I carry on my shoulders the weight of generations of genetic suffering as well as my own childhood experiences. At times, the despair is overwhelming, and it is all I can do to just keep breathing. Fortunately, I embraced a spiritual practice at a young age. This has given me the energy and the hope necessary to continue to do my human revolution.
There are many theories as to whether mental illnesses such as clinical depression are inherited or a learned behavior. Most experts believe that our development is influenced by both nature and nurture. It is obvious from the actions of my parents and grandparents, that certain negative life tendencies were passed on to me epigenetically. As an adult, my choice became whether to play the blame game or take responsibility for the kind of person I wanted to be. As a Buddhist, the latter was the only viable alternative.
Still, during my most difficult times, it is a challenge to know what is real. The many joys in my life or the sadness? The confident me or the insecure me? The full me or the empty me? Perhaps each of these is equally true.
What I do know is that mental illness does not have to be a death sentence. Rather it can be the motivation for introspection and spiritual growth. In many ways, the blessings in my life are a direct result of this affliction. When I feel overwhelmed, I try to quiet my mind and remember that illness is an opportunity to attain a higher, nobler state of life.
My sadness has caused me to dig deep through therapy and Buddhist study to change as much of my negative karma into positive causes as is possible in this lifetime. In this way, I continue to chant and therapize for my own happiness as well as the happiness of my children, grandchildren and their future descendants. And to share my journey with as many people as possible in the hope that it might encourage someone else to never give up.
The Space Between Birth and Death
Lately, I've found myself thinking about the purpose of life. In particular, my life! As I approach 75 years old, I look in the rear-view mirror and see fifty-five years of marriage. I can see how my childhood depression and frustration led directly to Buddhism. And how the many times when hope seemed impossible, I was compelled to chant to raise my life condition. So, how do I want to spend the remainder of the space between my birth and death?
Buddhism identifies birth and death, along with aging and sickness, as universal or worldly sufferings. (Birth is a suffering because life gives rise to aging, sickness and death.) The Lotus Sutra, which Nichiren Buddhism holds as the core of the Mahayana movement, teaches that without the basic human impulses and the problems of life and death there can, in fact, be no enlightenment (explanation taken from the www.sgiglobal.org).
Recently, we've been studying the Opening of the Eyes letter that Nichiren wrote to one of his sincere disciples in the 1200s. What strikes me most is the importance of opening my eyes to the existence of my own internal Buddha nature. After all is said and done, it is only through this awareness that I can return to a place of hope and confidence in my ability to continue to change my circumstances. Something I have done repeatedly over the years.
In an essay on life and death, Daisaku Ikeda said, "Death does not discriminate; it strips of us everything. Fame, wealth and power are all useless in the unadorned reality of the final moments of life. When the time comes, we will have only ourselves to rely on. This is a solemn confrontation that we must face armed only with our raw humanity, the actual record of what we have done, how we have chosen to live our lives, asking, ‘Have I lived true to myself? What have I contributed to the world? What are my satisfactions or regrets?’"
"To die well, one must have lived well. For those who have lived true to their convictions, who have worked to bring happiness to others, death can come as a comforting rest, like the well-earned sleep that follows a day of enjoyable exertion."
For the longest time, my biggest challenge has been sadness. Josei Toda once said, "Life doesn't always go smoothly. But everything has meaning. The greater the hardships, the greater the benefits. Firmly uphold the Mystic Law and strive your hardest, daring obstacles to stand in your way! Faith is the power to transform yourself and everything in your life."
Ikeda wrote, "I believe that in order to enjoy true happiness, we should live each moment as if it were our last. Today will never return. We may speak of the past or of the future, but the only reality we have is that of this present instant. And confronting the reality of death actually enables us to bring unlimited creativity, courage and joy into each instant of our lives."
Seven years ago, I spent several months learning how to play the harmonica and, more recently, the piano. I was (and am) thrilled to have rediscovered the joy of playing music again. I am now equally convinced that I want to remain actively engaged through music and other creative endeavors like writing to make a positive difference in the world around me as long as I can and in my own unique way. As Nichiren said in the letter entitled Happiness in this World, "Suffer what there is to suffer, enjoy what there is to enjoy. Regard both suffering and joy as facts of life and continue chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, no matter what happens."
I think I can do that!