. I was done with her mishegas, her craziness, and I wanted nothing to do with another one of her futile attempts at self-improvement. “You are certifiably crazy,” I told her. But she just looked at me and said, “Would you try this practice with me if I make you a bet?”

“What type of bet?” I asked warily.

“Here’s the deal,” Mom said. “Chant with me twice a day for at least 10 minutes for one hundred days, go to one Buddhist meeting a week, and study this teaching 5 minutes a day. If after this trial you don’t see a positive effect, I promise I will quit.”

Just then Mom was already experiencing a very palpable relief from the chanting, a shift in her energy—but I didn’t know this at the time. “Leslie, I dare you to become happy,” she told me.

My mom was smarter than I thought. She knew how to get to me. My teenage mind thought, This is great—I can get Mom to quit this charade. I made her promise me in writing that unless every single thing that I chanted for came to be, she would stop. “Mom, you’re on, but I’m gonna win,” I told her.

On the first of the hundred days, I sat on a cushion facing the wet bar. I recited “Nam-myoho-renge-kyo” with fervor to win the bet; in my mind I was smirking nonstop. But over time, as I chanted the daimoku with her twice a day, deep down I began to wonder: Could this work? In spite of myself, the simple act of making the vibration was helping my defeated spirit rise just slightly higher. The sounds sparked a hint of what happiness might feel like. But of course I couldn’t tell Mom what I was feeling.

By the twenty-fifth day of the bet, I felt a tremor of joy deep down. I was only a quarter of the way through the experiment, but already I was beginning to question my entrenched belief that my life would always be terrible, as it had for the last ten brutal years. Did Mom have buddhanature? Did I? Was transforming our horrific family karma possible?

By the fifty-fifth day, still set on disproving this to Mom, I realized I had a problem: Mom was winning the bet. Everything on my prayer list was manifesting as I continued to repeat the daimoku, but more importantly, I felt happier and noticed that Mom seemed happier too. Something was shifting, but I did not want to admit it.

I followed Mom’s terms every day of the test. I chanted twice a day, went to a weekly meeting, and started learning how to turn the wheel of cause and effect in my life by transforming my obstacles into an invitation for inner growth. In a lecture, Dr. Ikeda wrote, “The times when we experience the most intense suffering, unbearable agony, and seemingly insurmountable deadlock are actually brilliant opportunities for doing our human revolution.” As I learned about this philosophy, my inner transformation truly began. I felt a kind of cellular vibrational shift, as if molecules were moving in my favor. Prior to this bet, I often wondered whether happiness really existed or was just a fantasy on TV. But each day as I chanted, sorrow lifted and hope started to replace it.

When the one hundred days ended, I realized definitively that I had lost the bet. I tested the power of the words initially in a very superficial way. But what I most remember was that—despite my disbelief in Buddhism—my despair was lifting. Pressing my palms together as I repeated the daimoku, I felt a smiling from within that I had never felt before. Mom knew she had won because I kept chanting and never asked her to quit. I had reluctantly joined her on this strange spiritual quest, and now, at the age of 13, I felt inside that I had become a full-fledged Jewish Buddhist. Though it might have been invisible to others, I felt like a once raggedy orphan who was now wearing a shining tiara of hope.

Life for us four improved day by day. Mom’s drug use and rages slowly decreased. Gradually, as I learned that every obstacle in life contains its own source of transformative energy, my own practice expanded beyond the realm of tangible desires and focused on a deeper spiritual understanding. This was the key to the striking vitality that my mother had seen in Melanie—and that, in the depth of her despair, she knew she wanted for herself.

My mother and sisters and I have had many challenges on the road to healing. But as our mentor Dr. Ikeda writes, “When you look back, you’ll find that the difficulty that was causing you so much heartache became an opportunity to dynamically expand your life-state.” Certainly that turned out to be true, both for my mother and for me. And now, in retrospect, it almost seems like a wonderful joke. My mother went to a beauty parlor that Saturday morning because she didn’t want to leave this earth with bad hair. Instead she found her way to a very different kind of beauty, a beauty that was still shining from her face when, shortly before her death in old age, she asked each of her daughters once again for forgiveness. It was a beauty that she dared me to find for myself—in a bet that, for the rest of my life, I will be grateful for having lost.

The post The Buddhist Bet appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Nichiren Shonin taught that the essence of the Lotus Sutra is found by developing faith through chanting what’s called the daimoku (or the odaimoku), the sutra’s sacred title. Myokei Caine-Barrett, the first woman and the first Westerner to hold the position of bishop in the Nichiren Order of North America, leads us through daimoku practice.

Myokei Caine-Barrett, Shonin is the first woman and the first Westerner to hold the position of bishop in the Nichiren Order of North America. She is the resident priest of the Myoken-ji Temple in Houston, Texas.

The post Living the Lotus Sutra appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Pure Land practice is simple. It doesn’t require that the practitioner be learned in Buddhist thought or exceptional in moral virtue, meditation, or spiritual discipline. It is suitable for those with busy lives, and it is as suitable for those who are struggling with self-destructive habits or feelings of despondency, anger, sadness, or confusion as it is for those who are full of joy in living. It connects us with the beauty in the world, is full of art and poetry, fosters gratitude for all we receive, and restores basic faith.

