By Guest Contributor Shiwa Oser
The most mysterious thing about becoming a Buddhist is becoming a Buddhist.
First of all, let me start by saying that Shiwa Oser isn’t my real name… or the name I go by when I’m dressed in my business outfits, hair styled neatly, in my office, typing away at my university marketing job. Not the name I use when hanging out with my family, working out at the gym, or hiking in the mountains.
Nope, Shiwa doesn’t get to come out and play all that much these days – a few miles too far from her spiritual community, or sangha. In fact, I only just met her in 2004, when I took my vows and became a Buddhist. And Shiwa was the name given to me by my new teacher… my guru.
Shiwa Oser – Peace Gold Light. She’s my alter ego, my better self, a make-believe representation of what I can become. (Or the me I haven’t fully realized or recognized.)
The strangest thing about becoming a Buddhist is becoming a Buddhist. If you had read me the above paragraphs just 9 years ago, I would have looked at you like you were crazy. Really crazy. I might have liked where you were going, I might have even played along.
“Yeah, and I’m going around chanting ‘ommmmm’ all the time, sitting on my butt in the mountains.”
“Well, yeah, you did that.”
“And meditating for like 30 days straight.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And taking part in all sorts of mysterious rituals. Woo woo.”
“That too.”
Now that I’m away from the mountains of Vermont, the retreat center where I spent the best years of my life, and away from the weird little Buddha-town called Boulder, Colorado, it all seems like a dream… which is sort of the point I suppose. After all, isn’t that all life is? A dream that fades moment by moment? Isn’t it the goal to realize that everything is ephemeral and illusory?
In the new day-to-day conservative reality I find myself in, that’s the way it feels. Like I was riding in a shiny, multicolored bubble that has burst. But in a friendly, spontaneous sort of way, not in a ‘now what will I do?’ way. I’ve learned to be curious about my path, to accept that there really is no ground under my feet, and to try to be welcoming of the inevitable moment of my own death.
It was a whim that brought me to the Green Mountains. It was the mystery, the companionship, the sanity, and let's be honest, the fun that kept me there. I long for it, but also know I have to be a warrior in the world. Not a warrior in the protected bubble that makes me comfortable, but the bodhisattva in the fire. I am trying to bring my best to situations I find uncomfortable, tedious, and sometimes even offensive. I may still have some trouble with the world, but Shiwa is taking it all in stride.
The hardest thing about becoming a Buddhist is becoming a Buddhist. The second hardest thing is no longer being part of the religion you grew up with. From one day to the next, I had to stop thinking that God would be listening to, navigating, and ultimately solving my problems. You see, Buddhism is mostly about good old-fashioned self-reliance. No one is going to do it for you, whether “it” is being happy, finding and accepting love, or being healthy. You have to take your life in your own hands, while aspiring to be virtuous. (Emerson would be so proud.)
Changing my previous idea of God was the biggest loss for me, and in some ways one of the most profound blessings. It’s a little bit emptier in places, but my life is more genuine and I seem able to accept my quirky experiences without trying to force things to be perfect – and chastising myself if they aren’t. (Or waiting for the deus ex machina to sweep in and save me.)
The best thing about becoming a Buddhist is becoming a Buddhist. The world looks a little bit different, even if I’ve taken a short detour off my Buddhist path. It’s still there waiting for me to wake up.
I take refuge in the Buddha. I take refuge in the dharma. I take refuge in the sangha.
They are my example, my truth, and my friends.
