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| To Live Your Own Life |
Part of an article, Broken Gold, in which dharma practitioners share their stories of healing after a spiritual crisis. Isan Saccois is a computer support specialist who lives near Santa Barbara. He was a monk in a Zen monastery in northern California for 14 years. This essay appears in the Spring 2012 edition of Tricycle: The Buddhist Review. Subscriptions to Tricycle for European customers are available exclusively through Wisdom Books.
When I entered the monastery, I was only 21. For virtually all the years that I was there, I had a basic faith that the teacher had my best interests at heart, that she knew what was best for me. 'Whenever there was a disagreement between us, I deferred. But as I matured, I began to realize that she, too, was an imperfect human being-and toward the end I felt she was simply wrong about what I really needed. She had become increasingly demanding over the years, requiring that we practice under relentless psychological and physical pressures that were more than some could handle. One person in particular experienced what I believe was a psychotic break. His inner conflict escalated to the point where he couldn't contain it any longer, and he became the extreme example of a deep fragility within our community. Under threat of being judged and shunned, we couldn't assert our needs. We didn't feel safe expressing our doubt and pain to the
teacher, and we had been admonished not to confide in each other. Under these circumstances, many just soldiered on, descending into deep misery. Eventually my own conflict became unbearable, and I knew I had to take responsibility for myself. If I tried to carry on much longer, I was going to have a breakdown. Realizing the extreme danger I was in, I finally cast off my fear of judgment and found the courage to leave.
Fortunately, several years previously, I'd experienced a significant opening in my meditation practice. For three intense weeks, as I moved through cycles of blissful insight and painful review of the past, I had very little physical energy, and I meditated while lying on my back. After I recovered, I still preferred this posture. For me, the traditional cross-legged posture is a way of gathering power and focus, while lying down expresses surrendering, allowing things to move through me. This meditative journey personalized my practice, taking me beyond the forms and rituals. Now, looking back, I feel that I was being taught to rely on myself in preparation for what was coming.
Still, my decision to leave the monastery was excruciating. I felt very alone and full of dread at the prospect of saying "No" to my teacher. Even for years after I left, I had nightmares that I was back in the monastery. An unseen observer at first, soon I would feel dangerously close to being discovered. Desperately needing to escape, I would find myself trapped, paralyzed. These were the feelings I'd had for years before I left, and they continued to echo in my dreams.
Now I still have dreams where I return to the monastery, but they're no longer nightmares. It's just that I return and reconnect with my community. These dreams remind me that all these people are still part of my life. The healing is not about excluding them, but including them in a new way.
For me there was a major turning point about five years after I left, when I realized that I was still operating under the taboo of silence. I needed to speak plainly to my teacher about my decision, and so I wrote her a long letter. I didn't expect a response-and I didn't receive one. But writing the letter and sending it were enough. Afterward, a significant shift occurred, and I was finally able to let go of the anger and feelings of being stuck that had persisted since leaving.
Gradually I realized that I'd been asking my teacher for exactly what she'd asked of me: to be open, willing to listen and learn from others. I was ready for a more equal relationship between us, but she'd become like the controlling parent I had to escape in order to become an autonomous adult. Now it seems to me that the gradual equalizing within the teacher-student relationship is both natural and necessary. After all, it's the students who must take the teaching forward and transmit it to the next generation.
As Shakyamuni Buddha said, "Be a lamp unto yourself" and "Personally examine and verify by experience anything that a guru may tell you." The task is to make the tradition personal through continuous questioning and testing. It is to wholeheartedly live your own unique life.
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