z7: Dating the zen center

Yep, it happened, I actually started dating the zen center. We weren't exclusive. If I had a meeting at school or if my dad had tickets to the theater, I totally blew off the Wednesday night talk. And if a friend wanted to go to breakfast Saturday morning...forget you dharma talk and Q and A! I had better things to do.

Unfortunately, about this time, the zen center went through a period of significant loss. Several people within the community died. Some were unexpected while others lost their long battles with disease. I was witness to this. Each of these losses was experienced with fondness, affection, sadness and remembrance. I didn't know any of the people who died but I watched the effect of their loss on the practitioners there.

As I mentioned before, I had an unexplainable feeling of calm whenever I was around the senior dharma teacher Blanche. Around this same time, Blanche's husband of 60 some years, had become quite ill. I was completely unaware of this until it was mentioned at a Wednesday night lecture that Lou, Blanche's husband, had gone across the street to the zen hospice. This announcement was made with Blanche in the room, sitting on her cushion, across the room from me. I started bawling. Okay, actually, I silently cried for the entire lecture.

Here's the thing: I don't cry. I cry, obviously, but not in public, not in front of friends, not in front of family. But here I was, crying, in a room full of strangers for someone I had never actually spoken to (I may have asked Blanche a question once at a Q and A but we certainly did not know each other and I never met Lou). And, unlike my normal response to crying in public- wipe away the tears, straighten up my face, push down any sadness that arises- I actually cried. Tears streamed down my face and I let them. I wiped my nose but only because I was crying so much, not in an attempt to hide the fact that I was crying. And I just kept crying until I was done. I didn't stop because I was supposed to or because I might be bothering others. I was just out of tears.

I left that night with a great sadness and a desire to comfort Blanche. At the same time, I was aware that she didn't actually need comforting. She was very present with the situation, she was accepting it with the same grace with which she held herself and treated others.

The next few days were confusing for me. I was still sad for Blanche but I also didn't understand what was going on. I was feeling connected to the people at the zen center without ever having spoken with them. Why could I cry with them but not with friends or family? What was it about the zen center that made me feel safe enough to cry, openly?

I talked with a good friend about the situation. It's hard for me to remember now what it was we talked about but what I came to see was that there was a shared belief at the zen center. This belief was that people take care of each other, that we treat others with kindness and compassion, and that we are all connected to each other because we are all human beings (though I'm sure that the teaching was that we are all buddhas). I didn't mean to become a part of the community, I really didn't. In fact, I did everything I could to prove how separate I was from it. Yet here I was, connected and crying.