10.17.07
Divine Interventions by c. Lora Mountjoy 2007
Nobody in my family believed in God. My grandmother came from a family of freethinkers, radicals who threw over the old religion way back in the mid 19th century. My grandfather walked out with her and away from the church.
My mother said that when grandpa was dying, grandma became worried that he would have a deathbed repentance. Wondering if he might indeed want to go back to his faith, and seeing no reason to deny him, my mother asked him, “Would you like to see a Priest?” What for? He answered, and died soon after. I also recall my great Aunt Poppy telling me, shortly before she passed away, “I’m going to die soon and I don’t believe in God and I feel fine about that.”
As children in the 1940s we had a Golden Bible in the house, and were told the stories along with scientific explanations for anything apparently miraculous. The Red Sea parting was due to extreme tides, the burning bush was caused by an oil leak and so on. It was clear to us from the beginning that these were just one lot of myths and legends among many and though my mother respected Jesus as a man of wisdom, God was out of the question.
My mother was a single parent and we lived with her family in a large but run down bungalow. I remember one wonderful summer when nobody mowed the lawns and I made tunnels through the long grass, discovering a magic world of small plants and insects.
At about his time, when I was seven or eight years old, I started going to Sunday School. Because my family believed in freedom of choice, no-one stopped me. I was given a penny for the “plate” and off I walked on Sunday morning, by myself across the railway line and through the empty suburban streets to one of many local churches. I believe the Presbyterians were the first.
I remember sitting in a strange wooden room with a young adult “teacher” and other children, all no doubt sent by their parents. We were told bible stories, and we gave our coins for “the poor children in Africa.” Brought up on strong ideas of social justice, I was horrified to find that children who didn’t become Christian were doomed to suffer forever in hell, though I can’t remember which denomination had that idea.
My search was not really conscious at that stage, just something I had to do. Some of the congregations I found more devout than others, but however hard I tried I didn’t find faith, or enlightenment. Around puberty, I drifted away for a while.
At 18, after a couple of rather wild teenage years, I felt the calling again. Sampling a few churches in my city I decided the Catholics were the only ones who seemed to really believe in their religion. So I tried to be a Catholic. I went to Mass, read little books about “being a Catholic” and talked to a priest. I desperately wanted to be converted. I envied the otherness in the faces of ordinary people as they walked back down the aisle after receiving communion.
But when it came to the crunch, I had a problem. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe in the virgin birth and Jesus rising from the tomb. Especially the virgin birth. My agnostic upbringing had been strong on morality and I had to be true to myself. I couldn’t embrace a religion that didn’t make sense to my rational brain.
I became an ardent, and probably annoyingly vocal, atheist. Then my strictly logical belief system ran into a few speed bumps.
First there was Lois. We worked together for a while in tourist hotel in the mountains. After I returned to the city, she came to visit. Lois was quite a lot older than me and she brought an even older friend round. I really liked the woman, a person from the North of England with bright wit and presence that was particularly comfortable. Later Lois told me that her friend was a medium. I was intrigued that she looked so normal and it shook some of my preconceptions.
At about the same time I read a book which was to challenge my belief in the world of science and the certainties I held about nature. The story was an account of a mountaineering expedition, a team climbing in the Himalayas.
One morning the team woke high on the mountain after a night of snow and sub zero temperature. Emerging from their tents, dressed in the warmest clothes, they were greeted by a yogi. Not only was he wearing a skimpy robe, he was smiling and walking down the mountain. The implications of this blew a fuse in my brain.
Also about this time, travelling into town on a regular commuter train, I experienced an instantaneous opening to universal love. Though it was many years ago I still remember the warmth, the expansiveness of the experience. I remember the woman in the seat in front of me with her neat round head, the love I felt for her, the certain knowledge that all is one. The experience didn’t last, but in a way it never went completely. (note from MPJ: the above is an example of a “state change” - an experience of divine consciousness. According to Ken Wilber, these state changes are temporary and can be experienced by anyone at any level. They are not indicative of what Stage the person is at, but apparently they are one way a person begins to progress to the next stage. )
A year or so went by. I still considered myself an atheist but I joined a yoga class for the exercise and was astonished to find myself walking home on a cloud afterwards. Yoga was just a series of postures and a little relaxation, how come I felt so light and happy?
