My short answer? Yes!
Just so you don’t think that the title of my article is clickbait in nature, let me tell you it has nothing to do with the koan. I’m only attesting to my personal experience here.
Most of you reading this were probably hooked by the title so the assumption is that you are familiar with the story of the koan. For the uninitiated, I have given a link — one of many.
My husband and I do read some and from time to time, we come across koans that don’t mean anything to us. We like to throw these at each other and my husband being the tech geek he is, we eventually turn to AI for most of our answers. Sometimes they make sense and sometimes, well, they just don’t. What can I say? That’s just how koans go.
To repeat what I just said, I’m a reader. I’ve been like that for as long as I can remember. As a child, my summer holidays were mostly spent in libraries. I used to read everything I could lay my hands on. All through my childhood, the habit was always applauded. It was good for language skills, vocabulary, enhancing my imagination, better comprehension and more along those lines. Also, I was praised for never getting bored — I was mostly out of my parents’ hair and what could be better? I was considered self-sufficient in terms of not being attention-seeking. The habit continued into adulthood and I never questioned the opportunity cost of reading. Reading kept me inside my own head with very little real world interaction; I only did what was strictly necessary. Over time, as I learnt to use labels, ‘introvert’ was one that suited me just fine. It allowed me to intellectualise and not feel anything. Social anxiety and isolation had been my friends for so long that when it came time to look them in the eye and recognise them for what they were, I was in troubled waters.
Time came when I became interested in teaching and meditation retreats. I had the opportunity to attend a programme by His Eminence Mingyur Rinpoche in the setting of a monastery — my first ever. Having been the independent person I was used to being, I made reservations without finding out if I could be with people I’d interacted with online. I travelled from Delhi to Dharamshala in a tiny aircraft that scared the living daylights out of me. A taxi had been pre-arranged and I reached the monastery and settled in. I found a canteen on the premises, had lunch all by my lonesome and trudged back to the main building. A pall of doom was already in my head about how miserable and alone I was going to be for the couple of days till the programme started. I was so out of my comfort zone — I didn’t start by just dipping my toes, or wetting my ankles. I dived straight in. I travelled alone to a place where I knew no one, I didn’t know what to expect, I didn’t know the etiquette or norms of the sub-culture and even in the best of circumstances, I like to retreat into myself in such situations.
As I was walking towards the reception, lost in my thoughts, I heard a loud barking from somewhere below. I went down to investigate and found the friendliest face I could imagine — Bhalu, a Tibetan Mastiff. He was playing with his handler and I was told he was friendly and I could approach him. Within minutes, he was all over me — his big paws on my shoulders, licking and sniffing me. As I snuggled against him, the heat from him travelled and warmed the cockles of my heart. I felt a visceral reaction — like the iron grip that had my heart clasped in a tight grip had loosened. I could suddenly breathe freely and I hadn’t realised that I’d been holding my breath — waiting for the other shoe to drop. All the practice I’d put into meditation came rushing back to my rescue. I allowed myself to feel all the feelings that I’d been holding back. Tiny rivulets trickled out from the corners of my eyes and I pinched my quivering lips to stop from crying like a baby. And all this while Bhalu was just being the playful creature who was happy to meet a new person. He didn’t care that I was a stranger, he didn’t care that I had no treat to offer him, he didn’t care about my background or my nervousness in the new environment. For me, he was pure love and joy! He offered it to me unconditionally and unlocked something in me that told me I had it in me to offer too. I only had to recognise it and let it come to the surface and shine.
After that, there was no looking back. As I came back to the front of the building, two people asked me if I wanted to go out with them to a cafe in town. Without a moment’s hesitation, I said yes and went with them. I met so many new people, had so many fascinating and interesting conversations. As I opened my heart more and more, I was taken into the fold with no questions asked. It was like the Buddha Nature of the mastiff unlocked my own. I had to hold myself down as my feet weren’t touching the ground. I couldn’t get enough of the same environment which had seemed scary earlier. Scary? Really? What a silly little notion to have in my head! I couldn’t wait every morning for the daily activities to start. Meeting people at breakfast, people sharing food and wisdom. People helping you with language challenges, writing explanations in your notebook so you could follow along, explaining rituals you were new to. All my reading could not have prepared me for the experience of a Sangha — the sense of camaraderie that I felt truly filled my heart.
I would be lying if I said I don’t feel the stab of isolation still. It’s an old habit and they die hard. But I carry the feeling of love, kindness and compassion that was given to me unconditionally by people I met for the first time. And they continue to do so. All I have to do is reach out and stay open.
As published by the author on Medium on April 8, 2024