Suzuki’s collection on Buddhism published in the late forties and throughout the fifties had nothing to say about love. It was faith for the thinking “man” and love was nowhere to be found in the popular Buddhist literature at that time. Being a Buddhist was akin to being a leftist it was all about the intellect, the philosophical mind. More than thirty years ago, when l first began to think about Buddhism, there was little or no talk about Buddhism and love.
But for so many of us our longing to love and be loved has always been about a time to come, a space in the future when it will just happen, when our hungry hearts will finally be fed, when we will find love. This is always the measure of mindful practice-whether we can create the conditions for love and peace in circumstances that are difficult, whether we can stop resisting and surrender, working with what we have, where we are.įundamentally, the practice of love begins with acceptance-the recognition that wherever we are is the appropriate place to practice, that the present moment is the appropriate time. Sacred presence was there, a spirit of love and compassion like spring mist covered us, and loving-kindness embraced me and my words. Yet when the time came the seats were filled. Why did I have to speak in a huge auditorium? Why did I have to speak on a Friday night? Yes, I told them, lots of people might want to hear bell hooks speak on feminist theory and cultural criticism, but that’s not the same as a talk about Buddhism.
The two companions who had joined me at the conference listened with compassion to my whining.
Lamenting my exclusion from the realm of the sacred, I complained that I was exiled because I was not seen as a “real” Buddhist-no long time with a teacher, no journey to India or Tibet, never present at important retreats-definitely someone engaged in buddhadharma without credentials. At a conference on women and Buddhism that took place in spring last year, I was upset because most of the speakers were giving their talks in this serene, beautiful chapel, a place evoking a sense of the divine, a sacred place for the word to be spoken and heard, yet my talk was to take place on a Friday night in an unappealing, cavernous auditorium.
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