So Janet was experiencing new perspectives resulting from meditation practice, but more than that, she was getting some explanations that she sorely needed about life.
When Janet and I met, we were a lot alike... yet so different. She was twenty-six, I was thirty-six, both born under the sign of the crab, both growing up in Cleveland, and both having a Catholic background. But she was the youngest of five children, I was an only child; and while I attended Catholic school for a year or two, she spent twelve years under the nuns' thumbs!
Her mother came close to becoming a nun, same as mine, but before her mom could take the vows, her mother's parents suddenly died a few months apart -- dashing her aspirations to become a nun. Being the oldest of seven younger brothers and sisters, Janet's mother had no choice but to take over the entire household at the tender age of eighteen.
Eventually, she finally married and produced five offspring, three girls and two boys, with Janet being the baby of the family.
Janet's early years were hazy, maybe because she was only seven when her mother, after suffering for a long time, died of cervical cancer. The doctors initially gave her mother only a few months to live, but she managed to hang on for three years as she desperately tried to take care of her young family with matters complicated by Janet's father, a nice guy who never missed a day of work, but an alcoholic nonetheless.
Janet recalled hiding in a closet quite often, but why, she couldn't remember, as if the reason was so horrible that it was permanently erased from her memory. Some things, however, she never forgot, like the day a favorite aunt took Janet on her lap and told her that her mom had just died. It was December 23. Janet's Christmases were never the same again. She was seven years old.
At the funeral, Janet was told to kiss her mother goodbye on the forehead. She expected it to be warm and soft as she remembered, but found it to be cold and hard like a marble statue. She was shocked. She had heard about death, but now death touched her innocent heart directly, and she was badly shaken. Children can't know about death until they come face-to-face with it. It was all so confusing for her; how could a loving God take her mom like this? How could he do such things to blameless people and cause so much pain?
Janet's two older sisters took over the cooking and cleaning, caring for their dad, their two brothers and Janet. But it was difficult, there was little money, and the place was small and noisy. Her father's remarrying compounded a difficult situation, and his drinking worsened. Eventually, her oldest brother married, and her two sisters moved out on their own, leaving Janet and her younger brother to fend for themselves.
Janet remembered some good times, too. Her dad was always nice to her, and occasionally took her out of the city to Byesville, the small, southern Ohio town where he grew up. She always had great fun there with her only grandmother, along with her aunts, uncles, and cousins, but whenever she showed me her family album, everybody was smiling but her, without exception, in every photo.
Her dad did the best he could, going through the motions like any man does when he's picking up the pieces, and finally scraped enough money together to send Janet, his baby, to a state university. He was so proud of that. But at age fifty-six, while Janet was still in school, he died of a massive heart attack. Now, just about everything that Janet had left in the world was taken away from her.
His death was easier for Janet to accept than her mom's, maybe because that first experience of death hit her so hard and there wasn't much left, or perhaps because she was older now. The only comforting aspect was that she no longer had to worry about his alcoholism, or watch him suffer the way he did.
Being on her own at a young age was difficult. She recalls visiting a local Catholic church quite often, alone, sometimes in the mornings, sometimes in the afternoons. Janet was a sensitive girl, very confused and extremely depressed. She pleaded for answers, prayed for them . . . but none ever came. She considered suicide once or twice, but just couldn't do it; it didn't feel right. Janet thought about what to do with her life, and thought about becoming a flight attendant, she so much wanted to travel, or perhaps doing missionary work, or possibly becoming a nun, but eventually, she decided to teach.
Studying never came easy to Janet. She was a slow, steady turtle, determined, staying up late almost every night trying to memorize things that the other kids picked up easily. No matter the hardships, however, she persevered; that's how she was.
It was an incredible struggle, but she somehow graduated from Bowling Green State University in Ohio and fulfilled her dream of teaching fourth grade at the Catholic elementary connected with her old high school. She didn't stray too far from home. As it turned out, however, her teaching career never got off the ground. Her bad luck continued and nothing seemed to work out for her even though she gave her all in everything she did.
The Sisters loaded her down with forty-eight kids, but even that wasn't the problem, for she somehow handled it and handled it well, staying up late, again, every night, preparing thoughtful lessons to keep the kids involved. The kids loved her.
