The Light on Change retreat was held at Throssel Hole Buddhist Abbey in October 2007. A group of female trainees who are members of the O.B.C, Sangha, and who are all in the latter part of their lives, came together to shine some light on their mortality. The following is an edited transcript of Mo Henderson’s talk from that retreat.

I’d like to share with you some of the changes and challenges experienced in almost 30 years of training with the Serene Reflection Tradition.

When I first came to training, as a householder, I had experienced a kind of calling, something which pulled me to be curious, to read about Buddhism and to experience what it was like to go to a Buddhist retreat. There was also a strong feeling that something was missing in my life, and what was missing was linked to the way I experienced suffering. I knew what suffering was about, and when I first came to training I was certainly curious, but one of my main priorities was to get rid of suffering.  I recall thinking “Well, this is going to be great, because if I really, really practice hard, I’m going to get rid of suffering”. I quickly discovered it didn’t work like that. Indeed in the early years of meditation practice, for me, suffering appeared to get worse.

The meditation practice helped me to become aware of the conditions in which I was suffering in an open and accepting way and for me this seemed to perpetuate even more discomfort, as my habits of mind were slowly revealed. I found this particularly challenging, and, on occasions felt l wasn’t going to be any use at being a ‘good’ trainee. On retreats I used to compare myself to others and think that everyone else was doing so well, while I was having it tough! In looking from the outside at the monks’ training, I remember thinking “Oh, it’s really easy for monks to train in a monastery and it’s much harder for me, with my job to do, looking after the family and dealing with some difficult people in my life”. In other words I thought that if my life was not the way it was, then I would be able to train properly!

However something moved me to continue training, and I became more aware of the examples of others and how training was in the monastery. Through going on retreats and watching the monks, and being with the other sangha members at Throssel, I began to trust in something more solid and grounded. Initially, I tried to copy, thinking “this is the way it’s done and I’ll take this into daily life and I’ll copy”. On the one hand it’s really good and necessary to follow examples and on the other hand, I realised after a while I had to find my own way within that. This was another challenge: “What was the way I need to train”?

Finding my own way in lay life has not been without challenges. I think, particularly (and some of you might agree) when you start to practice, after a few years, when your practice has deepened a little, you begin to become quite efficient at work and employers can take advantage of that. You really want to do things wholeheartedly, and do them well. One of my main tendencies has been workaholism, this tendency is evident when I feel discomfort. And being a bit of a perfectionist I threw myself wholeheartedly into things. So, I found, based on my own experience, that I was dealing with work quite efficiently, bosses were telling me so and giving me more work. And of course that tendency to keep myself busy kept arising and I was in danger of spiralling into a cycle of burnout. I think there’s a very fine line between doing what needs doing and getting your priorities right as far as training is concerned. Actually saying “no” and making training a priority is often what is truly needed. I realise perhaps I was looking to please people, or receive rewards of some kind or another. So my wholehearted work wasn’t quite unconditional, I actually believe now that was how I ended up moving to France, and accepting the opportunity to work part-time.

Training for me meant a balance of space with what I think of as ‘the monastery of life’, as well as the busy-ness of life at work and with the family. I kind of go in and come out of that. Sometimes it feels good to work really hard, and then at other times it’s good just to hold back. You can lose that heart of your meditation very easily (well, I can with that perfectionist tendency) when the cycle of work and stillness feels somehow separated! This for me was as great challenge.

I had, through habit, tended to be like a bull in a china shop, working very hard to in order to deny and escape from discomfort. It was my way of dealing with suffering. Following this I then tried to copy examples and do everything right. This was helpful for a while until I realised I was playing more than my own part, and had a sense of stealing other people’s parts as well. I was not deeply listening to what in reality needed to be done and I was forcing an ideal about what was good to do.

Over the years, training has brought a sense of trust in myself and the sangha, both outside and within the monastery. This has become very precious to me and I am beginning to sense there is no separation between the stillness of training and the rest of my life. Daily life is just as it is, the whole gambit of stillness, work, family and everything. So I can carry the ‘monastery of life’ in my own heart whenever I may be.  I still try to go once or twice a year to Throssel, being with fellow trainees is a treasure and I’m always moved by the ways we connect and help each other.  For me, a weekend on retreat with others is grounding and fruitful, reminding me of tendencies within, which need both acceptance and letting go. Learning to just sit back, deeply listen and realise that support is naturally there.

However, there’s also the wider sangha.  Earlier I mentioned my attitude of, “If I didn’t have these difficulties with people, jobs, family etc. then things would be better.” Basically, I wanted to change things in order to have it easy. And the very things that were pointing me to deepen my training were the people I was with. So the wider sangha is so very important. And (I can say it now but I couldn’t say it at the time) the people I had the most difficulties with were often pointing me in a direction of being still, and doing what needed to be done. That’s not easy because it takes a lot of vigilance not to speak or act too quickly, The intention is to please and do well, but I’m learning to hold back after all these years. However, on reflection, I’ve seen how mistakes (or what appear to be mistakes) have brought all kinds of situations up, so I can’t really regret anything, I’ve learnt from the people I’ve been with, all these jewels in the wider sangha that upset and challenge us, can point the way. My relationship to these challenges has certainly changed: training has unfolded a light of awareness which allows stillness to become a natural way of being when challenges arise. I am still aware of my tendencies, although I now somehow find them easier to spot.

