ModBu & You

I was wondering how others combined their daily lives with Kadampa Buddhism.
If you want to reply to me, I could post the compilation here.
It also seems like a good subject for Sangha conversations.

OK, I'll start.
* Washing dishes, mentally reciting Vajrasattva's mantra and thinking that I am also purifying my mind. It's a form of cherishing others too, because R appreciates it when I take care of them.
* Weeding the yard, imagining I'm pulling up my delusions, and I try to get at the root of both; pruning, I try to think about cutting back the thorn bush of my delusions so that I can get at the root.
Occasionally when doing yardwork, listening to teachings on my iPod, and I plan to do that more often.
Also listening teachings when walking around the neighborhood.
* Driving I recite Dorje Shugden mantras to protect especially pedestrians and bicyclists as well as motor vehicles.
Also giving food bars to those asking for help at a highway on- or off-ramp). If I'm out of those bars, I dig for change or at least smile and wave, trying to remember to wish them real freedom and happiness. I like to combine those actions with something I heard that James G did when making a small donation or such: "Just as I am giving this [item] to you now, to create a connection, in the future may I can give you Dharma teachings."
* Resting on the couch practicing either taking (such as the sufferings of a particular homeless person or family I've seen recently, often one of the Real Change vendors I know) or, when I'm even more tired, rejoicing (which I like to spell reJOYcing) in things like a kindness I've read about in the news that day.
* At the chemo center or hospital, feeling compassion for all the suffering there, especially for those without a spiritual practice, and strengthening my resolve to release them. Then I try to expand the scope of beings, not forgetting the hungry ghosts or the gods. It's stronger when I can think of specific types, such as famous but envious movie stars.

I really like the idea of finding more and more ways to practice Dharma in all parts of my life, with the aim of making every moment meaningful.

One of the many features of our tradition I love is how practical it is, in so many ways. (If I had more time and energy, I'd list some, but you'll need to do that for yourself until I get around to it.) That practicality is the main thing I emphasize when someone asks me how Kadampa Buddhism is different from other schools. Gen-la Dekyong wisely advised the Seattle Sangha not to compare ours to other versions, but simply to talk about its distinctive good qualities.

Looking Back, Part 2

For the purposes of this post I’m going to refer to our heroine by her first initial, M, because if you pronounce  it in a certain incorrect way, it can sound like the verb “am,” to be. But how be she? How does she exist?
Her name can be useful. For example, many of your have heard the joke I often use when I introduce myself with my nickname, Mimi, because it sounds like someone pretty obsessessed with themselves: Pronounced as “me, me” and spelled with two I’s, it’s a reminder of self-cherishing. Gen-la Dekyong told me that when I realized the practice of Exchanging Self with Other, they would have to call me “you-you,” but for now the name is all too fitting.
It’s also funny that M’s so-called “real name,” given by her parents and recognized by the legal system, begins with the letters “mere,” so even her true name is a reminder that it is mere name – made up, a complete fiction, like everything about her and the rest of the world.

OK, continuing the tale of M’s cancer adventures, telling a story about how she be in a more conventional way.

In June she had her usual 3-month CT scan to see how the chemo was working, and the results were ambiguous: The doctors couldn’t say for sure if the couple of small spots still in her abdomen were tumors, or just some kind of benign scarring or remnant of some kind. (By the way, regular CTs remind me of Groundhog Day: If you see a shadow on the ground/scan, you get another 6 weeks of winter/3 months of chemo. Like G Day, the CT test isn’t foolproof.) Her body was feeling pretty good and M was very optimistic about her path to remission, maybe even being there already. Mostly she was continually grateful for having access to this promising drug and the chance to serve others by participating in a scientific study.
To get additional data about those spots, arrangements were made to get a PET scan in July. A PET’s a more expensive test that shows metabolic uptake, so it can distinguish tumors from other tissue, and insurance doesn’t like to pay for them, part of the reason for the month delay. My very experienced doctor also had a sense they were tumors and thought another month of chemo would clinch matters. Again I felt quite confident that it would show that any small malign bits were gone, and I’d be finished with chemo, at least for a while (this cancer tending to be chronic, until you really purify).