The origins of Pure Land practice lie in Shakyamuni’s teachings to laypeople and the devotion that people felt toward him during and after his lifetime. The great popularizers of this approach—Shan Tao in 7th-century China and Honen Shonin in 12th-century Japan, and their teachers, disciples, and associates—were people who lived exemplary Buddhist lives and knew the whole range of Buddhist teachings, yet chose to emphasize an approach to practice that was accessible to the ordinary person, no matter what their circumstance, personal virtue, gender, status, or history was. These teachers lived in dark times and offered hope.

Honen Shonin saw his father killed in civil war. He worried about the fate of his mother, who was a Korean immigrant. He was shocked by what he saw of human brutality in the Hogen uprising (1156). He understood that many people were trapped in oppressive social conditions they could do little or nothing about. He instituted the nembutsu, the recitation of the Buddha’s name, as a practice of solidarity with and solace for the oppressed.

How can we put ourselves in relationship with unconditional love and live a life that is open, spontaneous, compassionate, and full of trust?

The questions at the heart of Pure Land Buddhism are perennial and universal: How can we put ourselves in relationship with unconditional love and live a life that is open, spontaneous, compassionate, and full of trust, given that we are only ordinary human beings living in a world that is, as Buddha said, on fire with greed, hate, and delusion? We ourselves are not immune: we are part of this world. How can we entrust ourselves to a way that goes beyond the worries and small-minded concerns that clutter ordinary existence and be part of something greater that contributes to the welfare of all sentient beings, when our capacity is so limited and we are already corrupted by beginningless karma?

THREE CORE ELEMENTS

In Pure Land Buddhism, the great unconditional love that we intuit is embodied in Amida, the Buddha of Infinite Life and Light. In Mahayana Buddhism, of which Pure Land is a part, there is a strong sense that the being of Buddha is not something limited to a single place and time but is universally present and available, inspiring and benefitting us. This is known as the Buddha’s sambhoghakaya aspect. In Pure Land, enlightenment is not so much something to be achieved by personal attainment but rather something that constantly bathes us, a light for the world already given by the boundless presence of buddhas and their teachings.

Then, in contradistinction to this inspiring intuition, Pure Land practice also begins with a recognition that in oneself, one does not perfectly embody such wisdom and compassion; that as a matter of fact and daily evidence, we are deluded beings, emotionally vulnerable and prone to all kinds of errors. This is the state that ordinary people recognize when they say, “I’m only human.” In Japanese it is our bombu nature. In this sense we are literally “foolish beings,” and it is this humble self-recognition that is the second foundation of Pure Land practice.

Putting these two things together—recognition of universal love on the one hand and of our own limited nature on the other—we may suddenly experience a shift, or even a shock. Here we are, prone to greed, hate, and delusion in all their many forms, often acting selfishly and making mistakes, sometimes with dire consequences, yet from the perspective of universal compassion, loved and accepted just as we are. In the language of Pure Land Buddhism, we are accepted by the love of the buddhas, Amida Buddha in particular. In Pure Land practice we recite the Buddha’s name to express our feeling about this, especially our gratitude and wonderment.

These, then, are the three foundations of Pure Land practice. First, to recognize the universal presence. Second, to face our own limited nature. Third, to express wonderment through calling out the name of the Buddha. As we continue with such practice, the calling, as it were, turns around and turns us around. We start to experience it not so much as me calling to the Buddha, but more and more as Buddha calling me. Pure Land Buddhism is, therefore, a “calling” in both senses of the word. It is a practice of calling out, and it is also a sense of being called—a practice that shapes one’s life and provides a spiritual security that transcends even birth and death.

PRACTICING THE NEMBUTSU WAY

There are many ways to call the Buddha’s name, and throughout the Buddhist world devotees do so in one way or another. It may be “Namo Buddhaya,” “Namo Tassa,” or “Buddham saranam gacchami.” In China it may be “Omito Fo” and in Japan “Namo Amida Butsu.” In the West this last tends to be Anglicized as “Namo Amida Bu” in order to preserve the six-syllable form of many Japanese chants. This method of calling the Buddha’s name is known as nembutsu.

The term nembutsu means “mindfulness of Buddha.” Namo Amida Bu means “I call upon measureless Buddha.” However, in reality this practice is not an intellectual or cognitive assertion; it is an expression of sentiment and a way of opening one’s heart to receive. When one recites the nembutsu it is an expression of gratitude and wonderment but also an expression of whatever spiritual feeling is arising at that time. In this sense it is an offering of oneself and a reception of grace. Reciting nembutsu is a two-way street connecting you with Buddha. It is not a straitjacket, not an attempt to squeeze oneself into a prescribed form or arrive at a prespecified state of mind. Each time one says the nembutsu, something different may arise. Whatever one is, one offers, and one receives what one needs. The hallmark of Pure Land is great acceptance, and one of the most difficult things may be to accept that one is already accepted.

