Realizing Yurin, Realizing Alex
By Alexandra Yurin Geller
The first time I sat in meditation with Sensei Shinzan, I felt like a baby being held in my mother’s arms. I could not imagine more fondness and safer space. I knew in this moment, that the practice of Zen had brought me home, and at the same time, I understood clearly that I had always been there. My background in Buddhism spans over the past twelve or so years. I had dabbled in sitting here and there, and the practice appealed greatly to me, but it never quite stuck. This practice has an affinity towards unfolding the path exactly as one’s life warrants it. For me, my practice became more concretized when everything else in my life was quite the opposite; falling apart. I had tried just about every possible method to avoid suffering. It was not until I watched a TED talk about embracing our pain, that I began to wonder about allowing my discomfort to serve a purpose in my life. I became curious about this, and Buddhism was the vehicle in which to explore it. Pema Chodron’s, When Things Fall Apart, became my bible, and I began working with sitting in the middle of my discomfort and dissatisfaction. In this, I discovered that the stories I attached to my pain are what actually caused me to suffer. Mark Twain said it best, “I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them have never happened.”
As I continued working with the basic concepts of Buddhism, it became clear to me that I would need a support system, one which I would later discover to be called my sangha. I started at the Dharma Bum temple where I was fortunate enough to meet Alberto Apalategui, or Anzan. He led me to his teacher, Shinzan, and his sangha, later to be called, Open Gate Zen Collective. Long story short, this sangha quickly became my own, and the more I practiced, the more I desired to commit myself further. That was the motivation which led me to receiving Jukai.
As it became evident that what we receive from this practice is directly related to what we put into it, I felt the need for a more formalized experience. To be candid, the process of receiving Jukai appealed to me in every way, except one: sewing the Rakusu. I had never sewn anything in my life, and as someone who is aware of my own strengths, I was certain that this was not one of them. My perfectionistic ways overtook me, and I sold myself on the “believed thought,” as Dojin would say, that I could not do it. I was not skilled enough, smart enough, patient enough. I began looking for ways to bypass the sewing project, and I put it off for weeks as I began studying the precepts. I wholeheartedly enjoyed the meetings with my sangha and my own private study of the precepts; still, dauntingly, the Rakusu project lurked always in the back of my mind.
As I continued to work through the precepts, allowing myself to grow close to the process, something interesting happened: I also began to grow closer to myself and to my imperfections. In fact, it became clear to me that my features which I had deemed as undesirable, were all-encompassing in my Buddha nature. What struck me the most about the process of learning and receiving the precepts, is how they are moral guidelines which could easily present us with the opportunity for self-degradation, to believe that we have never and could never live up to these “standards.” On the contrary, the process actually took me further away from my habituation of beating myself up and brought me closer to the understanding that as human beings, we all have the same work cut out for us. The precepts began to blur the lines of dualistic thinking, and when presented with guidelines so pure, honest, and realistic: it became undeniable to me that everyone else is constantly working with the same obstacles that I am. The precepts provide us with opportunities every minute of every day to pause, breathe, and break our habitual patterns. The precepts, to me, are an ethical code to help guide us inwards; closer to our inherent goodness.
This process gave me the courage to work with my ego enough to begin sewing my Rakusu. I enlisted the help of my best friend, who is an astonishing seamstress. I also graciously accepted support from Shinzan, and together, we worked through every stitch. I made countless errors. One evening, I cried in my car after leaving Sweet Water Zen Center, because I was so frustrated with myself and with the sewing process. amid my hysterics, I managed to knock over and spill my container of needles and pins. I spent half an hour carefully removing embedded sharp objects from my car interior. I cried harder. This project was one of the most ego-shattering experiences of my life, and it is crystal clear to me why it is as designed as such. After coming to him with my frustrations, my dear friend, Peter Daio Kapich, reminded me that the stress of the project was hindering me from experiencing the rest of the process. It dawned on me that I had been so caught up in worry, that I had not reflected upon how sewing the Rakusu had been a precious opportunity to grow closer to Shinzan. We spent hours at his house working on it, and during that time, we got to know each other on a new and personal level. It nearly brings me to tears to contemplate this; how he devoted his time to me so patiently, kindly, and warmly. This is when I knew, without a doubt, that I wanted to formally ask Shinzan to be my teacher.
The Jukai ceremony itself was an experience I will never forget. The traditions, the chanting, the process; it was all so meticulously and joyfully knitted into the tapestry of my life and my memories. My family flew out from Colorado to be there. Despite their lack of knowledge surrounding Buddhism, they understood deeply how much it meant to me. My partner, Bryan, arrived to the Zen Center nearly an hour early so he could help my sick mother get safely inside and to her seat. I received support on this day in a way I never knew possible; but at the same time, it’s the same loving encouragement I have been provided with since beginningless time. The ceremony was simply an embodiment of the loving kindness that surrounds me. I received the Dharma name, Yurin, which means “brave and healing bell.” I embrace this name as if it has been mine for many, many lifetimes. I cherish it for many reasons, but mostly because it was given thoughtfully to me by my teacher, and it represents my joyful rebirth.
I had heard other members of my sangha talk about how receiving Jukai had changed their lives. I can now say that I passionately understand that. I woke the very next morning following the ceremony to a different sort of awareness; a warmness surrounding my heart, which I had devoted fervently to my practice. Do I break the precepts? Certainly. However, I give myself more time and space to decipher my actions. I have become more thoughtful of how my choices directly affect others. How could they not, as there is no real separation between us all? Thank you to my teacher, Shinzan. Thank you to my fellow Jukai recipients: Jisen, Daio, Taikan, and Miojo. Thank you to my Sangha. Thank you to my family, my partner, and my friends. In this lifetime, each before it, and all lifetimes to follow, I bow deeply and humbly to you.