Then in late June, my beloved neurosurgeon died. Greg Foltz was the amazing doctor who did the brain surgery that allowed M to make it to the Brazil Festival at the last moment. Many of you have heard that story.

Here’s how it started, based on my post at the time, Gone to My Head:
“Yesterday afternoon I had a post-op visit with my oncologist, where mostly we talked about which chemo to do and when to start it. At the end I mentioned [almost as an aside, not thinking much of it] that every morning I wake up with a headache over my right eye, in the middle of my eyebrow, which goes away when I take 2 Tylenol. I rarely get headaches, so it was notable that I've had one every day for the last 2 weeks. He didn't think it was anything but recommended I get a CT scan just to be sure, but right away, late on a Friday afternoon. When the CT specialist read the scan, he sent me right back to my doctor, who had stayed late in his office after everyone else went home, because the CT showed that I had a metastatic tumor in my brain, which is very unusual for ovarian cancer - it tends to hang around the stomach. … My oncologist thinks I should cancel the trip to Brazil. ...”

That wonderful oncologist, Dr D, who picked up on such a small clue, was the one who also did my initial surgery in April, 2009. My primary doctor, who I love, thought so highly of him she said that if she had my symptoms, he would be her choice; not to go to anyone else; and even in this fairly urgent situation, if I had to wait for an appointment, it was worth being patient. Who are these people?
Important for you and your loved ones: Know that cancer can be deceptive. The amount of pain is often not an indication of a symptom’s seriousness. I know of too many people with terrible migraines, for example: excruciating pain, but not a tumor. Or of a friend of a friend who was never sick in his life; he had a mild pain in his back and was dead from cancer within the month. If something’s going on, get it checked out.

I switched oncologists from Dr D to my beloved Dr K when Dr D’s highly regarded referral neurologist wasn’t able to operate on me in time for me to go to Brazil. I tried finding another neurosurgeon but kept running into obstacles, such as the one I only learned after three conversations with his scheduler was out of town for a week.
 A friend (another one who repeatedly acts as an emanation) connected me with Dr K. I got an immediate appointment with him at the very end of the day, at the end of which, after hours, he phoned his friend Dr Foltz, who gave me a 9am appointment the following morning.
Dr F clearly explained the situation and patiently anwered my long list of questions. He said that he could operate on my head the next morning, which would give me the couple of days of recovery I needed to be fit to fly, but didn’t push me into it, saying I could back out at any time and not be preventing someone else from a needed operation. But there was no way I was going to back out. I had great confidence in him and his co-surgeon, a young woman who was technically a PA I think but a highly competent doctor herself, who he treated like his right arm, as well as the rest of the staff I’d encountered at the Brain Institute.
Besides, it was only brain surgery. That’s a little joke, but both neurosurgeons told me that if you insist on having a tumor in your head, that’s the place to have it, in the “spare tire” of the cerebellum, close to the edge where it's easy to get at. Also ask for an "encapsulated" tumor confined in its own borders.

I’ve had this kind of interesting mixed karma throughout this experience: not great to have cancer but if you’re going to have cancer, have it in this way, with emanations at every step. It’s been incredible.
Although I wouldn’t wish disease – or any kind of suffering – on anyone, I know a lot of patients who say cancer’s the best thing that ever happened to them. Another reason for this blog is to allay fear, by documenting a particular person's actual experience, because the prospect of cancer often represents for people the worst thing that could happen. Education helps. I like that my cancer center has a banner that says, “Cancer is a word, not a sentence.” I certainly don’t mean to underplay how serious and difficult it can be, but there are all kinds of awful suffering in samara, and with Buddha’s teachings we have ways of “composting” them into fertilizer for growing the realizations that are going to permanently end those troubles.

At the follow-up a couple days after surgery, we asked many more questions about whether it was wise for me to travel all the way to South America, because some friends and family thought I was crazy to think about going. You do not want to get on a plane with a brain tumor – it will probably kill you – but I learned that once it’s been removed and your body has a few days to recover, it’s fine. The only conditions Dr F gave forced me to become a bit of a princess: Clean pillowcase every other night, wash hair with filtered water, to prevent an infection in the scar in a country that might not have the cleanest water. I have fond memories of my Sangha giving me a kind of salon treatment under the water filters outside on the Temple grounds.