Nembutsu can be said, called, chanted, or expressed in any of a great many different ways, rhythms, forms, melodies, and formats, in groups, in big, beautiful formal ceremonies, or while out on one’s own having a walk. Something good happens, “Namo Amida Bu.” Something bad happens, “Namo Amida Bu.” Stuck at traffic lights, “Namo Amida Bu.” Meeting another practitioner, “Namo Amida Bu.” As one gets into it, other practices also start to become forms of nembutsu. Bowing is nembutsu with the body. Acts of generosity are nembutsu for others. Visiting a shrine is nembutsu, because it brings us into mindfulness of Buddha.

What we are talking about is not really a technique but more an approach or orientation. It involves a positive use of imagination and a mobilization of emotion. The whole person is accepted. Pure Land is expressive and poetic. It encompasses the fullness and the pathos of life. It is sometimes said that Pure Land is for those of us who have already failed at more disciplined, ascetic, or demanding approaches, who are perhaps too sensitive, or too artistic, or too ordinary for the more heroic paths. Just say the nembutsu, and keep on saying it, and see.

One thing that we may well see is that insofar as we do take on board the sense that we are accepted even as we are, we tend to become more accepting of others. After all, they are flawed and fallible human beings just as we are, and they are up against the same samsaric difficulties burdened with their own karma, just as we are. We become more sympathetic to the failings of others. We feel loved and more able to love others in return. This is the foundation of true compassion and fellow feeling, which is the universal flavor of the dharma. When we take up the Pure Land orientation, the failures and tragedies that occur confirm rather than shake our faith.

Time to fall
is time to float
for a lotus blossom
–Zuigen Inagaki

In order to start the practice, you don’t need a clear idea of exactly what Amida is or how nembutsu works. Don’t inhibit your imagination, intuition, or emotion. This is not a creed or a dogma; it is a style. You can generate a sense of Amida as an unfolding wholesome energy, as the spirit that moved the Buddha to live a good life, or as unconditional love, but don’t worry about precision or accuracy. If you just have the sense that nembutsu might be a good thing and do it trusting that it will do its work, that is fine. In fact, it is more than fine, and for a special reason. Where many spiritual practices are about becoming more and more conscious, alert, and sharply aware and precise, Pure Land is more a matter of letting the spiritual sense sink down into one’s unconscious. It is not really that we do the practice so much as that the practice works on us, and it does so quietly, in the background, little by little transforming one’s life. Try it. If it works for you, keep going!

A good way to start practicing nembutsu may be to chant “Namo Amida Bu” for five minutes, once or twice a day. That’s it. You can either say the words or listen to a recording of the chant, which you can find online. Feel free to chant along with audio, or chant alone and vary the speed or pitch to suit your own voice. Some people feel self-conscious when they first start chanting, or worry about whether they’re getting it “right.” These feelings will likely fade after a few days [see “Getting Started” for more tips on beginning your practice].

If it helps, you can also simply incorporate nembutsu into daily life. The founders were aware that many ordinary Chinese or Japanese people would have to do their practice while planting rice seedlings or sailing a boat. In our case it might be mowing the lawn or driving the car.

One can’t say exactly how this wholesome energy will affect you—it will depend upon what you need.

Then again, as in any practice, it is good, if possible, to associate with other practitioners. In East Asia this is easy enough, but in the West one might have to reach out through the Internet. It is excellent when we can meet in person and chant together. Chanting is a practice that brings people closer, even if it is via a video link. A nembutsu meeting with some time for chanting and some time for personal sharing can be a great support to practice even when only two or three people are present, although this is even more helpful in a larger group.

In all of these ways we can express thanks for what we receive. A core element of the dharma is the teaching of dependent origination. Everything arises from causes and conditions, which means that everything that we are and everything we have depends upon other things to which we can express gratitude. Nembutsu is the way to do that—a way that not only gives thanks for the specific circumstance but also simultaneously, in a mere six syllables, invokes and connects all involved to the infinite wisdom and compassion of the buddhas. When you get your cup of coffee, “Namo Amida Bu.”

One can’t say exactly how this wholesome energy will affect you—it will depend upon what you need. Sometimes we don’t even know what’s best for ourselves, so we must trust that something good will begin to unfold. As the days go by, you may begin to feel more peaceful or gain more perspective on your problems. Some people notice that they are dealing with their emotions differently and having more patience with themselves and those around them. Most people feel more settled and more secure, less anxious and more natural.

Shinran, the most famous disciple of Honen Shonin, says in one of his songs that the Pure Land is jinen, which is sometimes translated as “naturalness,” or “things in their natural state.” Or as the Pure Land teacher Zuigen Inagaki writes:

Just as you are,
really,
just as you are!

I hope that you enjoy your explorations with nembutsu, and that it brings you the inspiration, peace, courage, and comfort that it has brought me.

Namo Amida Bu!

