Kate Wolfe-Jenson
Forum Replies Created
-
Posts
-
When I was in my mid-twenties, I quit my job and moved across the country to North Carolina following my husband’s new job. For the first time, I lived far from my family and friends. I knew it would be difficult, but it was worse than I expected. It became a time of breakdown and break through.
Based on what I had experienced in my family, I thought adults didn’t feel strong emotions. I was feeling sad and angry and fearful. I developed a phobia that kept me from driving. I had no skills to deal with the huge waves of grief that were washing over me. (This was long before Buddhist teachings entered my life.) I was sure there was something broken in me and considered suicide.
Instead, I was lucky enough to go to a 12-step group. There, I found compassionate people who were dealing with similar emotions (on account of being humans). They were honest about their struggles and the program provided a path.
Much of what I learned are seeds of what I now recognize in the dharma: I discovered that I could be resourceful and find pools of calm and strength within myself (Buddha). I practiced dwelling in the present moment. I learned not to run away from Big Feelings, but to make space for them. (dharma). I was surrounded by fellow travelers (sangha).
Through heartbreak, I found companionship, gentleness, and freedom. I started making art again, got a new job, and began taking yoga classes. I became, as Susan Piver puts it, “a more truthful version” of who I am.
A few years later, as I started driving the thousand miles back to Minnesota, the words came to me “you were born in North Carolina.” In many ways, that’s true.thank you for your post, Suzie. When someone once asked me my favorite Bible story, I told them it was Jacob wrestling the angel. I grew up wrestling with the concept of God and, in a way, I still do. One of my teachers is Jan Lundy, who introduced me to the idea of “fluid spirituality.” That gave me “permission” to honor several lineages. Since taking refuge, I consider myself a Buddhist, but I still maintain my membership with Minneapolis Friends Meeting (Quakers) and sit there on Sundays. People often talk of God there.
One Quaker prayer tradition I appreciate is “holding people (or situations) in the light.” This requires no words and no agenda. I simply imagine the person being bathed in light – as I do when I practice lovingkindness meditation. Sometimes in the sangha meetings on Friday, Susan asks us to sit with someone who is facing a challenge. That silent being with someone is powerful. I have that same sense when I request blessings before I practice.
I appreciate your reflection and the roads it invited me to travel.Jenn, thank you for your “concentric circles” model. It makes sense to me and is a useful way to organize thinking about lineage.
Your post invites me to gratitude for living voices (like Susan and a few other teachers I have heard). It’s wonderful to hear those people describe how we can respond to the current times. On the other hand, human nature hasn’t changed much over the millennia. We use different words, but we still deal with unskillful speech and actions driven by afflictive emotions. Humans!
Thank you also for reminding us of the issues of cultural appropriation. Learning from and honoring a different culture is wonderful. Misrepresenting and plundering it is not. May we each find wisdom as we learn.I’ve had a good time this week exploring what “lineage” means to me.
First, I thought about my family lineage. We have great stories, but my brothers and sister and I aren’t sure what’s true. Did grandma Wolfe really refuse to marry grandpa until he added the E because she didn’t want to be named after an animal? Did great aunt Lootie really die at 90 when she got conked on the head with a log by one of the people she was looking after in the nursing home? Did great grandpa Bennett really visit his neighbors to wash their feet as an example of discipleship? Beyond the details, I get a feeling of resilient, faith-filled, loving people farming in West Virginia and Pennsylvania.
Then I think about my Buddhist lineage. I looked up the Supplication to the Takpo Kagyu. More names and stories. Great Vajradhara (the nameless source), Tilopa (holding equanimity while pounding sesame seeds), Naropa (smart, proud, and humbled by a “hag”) Marpa (brought Buddhism to Tibet), Milarepa (tower building yogi-saint), Lord of Dharma Gampopa (I recognize him; I chant his four dharmas)… And so on down to Chögyam Trungp, Sam, and Susan. Resilient, spiritual, compassionate people.
I am grateful to the lineage of quadriplegics – Ed Roberts (founder of the independent living movement), Jill Kinmont Boothe (skier turned teacher), Sam Callahan (cartoonist, “he can’t get far on foot”), Stephen Hawking (physicist), Christopher Reeve (Superman turned advocate), and especially mouth artists like Joni Earickson Tada and Henry Fraser” Talk about resiliency!
I could go on to amateur artists and poets… And what about psychologists like Brené Brown and Kristin Neff? I use their work every day.
While I’ve been writing all of this I feel the surge of energy and “wind beneath my wings” that is the gift of remembering lineage.
How shall I use this in my practice? I want to keep things simple. Memorizing a long chant when I haven’t quite got the Heart Sutra solid seems like a bad idea. Maybe I can simply think “I bring the lineage of biology and Buddhism, quads and artists, resilient, creative, loving people.”
