The Wake

“The goal of a Buddhist meditation is emptiness” slinks over from the seat next to me and wraps its mixed-up wisdom around my synapses. It feels as if perhaps my ears aren’t popping, but my head is exploding. I am beginning the descent of my flight from Cancun to Havana as I wonder, “What the hell am I going to do with all of these Christians?” I remember a sort of vow I made almost one year ago in which I decided to be a lighthouse and suddenly my mission trip to Cuba to help a church becomes my mission trip to Cuba to help the missionaries.

When I agreed to go on this mission trip, I knew I wasn’t exactly Christian. I think Jesus is super, but I study Buddhism. Playing Zen tricks with my friends is one of my hobbies. A Zen master is always using words to stop the conceptual minds of students. If you ask whether a dog has the Buddha nature, one teacher may reply “yes,” another “no,” and yet another “mu.” All of those answers are right. Using these mental stop signs can often create a sudden glimpse of satori, enlightenment. You can’t try to make it happen, as it is the most natural thing in existence. I know you can’t try to not try either. One of my favorite Buddhists went around telling everyone that he didn’t doubt them because they were Buddhists already. I knew that these fifteen Lutherans and their bibles would require a different approach. I would do something crazy and encourage their Christianity.

My meditation practice had to continue in Cuba. At first, I meditated by our hotel pool at night when no one would be around to interrupt. It worked, but the time of day wasn’t fitting for me. I finally decided to pick up a little midday meditation in one of the empty church rooms. We had so little to work with that, at one point, I could neither help inside nor outside, so my calm would be my contribution. I rested on my full lotus tripod and began the practice of breathing in suffering and obstacles and breathing out peace and love. Some time passed, and one of the middle-aged ladies traveling with me opened my door. She wasn’t quite startled but maybe surprised by my presence. Immediately, she apologized, and I simply opened my eyes and smiled to her saying, “It is all right.” I could then feel her leave in silence and take some of my peace with her.

Thinking that went well, the next day, I attempted a little sly Zen talking. While adding a second coat to some walls, I was feeling extra cheerful. The girls around me seemed to be in a similar place and started talking about how the painting was getting easier and moving faster. I threw in my thoughts that “when you are involved in an action, subject and object disappear and there is only the immediate experience.” I was met with a few acknowledging noises, and, for the rest of the afternoon we worked efficiently, for the most part, silently.

I wouldn’t dream of making everyone Buddhist. Actually, the biggest lesson it has taught me is that attachment to even Buddhist principles only rely on more concepts. The present moment and the greatest good for the greatest span are where I place importance. When asked to choose between the lives of the Vietnamese people and Buddhism and its institutions, Thich Nhat Hanh naturally choose the people. I can admit that I didn’t save the world in Cuba. I painted a poor, run-down church, played baseball with the most talented little boys and heard a lot of fantastic testimonies. Now, weeks after the trip, the useful Spanish bank I had built up has all but disappeared and was never very full. So it is proper that the Dharma, the all-encompassing teaching of Buddha can never be spoken of without leaving something out. To say that everything is empty is to forget that everything is completely full. To say that the Dharma is what I brought to Cuba is to forget that the Dharma is also what I received while there and what I continue to see every day.