Getting Started

• You may want to practice at the same time every day to help form a habit. If you’re a morning person, set your alarm ten minutes early. Some people chant during their lunch break or in the evening before they go to bed.
• Choose a quiet space to practice. If you enjoy being outside, try chanting in the garden or while walking.
• Some people like to light a candle or light an incense stick before they begin.
• Chant along with recordings (URLs below), chant alone, or find a friend who’s interested in joining you and chant together.
• If finding privacy for chanting is difficult, just move your lips without making a noise or say the words silently in your head.
• Sometimes you may want to chant for a longer period of time. Some days you won’t find the time, or you’ll forget. That’s OK—just say “Namo Amida Bu” and carry on the next day.

Accompanying Audio:

• amidashu.org/dailynembutsu/prostrations_5mins.mp3
• amidashu.org/dailynembutsu/namoamidabu_5mins.mp3

♦

This article is a part of the special section “Meditations Off the Beaten Path” in Tricycle’s Winter 2018 issue. The other articles in this section are:

“Listening to Silence,”
by Dharma Master Hsin Tao, edited by Maria Reis Habito

“The Elemental Self,”
by Ayya Khema

“Breathe Deep,”
by Ken Kushner

The post Pure and Simple Practice appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

In Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind, Shunryu Suzuki told his North American convert students that their practice path would be that of “neither layman nor monk,” a quasi-monastic style of practice without the traditional support of a lay congregation or wealthy sustaining patrons. Even while pursuing Buddhist practice, students had to meet the exigencies of lay life: maintaining jobs, friendships, family commitments, and the rest. This “center-based” model is something that nearly every practice community has been working on ever since. What is not so well known is that Suzuki’s model of “neither layman nor monk” comes from another, earlier master: Shinran (1173–1262), one of Japanese Buddhism’s most celebrated figures.

Shinran was the founder of Jodo Shinshu, or Shin Buddhism, as it is known in English—the Japanese stream of the Pure Land tradition that originated in India and came to encompass one of the largest bodies of practice in East Asia. Shin Buddhism first appeared in the West in the late 19th century, and the teacher, writer, and translator D. T. Suzuki, best known for his works on Zen, wrote extensively in the 1960s about the Shin tradition; but its practices, including chanting the name of Amida Buddha, are only now becoming widely recognized in North America among convert Buddhists.

Before Shinran, much of Buddhism in Asia had subscribed to a clear hierarchy that situated priests above laypeople. Shinran broke with this tradition in two distinct ways: He was the first ordained Japanese priest to marry openly, and he was the first to act as a priest and simultaneously live as a family man, wearing robes and ministering to laity but absolutely refusing to live in temples. In looking back at his own life, he declared, “I am neither monk nor layman.” His innovations in lifestyle and religious status opened the way for Shin Buddhism’s radical egalitarianism, which did not consider lay life to be an impediment to religious attainment and allowed women to be fully ordained earlier than many other schools. It was a path that would reveal possibilities for the ongoing development of Buddhism in the West.

Related: Living Buddhism 

Like his contemporaries Zen master Dogen (1200–1253) of the Soto-shu [Soto school] and Nichiren (1222–1282) of the Nichiren-shu, Shinran began his career as a monk on Mount Hiei, the headquarters of the dominant Tendai school. All three saw the Tendai ecclesiastical order as riddled by corruption, with too many monks who sought wealth and fame, and hid their wives and girlfriends while excluding women from the sacred precincts of Mount Hiei.

In 1203, Honen (1133–1212), a monk who had recently rejected the Tendai authorities, was teaching a new path of Pure Land practice in which laypeople and the ordained were seen as equals on the spiritual path. This practice could be pursued by anyone, whether as an ordinary member of society, married with a family, or as a celibate renunciant. All that the path required was nembutsu practice, or chanting the name of Amida Buddha, “Namu Amida Butsu.” Through this practice, Honen taught, one would be fully embraced in boundless compassion. Two decades into his monkhood in the Tendai sect, Shinran had difficulty believing that such a path would work. To attain liberation, didn’t one have to renounce this world, let go of attachments, and complete a difficult path of practice? Yet prior to his abandoning the offcial doctrines of the Tendai School, Honen had been one of the most widely respected monks of his day, so Shinran felt there could be some validity to this new approach.

At age 29, Shinran entered into an intensive retreat at Rokkakudo, a temple in Kyoto, in hopes of receiving some kind of illuminating insight or vision. On the dawn of the 95th day of his 100-day retreat, Kannon, the Bodhisattva of Compassion (Avalokiteshvara), appeared to him in a dream and said, “If your karma should lead you to transgress the precept against encountering a woman and joining with her, then I will incarnate myself as the jewel-like woman, adorn your life, and eventually lead you into the Pure Land.” Awakening from this vivid dream oracle, Shinran was convinced of the truth of the way being taught by Honen, became the latter’s disciple, and entered the path of “Namu Amida Butsu.” Like other single-practice paradigms such as Dogen’s zazen and Nichiren’s daimoku (chanting of the title of the Lotus Sutra), Shinran’s nembutsu path focused on a central, approachable practice.