Janet wasn't the problem. The problem was the Church -- which decided to replace all the lay teachers with Sisters, so Janet found herself out of a job. Since she wasn't confident enough to tackle a public school teaching position, she tried her luck at accounting, landing a job with the Eaton Corporation. She did well in accounting, since her strengths were steadiness, reliability, and accuracy, but cliques and personality conflicts permeated the office, and since she was quiet and sensitive, the constant backstabbing and bullying became so bad that she soon became despondent. She wondered if something wasn't wrong with her; why were things always so difficult? Why did God continue to punish her so?
And now, she was finally sorting it all out in this remote monastery in the middle of nowhere!
She was being exposed to many new and astonishing possibilities, for example, depending on herself to affect her destiny rather than passively relying on a judgmental and authoritarian god. But her old, decadent life was still alive and well!
Her favorite getaway was what she called her mini-mall (the monastery gift shop). It was a relaxing and fun place for her with all the enticing books, cards and jewelry, and she escaped there whenever she could. This wasn't often, however, because of the strict schedule and because the gift shop only opened on certain days and hours.
The kitchen was her second favorite place. Her dreams of working there and learning to prepare the wonderful vegetarian dishes never materialized, however, she was too meticulous at doing the community laundry -- something the monks noticed straightaway. Her job was to wash all the monks' robes, in addition to visitor's clothes; the only exception being Rev. Zenji's, (Roshi Kennett's) robes that were taken care of by her personal attendants.
Washing clothes every day for up to fifty people was challenging. The laundry room unfortunately was a dark, cramped basement, a cave actually, dug out from beneath a few of the rooms complete with Black Widow and Brown Recluse spiders lurking in damp and creepy crevices! What made the laundry job even more difficult was the monastic schedule. Every forty-five minutes, from 4:30 in the morning until 10:30 at night, a trainee must drop what she or he was doing and go on to another activity, such as breakfast, meditation sessions, classes, work sessions, reading, lunch, lectures, dinner, tea, reflection periods, and on and on.
Many activities involved a change of clothes, from work clothes, for instance, into meditation clothes. This involved going to the zendo (meditation hall), taking off our shoes, bowing at the entrance, walking respectfully (never in a hurry) to our personal little storage area, and being very quiet so we didn't disturb those who might be meditating. Then we had to quietly grab our change of clothes, walk (respectfully) to the exit, bow (reverently), put our shoes on, and make our way to the shower room where we changed clothes. Following this, we would go back to the zendo, take off our shoes, bow (reverently), enter the zendo, put the clothes that we had just changed out of back into our little storage area (quietly), bow, when exiting the zendo, slip on our shoes, and rush to the next activity. We had five minutes.
There was no personal time during the day except perhaps to relieve oneself (which was to be done mindfully and quickly as well). But the schedule didn't bother me at all; I am the type to drop things quickly and start something new just as fast. But Janet, well . . . Janet was another story. Janet was a plodder, slow to get going and then hesitant to stop what she was doing and let go, so although the schedule drove her crazy, it effectively began to teach her in small ways to give up her attachments that she formed so easily. Anything that she found pleasurable she would grasp at and hang on for dear life. Of course, when that pleasurable thing changed or disappeared, she would suffer horribly.
The monastery had two washing machines, usually with only one working, and no dryer, so timing loads between activities was tricky. Drying the clothes during the winter months was especially difficult, requiring Janet to hang the clothes in the shower room where there was a little heat, and which was also all the way on the other side of the grounds. On sunny days, she had the luxury of hanging clothes outside on a clothesline, which was a great treat, not only because of the two monastery dogs, "Imadog" and "Uradog," that were tied close by (she loved animals), but because she could get out of her little prison of a laundry room for awhile.
Three months at the monastery and many baskets of clothes later, Janet made a big decision; she parked her prized Camaro in town at a local gas station with a for sale sign pasted on the window. It was a cool car; her first new one, and she feared that she would miss it. The white Camaro was one of her biggest attachments.
As it turned out however, she became so involved in preparing for her ordination that she didn't even have time to grieve when it quickly sold.
(To be continued) . . . Next --Goats and shaved heads!
E. Raymond Rock of Fort Myers, Florida is cofounder and principal teacher at the Southwest Florida Insight Center, http://www.SouthwestFloridaInsightCenter.com His twenty-eight years of meditation experience has taken him across four continents, including two stopovers in Thailand where he practiced in the remote northeast forests as an ordained Theravada Buddhist monk. His book, A Year to Enlightenment (Career Press/New Page Books) is now available at major bookstores and online retailers. Visit [http://www.AYearToEnlightenment.com]
This post was made using the Auto Blogging Software from WebMagnates.org This line will not appear when posts are made after activating the software to full version.
