On Becoming a Buddhist

 

It was a Jesuit who first opened the door to Buddhism for me. I was a freshman at Loyola University in Los Angeles in 1965 and 1966. One evening I attended a lecture by Father William Johnston, SJ. He was professor at Sophia University, the Jesuit school in Tokyo, a scholar and a mystic who had lived in Japan for years. He said he was a Buddhist and a Jesuit priest and that the two were compatible, that Buddhism is a philosophy, not a religion.

It was the first time I encountered Buddhism as a valid belief system instead of some foreign and mysterious religion. I do remember the premise during the Vietnam War that because of Buddhism the Asians didn’t value life the same way Westerners did and why so many died willingly in our war against them, a very Western imperialist attitude toward Eastern philosophy. Fr. Johnston seemed quite alive and in this world as I remember. Sharing his Buddhist insight he planted the seed of Buddhism that grew and flowered in me.

It was nearly two decades later that I got sober using the 12 Steps of AA. Meditation is an important part of the daily AA practice and I began meditating as encouraged by the other members. I heard that “prayer is when we talk to God; meditation is when we listen.”

For years, my meditation was brief. I would tell myself I will do this for at least five minutes or more, and usually it was just five minutes. I used the Hazelden book Twenty-Four Hours a Day: A Meditation Book for Alcoholics. I have continued to meditate off and on using different books for inspiration and adapting it to different opportunities and situations, but meditation has been a part of my life.

In 2012 I made a trip to Japan as a guest of my old boss from Dai-Ichi Kangyo Bank. Hayashi-san made sure I visited shrines and temples. It was my first direct encounter with Shintoism and seeing Buddhism in its own environment. I found these places moving, and my Japanese friends laughed at what seemed to them my belief and devotion, but really it was just practicing like the Japanese seemed to do—not worrying about what it meant.

In my hotel room the Buddhist text The Teachings of Buddha was in a hotel drawer like a Gideon Bible. It wasn’t particularly profound—mostly short parables and sayings—but when I returned home I used it for daily meditation. The structure of reading something short, then sitting with it quietly, suited me. Without really studying Buddhism, my daily reading familiarized me with Buddhist thinking.

A few years ago, as I periodically have done, I wanted to renew my meditation practice, to try it more faithfully, and for my daily reading I picked up a book by Thich Nhat Hanh. Years before, I had heard not to fight the “monkey mind” that so plagues us all—particularly when trying to meditate—but to let it be and not follow it or fight it. Thầy Nhat Hanh taught me to refocus on my breath. That was a big help in not getting lost with my “monkey mind.” His gentle and wise discourse opened the door a little wider and made me more curious, and I decided to learn more about Buddhism itself. I realized I didn’t really understand Buddhism in any systematic way. I’d read Alan Watts, Jack Kornfield, and others. I had a sense of the teachings—but no framework. So I bought The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Buddhism. It seemed a little silly to be using that series, but I remembered Suzuki Roshi’s Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind, and the title seemed right.

I studied the lists—because Buddhism, as an oral tradition uses lists: the Three Jewels (Buddha, Dharma, Sangha), the Four Noble Truths, the Five Hindrances, the Eightfold Path, the Six Paramitas and more. The lists helped me structure my understanding and gave me language for what I had already begun to feel.

Another breakthrough came to me at my congregation of the Unitarian Universalist Church of Berkeley when Susan Mashiyama gave a talk on Buddhism during a summer service.  She told us about the Metta Prayer. I had heard of metta, but I didn’t understand it and had never heard the prayer before.

May I be peaceful.

May I be happy.

May I be safe.

May I awaken to the light of my true nature.

May I be free.

…and repeating the same phrases with You, Them, and Us.

It was simple but moved me deeply and added so much to my practice. After meditation, I recite this prayer, first for myself, then for others—my sons, my daughter, their mothers, my niece, and friends, I’ve added names as needed, including the children of Gaza and people I’ve promised to pray for. I repeat each line until I truly hear it. When my mind wanders, I gently bring it back—no self-scolding, just redirection. Like returning to a trail over and over.

I also began reading The Lotus Sutra, guided by Nichio Niwano’s commentary. I’m now on my second or third pass through Niwano’s book Buddhism for Today. It’s dense and poetic, and I suspect I’ll never fully absorb it. But it deepens my sense that the Dharma is a flowing, living river.

I tried going to a Chan monastery in Pleasant Hill—beautiful grounds, impressive land—but it felt distant. Formal ranks, color-coded robes for the neophytes, a kind of organizational structure that didn’t speak to me. The nuns were kind, but I didn’t feel invited. I didn’t want to be part of an institution. I wanted community. And it was a long drive.

I’ve realized my community, my sangha, is already at UUCB. Twenty years ago I found a liberal community of searchers, wanderers, and misfits like me. People who hold beliefs gently and believe in practice. People who are trying. And it still works today.

Midway through this process I began to describe myself as a Buddhist, a Unitarian Buddhist, but a Buddhist. I study Buddhism and I practice daily, and for me my practice often moves me to be a better person, kinder and more present. I am not yet the Buddha, completely one with all, but I am beginning and trying. And I’m a nicer driver.