Honen and Shinran, however, had not received official sanction to teach this new path of Pure Land practice. Eventually, Honen, Shinran, and other leaders of the emerging movement were prosecuted as outlaw priests, had their status as ordained monks revoked, were given lay names, and were exiled into the rural countryside. Two of these priests were even executed, having been accused of breaking their vows with ladies of the court. Eventually, when things had died down, Honen, Shinran, and the others were allowed to return, but by this time Honen was elderly and unwell. He passed away within a year.

Shinran meanwhile had come to feel that the farmers, fishermen, and outcasts that he encountered in the countryside were more genuine and down-to-earth: they opened their hearts to the nembutsu path of Amida’s boundless compassion more readily than many of the learned but hypocritical ecclesiasticals who seemed preoccupied with petty bureaucratic rivalries and the privileges of power. He decided not to return to Kyoto. For the next 30 years, Shinran lived and worked among the peasants; he never lived in a temple again. He married a woman named Eshinni, and they became partners both in ministry and in life, raising seven children together. She even had a dream that mirrored Shinran’s own: in her dream, Shinran was an incarnation of Kannon, just as she had fulfilled Shinran’s dream oracle that he would meet the woman who would incarnate Kannon.

Shinran’s thought has continued to inform Buddhism in Japan and beyond, with such concepts as blind passions, foolish being, and boundless compassion becoming part of the English-language vocabulary of Shin Buddhist practice in the West. In Shin Buddhism, the person entrapped in the mental prison of his own making is caught in his own “blind passions” (bonno in Japanese). Passions and desires, like words and concepts, are not negative in and of themselves. It is only when we become obsessed by our ideas about what we think we are or should be that we become blind to the reality before us. Just as love must be allowed to unfold and cannot be forced, our broader experience of life and death can truly unfold only in the freedom of mutual encounter between us and the world, when we are no longer blinded by our desire to force things into a mold that has been preconceived in our minds.

One of the keys to Shinran’s thought lies in the fact that he saw all beings as subject to blind passions, including ordained Buddhist monks and nuns. No one is entirely free of blind passions; no one is devoid of the potential to realize the liberation from their bonds. The encounter with reality, the realization of emptiness, is described in Shin Buddhism as the embrace of boundless compassion (Japanese, mugai no daihi; muen no ji). Although emptiness, being beyond all distinctions, is formless and characterless, the experience of being released from the suffering of our blind passions into the vast, oceanlike emptiness is nonetheless experienced as a positive realization, what Shinran calls the entrance into “the ocean of limitless light” (kokai) of great compassion. Compassion suitably translates the Japanese Buddhist term jihi, as the former comes from the Latin com-, “with,” and passion, “feeling.” Thus, “compassion” is “feeling with” the flow of reality, a compassion that is boundless because it is beyond categorization, ineffable, inconceivable.

Whereas the norm is to see the learned monkhood as well advanced on the path, Shinran saw his lay followers, many of them illiterate peasants, as equal to or even superior to the monks of his day.

The one who is filled with blind passions is called a “foolish being” (Japanese, bonbu), and the embodiment of boundless compassion is Amida Buddha. Blind passion and boundless compassion, foolish being and Amida Buddha: These are terms of awakening in the daily religious life of Shinran’s Shin Buddhist. Furthermore, these polar pairs are captured in the central practice of Shin Buddhism, saying or chanting the name of Amida Buddha in the form of the phrase “Namu Amida Butsu,” meaning “I entrust myself to the awakening of infinite light.”

The nembutsu is derived from the Sanskrit Namo Amitabha Buddha. Namo is the same as the “namas” of the South Asian greeting “namaste,” “I bow to you.” In Pure Land practice, “Namo” or “Namu,” “I bow,” is an expression of deepest humility, naturally following from the awareness of oneself as a foolish being filled with blind passions. Amida Buddha’s name comes from the Sanskrit Amitabha Buddha, which means the “Buddha of Infinite Light” (alternately, Amitayus Buddha, “the Buddha of Eternal Life”). Yet since boundless compassion is always unfolding and never static, the more precise rendering is “the awakening of infinite light.” Just as we often experience a palpable darkness when we are troubled and a feeling of clarity or illumination when we are freed from our worries, the realization of emptiness/oneness comes to us as a vivid sense of limitless light: We become more aware of the presence of nature around us, such as the subtle hues of wild flowers blooming by the roadside.

We can never get rid of blind passions entirely, however, as long as we live in this limited mind and body that we call the “self.” In any moment of release from our ego-prison, we may feel the deep impetus never to complain again, never to prejudge others again. And yet we do complain; we still prejudge. However, once we have been awakened to the working of Amida’s boundless compassion, each moment of ignorance and blind passion becomes another opportunity to gain insight and learn anew, and over time our attachments begin to soften and release a bit more easily. In Shin Buddhism, we greatly value our blind passions as the very source of our own wisdom and compassion.