I remember hearing Rev Master Jiyu say in one of her talks that one of the main kōans for females was inadequacy. Keeping this in mind I’d like to mention physical well-being. There was a danger in the past that I would ignore bodily messages when I was tired and needed to rest. I now believe that this has been closely linked to inadequacy and trying to be seen to be ‘good’ and helpful to others. Practice has helped me to become more aware of the need to take care of myself, and not ignore that danger. I recall the challenge of going through the menopause.  I was 38 when it started, and 43 when I was right through it, and I can remember having some quite severe symptoms – hot flushes, night sweats, things like that. But the main thing for me was the moods. I used to lose concentration and get really upset with myself because my mood would drop. I’d feel fine one minute and suddenly, at work or at home, my mood would drop and I’d get pretty snappy with myself and other people, mainly at home.  I remember my husband saying “what on earth’s up with you – what’s going on here?” I would make excuses as to why I was the way I was. It’s easy to say on reflection, but to take care of myself then was so important, and I didn’t. I didn’t actually accept that ‘this is the way it is’. I wanted to change how I was by thinking, “What can I do to change this? What can I do to change this change?” The best thing I could have done, on reflection, was to just be still with it and find out what was best to do about it. Did I need to go to the doctor and get something to deal with it, or did I need more rest etc.? So I think I perpetuated the change of life in a sense, and suffered a bit more because of it.

In order to play a true part (and I do believe we all play a unique part in the sangha) we need to take care of ourselves (in every way). So, now I do my best to rest when I need it. And so, in just accepting the way you are, I think that life gives back to you, because people accept you when you’re really and truly being you. I discovered, that unintentionally I wasn’t being ‘me’ with my excuses and justifications.  I learnt a lot from that challenge and wish to share that with you because I believe the kōan of inadequacy can be very general in females.

I’d like to mention loss, as change means we all lose people we love. Living with these changes in life are quite challenging. Just after I’d gone through the change of life, I lost my son in an accident when he was 25. I remember a monk saying after the memorial service, “Why didn’t you cry when you came up for the service?” I had been trying, out of very good intentions, to have the best ceremony for my son, because I knew that if I actually cried I would have ‘lost it’.  On reflection, I know I’d have had support if I had ‘lost it’. However I was kind of carried through until I got back to France, and then I lost it there. For me the crying part of grief has been personal and private and being able to share the grief with others can open up a very human connection of support. We’re all in this together, helping each other, and it’s often a very difficult adjustment living without a loved one, however as life changes and moves on it is a natural part of training.

For me trusting in the support of others is trusting yourself. I felt that greatly when I came to give this talk. I sensed the friendliness, help and support as I was feeling fear and still feeling fearful about talking. That’s another thing I’ve learned. It’s not about getting rid of emotion, getting rid of being human – we’re all human – it’s just kind of accepting it and knowing that it’s part of us. Being still, simply doing the best we can within it all, is the practice. Ignoring the help and support that’s around and not looking deeply enough to be aware of it can bring real challenges to training! Also seeing this support in the wider sangha too, seeing it in everybody we are with. It’s the Buddha, teaching, a good opportunity to train and its sometimes so terrifying, as well.

I talked to Karen on the phone before I travelled to this retreat. Karen was also going to share her experiences with us this afternoon. She said her husband was ill and she wouldn’t be coming. We had a chat about priorities and about training and she said she has her training with her husband who is ill at the moment. Sometimes we think, and I know I’ve done it in the past, “Well, there’s the retreat at the monastery, and there’s home life” but really there’s no separation. The two are different forms of training, and both are essential and Karen showed me that so well.

Finally I’d like to mention compassion. It took me a long time to let go of a particular view of compassion. I had an idea that compassion was a particular way and this has changed over time. I’ve learnt through the experience of training that it has many faces, and it seems to go deeper and deeper. Now, there doesn’t seem to be a fixed idea of what it is, it is something that can change and manifest on different levels. Whether training in the monastery or training as a householder, I believe, that just to be genuine, being who you truly are with integrity – that is compassion. I try not to have any particular idea of what it is. It’s really trusting your own heart enough to be ‘you’ and that is why training together is so important.

Sometimes, when I’ve separated myself off, I have realised just how important taking refuge is, being together with other people in training and checking things out is so helpful. I try not to forget that.

If I could just end by saying that recently we were very fortunate in having a retreat in France, and we studied the Diamond Sutra together. I experienced that there had been something missing in my training. I had previously read some of the Sutras on my own or together with a tape, however I hadn’t practised in the way we did at this last retreat. We had lectures, reading and discussion and we recited the Diamond Sutra as part of the afternoon ceremony together. Not being part of a meditation group, I really felt that was a good way to experience the Sutra together, I found the experience really valuable. I don’t know if some of the groups are studying together in this way.

It’s been good to share some of my experiences and changes in training with you and I look forward to sharing the practice and further dialogue over the weekend. Thanks for listening.