This calling to be ordained – to give myself completely to
the dharma – has been present for thirty-two years, or, maybe, it has always
been so. Long ago in India, I stood outside a small room in the jungle,
listening to the chanting of those taking the vows of sannyasa, monkhood in the
yogic tradition. I cried, knowing that I could not take vows of celibacy. [And
if I had, I never would be married to the kind and gentle seeker of the
truth – Brad, my life companion and friend and husband.]
Due to the love and grace of Hoka Chris Fortin, I was given
permission to sew an okesa, Buddha’s robe. She said, “I see your shining priest
heart.” So began a year of the joyful, but arduous path of sewing an okesa, a
rakusu, and a bowing mat. Each stitch taking refuge in the Buddha. The robe
itself became the Buddha, the offering of myself to the dharma. It was
literally a year of blood, sweat, and tears: doing a long row of stitching,
only to discover that I had sewed the wrong side of a panel to the border, having
to remove the stitches, and sew the row all over again.
When I contemplated being a priest, I had one fear: that I
would think I had become someone special. Humility is the essence of priesthood, along
with seeing the Buddha in everyone, and a desire to serve all beings. I just didn’t
– and don’t – want to take myself too seriously, while taking the vows themselves
very seriously.
The day before the ordination, several friends helped me and
Mary Ann shave our heads. I had an overwhelming sense of disorientation and a
kind of confusion. I didn’t know who I was. Deep in my heart, I knew that I didn’t
really know anything. Such a gift:
beginner’s mind – immeasurably deep and profound, as the ordination ceremony
says. The fear that I would take myself too seriously lessened.
The night before the ordination, I had a remarkable dream. I
was a passenger in a Ford Explorer. We were on a road, stopped at a river. The
river looked deep and flowing. I knew we had to proceed through the river, but
I was scared. I knew that I had to trust the driver.
During the ordination ceremony, I was in a state of deep
concentration and inward focus. It felt like a powerful form of zazen. I felt
still and quiet. It was a backward step, an inner deep return to myself. During
the entire ceremony, I was never aware of the large number of people attending.
I saw and heard only what was right in front of me.
I saw Chris’s radiant smile as we bowed to each other, and
she offered me my name, a sitting robe, a rakusu, a bowing mat, and finally the
okesa. Every time I received a gift, our fingers intertwined as she released it
to me. So tender and beautiful!
Apparently I kept sitting down on my robe, and every time I
stood up, it would pull apart. Three times I stood up and turned to Arobin, who
tucked it back in again. The third time, Jeff Bickner whispered to me, “Don’t
sit on your robe.” To credit the robe itself, I remained quiet and still as my
robe was put back on. [Norman had spoken to me a few years ago about wearing the
robe with the quiet dignity of a buddha.]
I was embarrassed, though, and I am sure my face was flushed. But this
is good! So much for taking myself too seriously! Hard to do, when your robe
keeps falling off!
The language of the ordination ceremony is a great promise
of freedom from karmic bonds. It is a promise of liberation and enlightenment.
We vow to live a life of enlightenment. I think, “What if this is true? What if
I am really freed from my karmic formations?” Now, a few days later, I think it
is not that the seeds of karma are exterminated; it is that we can see them
through a new lens. My relationship to them could change. May it be so!
More than this, I vow to act and speak from the ground of
the precepts. I vow to have love for others and service to others, as my only
desire.
Gratitude to the ancestors and lineage of teachers, handing
the dharma to me this day.
This is really the essence of what I wish to say: thank you.