In the daily rhythm of the life of nembutsu, of saying or chanting “Namu Amida Butsu,” the smallest moments of reflection and appreciation carry as much significance as great realizations. Whether we are actively in the moment of saying “Namu Amida Butsu” or not, our life becomes transformed over time by being steeped in the totality of dharma, through hearing the teachings as well as chanting, bowing, and other bodily practices. Thus, seeing a plant beginning to wilt, I am reminded of my foolishness in forgetting to provide water to the being that gives me beauty, fresh air, and sprouts new life. In hearing my cat meow, I turn to look at my watch, seeing that in my preoccupations I have forgotten his dinner.

Related: Jodo Shinshu: The Teachings of Shinran 

Whether we are lay or ordained, women or men, it is only through recognizing our mistakes that we learn and grow. Our blind passions are like fertilizer for the field of our own spiritual development, as blind passions and boundless compassion go hand in hand: the more we become aware of our foolishness, the greater will be the illumination of boundless compassion; the deeper we go into the ocean of boundless compassion, the more we realize how we have been drowning in our own foolishness. It is a process whereby we are illuminated and immersed in the ocean-light of Amida’s great compassion. In chanting the Name of Amida, the true, real, and sincere mind of Amida becomes one with the mind of the follower through the working of boundless compassion. Shinran saw himself as the most foolish being of all and called himself “Gutoku Shinran,” meaning literally “Shinran, the bald-headed fool.” His robes were not so much a sign of religious attainment, but rather a reflection of his self-representation as a foolish being receiving the gift of boundless compassion.

This is a universal message that anyone can relate to. Even the most accomplished Buddhist masters are nevertheless human, have foibles and limitations, and are subject to error and human fallibility. Thus, among the followers of Shinran’s path of Shin Buddhism there were learned monks as well as illiterate peasants, and certainly one might see a master as further along the Buddhist path than a mere layperson. Yet Shinran saw things a bit differently. Whereas the norm is to see the learned monkhood as well advanced on the path, Shinran saw his lay followers, many of them illiterate peasants, as equal to or even superior to the monks of his day. In what is perhaps the most famous passage from the Tannisho, a record of Shinran’s words made by his follower Yuien, Shinran is quoted as saying,

Even a good person attains birth in the Pure Land [realization of the realm of emptiness], how much more so the evil person [who is burdened with the karmic weight of blind passions].

But the people of the world constantly say, “Even the evil person attains birth, how much more so the good person.” Although this appears to be sound at first glance, it goes against the intention of . . . other power. The reason is that since the person of self-power, being conscious of doing good, lacks the thought of entrusting the self completely to other power, he or she is not the focus of [boundless compassion], . . . Amida Buddha. But when self-power is overturned and entrusting to other power occurs, the person attains birth in, [or realizes,] the land of True Fulfillment [the Pure Land of emptiness].

This statement carries a universal significance. It is the human, karmic condition to want to identify with the “good” and to avoid seeing the “bad,” or potential for karmic evil, within. Yet always to seek to present oneself as “good” is to be caught in the workings of the ego self, or what Shinran calls “self-power,” preventing one from opening up to the spontaneous unfolding of buddhanature, great compassion, what Shinran calls “other power” because it is “other than ego.” Shinran’s statement “how much more so the evil person” also carries specific criticism of his contemporaries, learned monks who presume to be the Buddhist “experts” but flaunt their social status and privilege, in contrast to farmers and common folk who lack such pretensions and are in greater harmony with the rhythms of nature, who possess very little material wealth and must live in constant awareness of impermanence. The subtle point here is that Buddhism is a bodily practice first, in which one speaks the nembutsu aloud. Then the heart may open and the mind may follow, but only if one is sufficiently humble and clear of the need to possess and the desire to control the world through the intellect.

Shinran defined two key moments in the arc of the nembutsu path: shinjin, true entrusting, as the moment of realizing boundless compassion, and ojo, birth in the Pure Land, which comes at the end of life. There is a parallel with the story of the historical Buddha Shakyamuni: his attainment of nirvana at age 35 and his entrance into parinirvana, complete repose, at the age of 80. These two moments are also known as “nirvana with a remainder” versus “nirvana without a remainder,” where “remainder” denotes the residue of karma that remains while living this finite life. To realize true entrusting is to be illuminated, embraced, and dissolved into the great light of Amida’s boundless compassion, but it is only at the end of life, entering into the Pure Land beyond conception, that one is fully released from the bonds of existence. Even then, the Shin Buddhist promise is to stop just short of release and return to this world to complete the bodhisattva journey of universal liberation in service to others.

While some may experience a great moment of realization, akin to the Buddha’s realization of nirvana, others may experience a series of smaller moments that are no less significant. Here there is a certain similarity to koan practice in Rinzai Zen, the series of nonlinear problems that the practitioner must pass through. Some experience a great, life-altering breakthrough followed by lesser realizations that aid in one’s maturation; others experience a series of smaller realizations that punctuate a deepening process of awaken- ing. Great or small, little or big, each moment is beyond compare as an expression of the awakening of infinite light.