I don’t have words for how incredible it was to make it to that Festival. At one point, when despite my efforts I couldn’t find a good doctor who would be able to operate in time, I did let go and acknowledge I most likely wasn’t going to make the trip, leaving it in Dorje Shugden’s hands. As I like to say, “He’s the best travel agent.” He did something similar with another Festival I didn’t think I’d make it to because of my health, Geshe-la’s 2009 Summer Festival. All accommodations within a space shuttle’s drive of Manjushri had been booked for a year it seemed, but our Protector got me a deluxe room at the very last minute. It was another sitation where I was calling around trying to find anyplace that would take me, and having another one of those Sangha emanations suggest a place.

It was shocking to lose Dr Foltz. You don’t expect your doctor to die before you, particularly if they’re younger, and he was about my age. It was a reminder of a Medicine Buddha teaching about how even conventional doctors, though potentially very beneficial for a particular malady, aren’t ultimate sources of refuge because even they get sick and die. M thought of him as a key part of her healing team, and knew that if anything suspicious every showed up in one of her routine brain MRIs, she would go back to him.
His death was a much bigger loss, not just for all his patients, but also his family (he left behind a wife and 2 kids), his colleagues, friends and community. Reading tributes to him, the word  “compassionate” came up repeatedly. He was a Julliard-trained concert pianist, but when a friend died of cancer, he switched to medicine, becoming a highly competent surgeon and researcher, as well as the head of the tumor board at my cancer center.
Here's a link to one of his obituaries.
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I didn't intend to make these new posts into a cliff-hanger - I thought I could get us at least to that turning point in July - but this is all M can do for now. Stay tuned for the next installment

Definition of "Friend"

I think of a friend as someone who brings out the best in me.
It used to be a select (small) group, but since I've started learning Lamrim, I am trying to have more equanimity and make it encompass more and more beings. For one thing, I'm trying to feel friendly toward more and more people, which used to be really hard for me, because I was scared of them and of what they'd think of me.

Now that I am trying to be a friend of the world, I can still use that definition: I can learn something from every being I meet, see, or think about. We learn that we achieve liberation and enlightenment in dependence on 2 groups of beings: Buddhas, of course, but we also ordinary beings, who help us practice compassion, patience, etc.
My Guru is my supreme spiritual friend.
You are my friend.

Relying on Sangha

We had a day course on Refuge Sat with Gen Khedrub, where we learned about how to rely on the 3 Jewels: Buddha, Dharma and Sangha. Of the 3, relying on Sangha can be the hardest to understand. It makes sense to rely on enlightened beings and what they teach, but how can you rely on ordinary people, who can be unreliable? We're all deluded after all.

One traditional analogy for the 3 Jewels is that they are like the doctor, the medicine, and the nurses. I don't know where I'd be without my nurses. Like ordinary nurses, they can offer practical tips about what the doctor has prescribed ("mix the L-gluatamine with apricot nectar or tomato juice"), to make it possible to actually do it.

One of the ways we go for refuge to Sangha is for encouragement. For example, I was inspired by Carol and Ken in our local Sangha, who are doing their Preliminary Guides, and have even finished a couple! Now I, too, am keeping track of my daily prostrations and water offerings, and have a sheet for tallying my mandala offerings as well. I'm in no rush. Drop by drop, we fill the bucket.
I'm also encouraged by my discussion partners in class who know their outlines and who can summarize what we're studying. I don't want to disappoint them when it's my turn.

We're taught that our Resident Teacher is Sangha too; for example, I consult with him about what retreat I'm thinking about doing.
I can't imagine where I'd be without Sangha - probably in a ditch by the side of the road (as my Mom used to say), in the spiritual sense.
Maybe it even helps that they're deluded - they know what it's like, on a chilly December morning, to prefer a warm bed to a hard cushion. (I've learned to call on Vajrapani then.)
They can make prayers for us, and they pray with us.
They keep us company on the path.

In the end, who knows who they really are? Before I went to my first Festival, someone recommended borrowing a video of Geshe-la teaching to get used to his accent. He gave the teaching that we could be the last ordinary being in the world - that everyone around us is an emanation of a Buddha. I've always found that quite plausible.

My Sangha have instructions to lock me in the gompa if I ever talk about following the samsaric path ; )