I like what Susan says about bringing a sense of “freshness” to my meditation practice. Maya Angelou is quoted as saying “today is a wonderful day. I’ve never seen this one before.” That’s the attitude I want to bring to each practice: “this is a wonderful practice session, I’ve never seen this one before.”Thank you Rachel, for slowing me down and telling it like it is. I recognize myself in your descriptions. (that living room blue was so beautiful when we first painted it, but now it seems so boring…) I am so impatient to get onto fixing things that I don’t take time to feel the feelings and understand the losses. Rushing through my suffering leaves me brittle. So much better to soften.
(sorry, this got put in the wrong place and it I don’t know how to shift it) Thanks, Dominic. I agree that it’s hard to write about ONE Noble truth because they are so intertwined. My condolences on the loss of your mum. I can hear, in your essay, how huge that was for you. Not wanting to feel what we feel makes it so much more powerful! You are right: she lives on through you and your memories. I am glad you have found a measure of peace.
Karen, thank you for being brave and vulnerable telling us about your divorce. It sounds like a painful time, but it sounds like you have gained wisdom from it. That is part of Tulku Thondup Rinpoche’s “medicine,” I think. We are all searching for safety, love, and belonging. We want to hang on to whatever we find and not let go, even if it is madness.
Yes, the second Noble truth is both “terrible and wonderful.” It sets us on the path and our own minds give us content with which to work. We are like the miller’s daughter in Rumpelstiltskin, sitting down at our spinning wheels to change straw into gold.Our dominant culture would like us to believe that if we have a beautiful, healthy body and the right personality, then we will have lots of friends, a great career, a lovely place to live, and therefore we will be happy. If we are not happy and/or don’t have one of those “right” things, the solution is only a few purchases away. So, lost in confusion, we strive to get the right stuff and be the right people. It’s The American Dream.
I certainly bought into the dream as a young adult. That’s why it was so devastating to be diagnosed with multiple sclerosis when I was 20. At that time, MS was incurable and untreatable. (Now there are “disease modifying” medications that may save people from the worst of it.) Having a chronic – and in my case gradually paralyzing – illness was the “first arrow” of suffering. Every time I had a physical flareup, I felt grief, anger and fear. I thought since I couldn’t be healthy, there was no way I could be happy. Trapped in thoughts and emotions I didn’t want, I got depressed. My response to illness was the “second arrow” of suffering.
Into this madness, the first two Noble truths of the Buddha cut like vinegar through oil. Life is suffering (or deeply unsatisfying and our grasping after perfection is what causes it.
I get to let go of the idea that I should have a different body. I can take Pema Chodron’s advice: “don’t believe everything you think.” That relieves some of my embarrassment about what I cannot do and fear about what may happen next. She also says “feel the feelings and drop the story.” I feel and honor my sadness and fear, but I don’t need to get caught up in monkey-mind explanations of why they are there or judgments about whether I should feel them.
Meditation gives me practice in self-compassion. Every time I realize I’m thinking and gently escort my awareness back to the breath, I practice being kind to myself.
The Noble Truths tell me that I don’t have to take part in this world of lusting after success and the “perfect life.” What a relief! Instead, I can stay anchored to this moment and celebrate everything as practice.
Helene, thanks for pointing out the difference between a more childish “submission to authority” and a more mature devotion. Reading your response, I got a glimpse of a different teacher-student relations than I have known. Having someone transmit discipline, authenticity, and joy would be magnetic! Your phrases of “the infinity of silence,” “nature and its preservation and beauty,” and “my heart sings” struck a deep chord within me. Thank you for your words!
Jenn, thanks for playing with lama as metaphor. Representative of the dharma, the inner teacher, this very moment… Your thinking adds richness.
Just for fun, I looked up the definition of devotion. Profound dedication… Ernest attachment.
Dudjom Rinpoche lived and worked in the cradle of Tibetan Buddhism. In exile, they worked hard to rebuild and maintain that system and those traditions. In them, students dedicated themselves to a lama. I can imagine that being attached to such a teacher would affect one’s practice. It might feel like “pouring water into water.” Spending time with someone so skilled might “rub off” on me without effort.
In the West in current times, we simultaneously have more and less access to great teachers and lamas. Because of the Internet, I can watch videos, read articles, and order books from many different Dharma holders. How fortunate! They don’t know me, however. I am reading general advice instead of someone knowing me and my gifts and challenges.
This means I get to steer my own Dharma ship. It’s up to me how and how much to practice, what to study, and to whom I listen.
I am dedicated to the dharma – continuing to practice (on and off “the cushion.”) Practice is the “how.” I am attached to learning more and bringing that understanding to my daily life. My life is the “where.” Right here. Right now. Aware and awake in this moment.Hello. I’m Kate. I live in Minneapolis. I have been a member of the OHP from the beginning. (How long Susan, 12 years?) I took refuge vows with Susan in 2016. Taking this class is already deepening my practice, as I am giving myself more complete inner instruction each time I sit. I’m looking forward to learning more and getting to know all of you. (PS – the flower is one of my watercolor paintings.)