This is our dance with reality and with ourselves, the rhythm and song of “Namu,” our foolishness, and “Amida Butsu,” the wellspring of boundless compassion that arises from our own deepest, truest reality. Ultimately, even the nembutsu arises not from ourselves, from our own ego, but is experienced as a call from the deepest level of reality, from the depths of our own being, in which the flow of emptiness or oneness is realized in each manifestation of form and appearance. Thus Shinran states, “True entrusting is buddhanature.” The movement of boundless compassion is also known as the Primal Vow of Amida (Japanese, Amida no hongan), the vow to bring all beings to the realization of oneness, spontaneously arising from the depths of existence. The nembutsu expresses our receiving this deep vow to liberate and realize oneness with all beings, because all beings are the self. It is an expression of deepest gratitude, that our lives are sustained within the larger web of interdependence. We are sustained by those who help provide for our livelihood, food, shelter, family, and friendships, and at a deeper level we are naturally moved to express our appreciation for our shared suffering in life and death, our mutual illumination in foolishness and compassion, our oneness in the path that takes us beyond life and death. This is Namu Amida Butsu.

Shinran’s statement “I am neither monk nor layman” comes at the very end of his major work, the Kyogyoshinsho (Treatise on Teaching, Practice, True Entrusting, and Realization). It is a historical statement, describing the circumstances of his teacher and himself in limbo: exiled, defrocked, yet still ministering in the countryside. It is also a philosophical statement in keeping with the twofold truth, with emptiness as the basis of religious attainment that is beyond all categories, lay and ordained. Ultimately, it is Shinran’s own self-expression as a foolish being: “I am not qualified to be regarded as a good monk or a good layman.”

Shinran’s egalitarianism is rooted in the realization of profound oneness with all beings. It is radical in its inclusivity, beyond words and in the depth of self-awareness. Any criticism leveled at his contemporaries in the priesthood, as well as his fondness for peasants and fishermen, came from a place of inclusivity in which Shinran saw himself as the greatest of fools. In a time of great social and political turmoil, he expressed his criticism and advocacy alike from a place of great compassion. Perhaps there is something of value in this for us to consider today.

A Pure Land Buddhist Primer

By Jeff Wilson

Pure Land Buddhism is immensely diverse, in part because it most often exists in combination with other forms of Buddhism, especially Zen and tantra. Among the many traditions that incorporate Pure Land elements are Tibetan phowa practice, which at death directs the mind to Amitabha and transfers one’s consciousness to the Pure Land; Shin Buddhism, which views as the best path the practitioner’s profound gratitude for and entrusting in the Buddha’s great compassion; Obaku Zen, which focuses on the koan “Who is reciting the nembutsu?”; and Yuzu Nembutsu, which directs the practitioner to circulate merit to all beings for mutual awakening.

This diversity has common roots in India, where the primordial buddha Amitabha (Japanese, Amida) and his blissful realm of liberation were foci of devotional awareness from the beginning of Mahayana Buddhism. A central concern for the stream of Buddhism known in the West as Pure Land was inclusion of the masses who had been marginalized by the elite scholastic and meditation schools. This common-person orientation contributed to Pure Land’s success as Buddhism flowed eastward into China, Korea, Vietnam, and Japan. Pure Land eventually became the mainstream tradition of Buddhism in East Asia, and Pure Land forms are present in all contemporary Buddhist traditions except Theravada. Japanese Pure Land is distinctive in that several independent schools arose, all centered on chanting the name of Amida during everyday life.

The Chinese brought Pure Land practices to North America in the 1850s as part of their syncretic religious traditions, Japanese Pure Land schools began opening temples in Hawaii in the 1880s, and Vietnamese and Korean temples appeared in the 20th century. Today, Pure Land remains a major form in both Asia and parts of the West.

The post The Original Buddhist Rebel appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

When we recently caught up with spoken word artist and emcee G. Yamazawa, he had just landed in Juneau ahead of a show at the University of Alaska.

While you may think that Alaskan college students are not the natural audience for an artist who focuses on telling stories about his Japanese-American and Buddhist background, Yamazawa says his act often introduces his audience to the everyday aspects of being an Asian-American Buddhist in the United States.

“I grew up in North Carolina, so I got used to not having an Asian American audience at an early age,” Yamazawa told Tricycle, adding that his classmates were primarily African American and white. “I’m used to telling my story and having a conversation about cultural identity. But what’s great about performing for college audiences is that people can relate to different aspects of my story. It makes them think.”

The child of Japanese immigrants who ran a local sushi restaurant, Yamazawa, 25, remembers learning to chant at a very early age. “My dad was an extremely strict Japanese father,” he recalled. “And North Carolina is a very spread out place, so not only was I often the only Buddhist in my school, I was also the only Asian. I guess that’s what made me so different.” In fact the only Asian kids he knew, Yamazawa said, were from Soka Gakkai International.

Yamazawa said that while he chanted and performed other rituals with his family throughout his childhood, it often felt like a rote experience. “I rejected it [for a long time]. But when I was 17 I got kicked out of high school because I was caught up in the wrong crowd,” he said. “I was really going down the wrong path at that moment, and I really needed to take charge of my own life and work on all the aspects that I didn’t like.”

