Last year we posted regularly a column called Stand-Alone Spirit by two SGI members: Brad and Cybele. Each had faced the challenge of practicing in isolation and were sharing their stories. To celebrate the coming year and its spirit of hope in the face of challenge, I am reposting Cybele’s story. If you have any Stand-Alone Spirit stories of encouragement you’d like to share, please send them in.
Cybele’s Story
I got a taste of the stand-alone sprit when I joined the United States Peace Corps in September of 2004. I was assigned to work in a Muslim country as a small business development advisor. Alone in my mountain village, my SGI-USA publications and daimoku sustained me. It was the first time in my life that I had lived without the SGI.
It was also the first time that I had to explain Buddhism to people who practiced a non-Western religion. Most Westerners ask me questions like, “Do you believe in God?” or “Does Buddhism forbid eating meat?” I confronted a new round of questions one day as I sat in my friend Zahra’s house. She showed me a photo of the recently passed pope in an Arab newspaper. “I’m sorry your baba died,” she said.
“It’s not my baba,” I replied. “But thank you for saying so.
Her sisters looked up from their needlework and asked me what my religion was. “I am Buddhist.” I explained, knowing that they had never heard the word. The girls circled around me with wide eyes. They asked me who my prophet was, what book my prayers came from, and was that book the word of God? I wasn’t sure how to answer that one. “Ours is,” they said.
Another time, I was at my neighbor Fatima’s house where the village women were convening; another neighbor was going into labor so we all sat with her until it was time to go to the clinic. Someone asked about my religion and I began to answer the same questions with thought-out answers. “But how do you pray?” a woman asked. “Like us?” She demonstrated the Muslim prayers by sinking to her knees and touching her forehead and palms to the ground.
“No, like this.” I said. I turned to face the wall and knelt (had I faced, them, they would have thought I was committing idolatry by praying to them). I placed my palms together and recited three daimoku. When I turned back to the women, they smiled. “It’s very nice,” one said.
For two years, I essentially chanted alone. There were a couple clandestine SGI members in the capitol city, so I visited them once a month or so. It took me seven hours and about a week of my paltry salary to get there, but it was well worth it. Those members took care of me like I was their long-lost daughter, showering me with food and gifts. Being with them reminded me that I wasn’t the only Buddhist in the world.
That may seem like an exaggeration, but try to imagine the loneliness of suddenly becoming deaf, dumb, illiterate, and alone all at once. That’s what happened in my village until I learned to speak the local dialect and form relationships. With no one to talk to about Buddhist things, it was easy for the sense of isolation to take over.
A funny thing happened, though: with nothing and no one to rely on but my prayers and study, my faith grew to a new level. Actually, it turned to rock, like a mountain rising beneath me to lift me out of my delusions. It got stronger, harder, and higher. The impossible thing happened: I felt at home in my village. I became a part of my community. The usual obstacles arose but I was too strong to let them sway me.
I’ve been back in the states since December of 2006. It’s exhilarating to be able to call SGI members and chant with them whenever I want. I love my new district. Of course, I have plenty of challenges and I am not happy all the time. But nothing ever gets in the way of my faith and determination. I know, on a fundamental level, that everything will in fact turn out just fine, because I have the power to make it so.