During this period of deep soul searching, Yamazawa found himself returning to the Nichiren Buddhist faith of his family with a renewed enthusiasm. “I wanted to take my life in a different direction and chanting was the only tool that I knew,” he said. Yamazawa eventually graduated from a continuation school and went on to community college. It also was during this period of transformation that Yamazawa began to seriously write poetry. His work often explores themes of family, faith, and identity.

One of his big breaks came in 2014, when as a member of the Washington DC-based Beltway Poetry Slam, he beat 71 other teams to win the National Poetry Slam. Since then, Yamazawa has released a self-titled EP and continues to work as an emcee as well as a spoken-word artist.

“A lot of my poetry really honors my family,” Yamazawa said. “They’ve always supported the fact that I chose a creative life.”

In his poem “Dear Grandma,” Yamazawa movingly describes his immigrant grandmother’s role in his life and the impact of her presence at his birth. “It’s really cool to initiate conversations about Buddhism” through his family’s stories and his poetry, Yamazawa said. “What I would love to start doing is more interfaith dialogue.”

As he tours colleges and universities throughout the United States, Yamazawa says he wants to continue to have these conversations about faith and community with the young people he meets each day.

“Buddhism to me can really mold and transfuse with literally any religious faith and can be incorporated into anyone’s life,” Yamazama explained. “I would like to continue seeking a deeper sense of self and ways to be a better person while helping people to recognize the power that they have.”

The post How Buddhism Influences Slam Poet and Emcee G. Yamazawa appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

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On Saturday, May 21, Buddhists from around the world will celebrate the holy day of Vesak, which commemorates three events in Buddha’s life: his birth, his enlightenment, and his passing. They’ll visit temples, join parades with dancers and dragons, and set caged birds free as a symbol of liberation. They’ll offer gifts to Buddha statues to express their gratitude for his teachings and pour water over his shoulders to symbolize a pure beginning. And they’ll light up the night—already bright from the full moon—with lanterns made of paper and wood.

Chanting is a central element of Vesak, too. And even if you don’t have a Buddhist temple in your town, you can still celebrate on Saturday by chanting with fellow Buddhists online.

Mantra music pioneers Deva Premal & Miten, who have recorded a variety of mantras from the Buddhist, yoga, and Hindu traditions, are inviting spiritual seekers from around the world to join their Buddha Full Moon Meditation at 9 a.m. in every time zone via Facebook.

Vesak “is one of the most auspicious times for meditation and chanting, with a focus on enlightenment for all beings,” they explain.

What are the benefits of participating in a virtual meditation like this? “Chanting is a transformational and healing process in itself,” the musicians said. “It opens up the breath, the voice, and the heart. The powerful energy of the Vesak full moon amplifies [those benefits]—and amplifies our inner light.”

And meditating with others—whether it’s on Vesak or any other day—helps us connect to a sangha, or spiritual community.

What is Nam-myoho-renge kyo?

Nam-myoho-renge-kyo is the core mantra chanted by Nichiren Buddhists—a Japanese sect founded in the 13th century. Also referred to as chanting the daimoku (which means “title”), Nam-myoho-renge-kyo is the title of the Lotus Sutra, which Nichiren Buddhists regard as the culmination of the Buddha’s life teachings.

“The translation of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo is ‘I bow down to the mystical law of the Lotus Sutra,’” Deva Premal & Miten explained in an email interview. “The message of this mantra is that we all carry the state of Buddhahood within ourselves. This powerful mantra opens us to our supreme and innate buddhanature.”

As musician and Buddhist Duncan Sheik previously told Tricycle: “When you chant Nam-myoho-renge-kyo . . . the idea is that you are getting your whole life into rhythm with the fundamental law of life. It’s that sound, that vibration, that is bringing you into that rhythm. In some ways, it’s the entrance point.”

The Power of Sangha

The idea for this Saturday’s Buddha Full Moon Meditation with Deva Premal & Miten grew out of the 21-Day Mantra Meditation Journeys that the music duo led online in 2013 and 2014, during which more than 200,000 people from 204 countries learned to chant a new mantra every day for three weeks. Students later said they felt inspired to stick to their practice knowing that a global community of meditators were chanting at the same time as they were; they felt a sense of solace and connection because they were part of a greater whole.

Our sangha “supports and nourishes us in times of isolation and fear,” Deva Premal said. But it also has an altruistic dimension. As Thich Nhat Hanh writes in Friends on the Path: Living Spiritual Communities, “You don’t sit for yourself alone, you sit for the whole sangha—not only the sangha, but also for the people in your city, because when one person in the city is less angry, is smiling more, the whole city profits. If we practice looking deeply, our understanding of interbeing will grow, and we will see that every smile, every step, every breath is for everybody. It is for our country, for the future, for our ancestors.”

The Buddha Full Moon Meditation with Deva Premal & Miten will take place at 9 a.m. in every time zone on May 21, 2016. For more information, visit the event page: http://tricy.cl/1WEdLE9

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