My neighbour, Bruce Barwell, and I commuted together and spent the half hour train journey discussing ideas and books. At the time I was reading Beckett and Sartre and Catcher in The Rye.
One day Bruce reached into his briefcase and took out a book on Buddhism. The word jumped off the cover and captured me instantly. I intuitively knew that I wanted to find out about this Buddha. Bruce wasn’t very helpful; he wouldn’t lend me a book or recommend one but suggested I try the public library.
This was the mid ‘60s in Wellington, New Zealand, and the public library didn’t run to a big Buddhist section. However I remember a low dark shelf above a polished floor and three books on the topic there. The one I liked best was by Christmas Humphries, and told the history of Buddhism in India.
Not long after this I travelled through South East Asia and India. Buddhism was on my mind but although I visited temples I couldn’t move from tourist and interested observer to student. This was only 1967 and I was a naïve New Zealander, not yet part of the “alternative” revolution.
I saw shiny Buddhas in Thailand and monks with transistor radios. I saw Tibetan thankas and old people spinning prayer wheels and monks blowing long trumpets and chanting. In Burma I visited the Swe Dagon pagoda in the early morning, watching ordinary people tend the many shrines, making offerings of food and lighting incense. Whatever it was they had, I wanted something like it but had no idea how to break through the cultural and language barriers.
Then in London, browsing one day in a little bookshop off Kings Road, I found Zen Flesh Zen Bones by Paul Reps. I stood in the shop and roared with laughter at the crazy stories. I recall my companion was amused and a little embarrassed at my un-British excitement.
I bought the book and read it from cover to cover, many times. I knew without doubt that I wanted to find out more about this Zen. I discovered that there was a Buddhist society and rang them but somehow never went further.
Then one day I found myself standing in front of the window of a little shop, just round the corner from my workplace in Bloomsbury. I was captivated by a statue displayed there, which I thought was a Buddha figure carved in stone. Such is the nature of illusion! I later discovered that it was made of resin and represented Jizo, a Japanese deity who takes care of dead children. But for me it represented Buddha and it drew me into the tiny shop.
As I arranged to buy the figure, I talked to the shopkeeper about my interest in Buddhism. It turned out that the basement below his store was used for meditation and that a Zen master was coming soon. In the meantime, I could learn to meditate from Sangarakshita, an English monk who had taught classes for beginners. I started with the beginners group that week and when Sochu Suzuki Roshi arrived I continued the journey with him.
For 40 years now I have been lurching along the Buddhist path, sometimes slipping, sometimes doubting the value of any religion, as it seems to cause so much pain and bloodshed in the world. While what Buddha taught does not depend on any concept of god, that does not in my experience preclude miracles. The significant points on my journey have been notable for a moment when something, some word or name, leapt out at me and I knew I needed to follow it up.
Seeing the word Buddhism on Bruce’s book; reading Zen Flesh Zen Bones, reading the name of Carlos Casteneda as I scanned Penguin’s new publications, seeing a course by Joseph Goldstein advertised, seeing Women Who Dance with The Wolves in a bookshop. I knew nothing about any of these topics or people, but instantly felt they were significant and I took them into my life.
I hope that the universe will continue to send its messengers to draw me along in this way. When I was 26 and beginning Zen meditation I believed I could be enlightened in a year or so. I tried hard for a while and certainly developed a little insight. Now at 65 I am less driven and not, unfortunately, enlightened. But I have more faith than ever in the Buddha and his teachings and I am grateful that something, whether it be karma, or need or genetic predisposition, has pushed me in this direction.
Comment from MPJ: This one sounds to me like a life-long seeker who spent most of her life teetering on the brink between Stage Three and Stage Four. The last paragraph though is pretty much pure Stage Four - feeling that the universe is guiding her growth, feeling less driven, not having to direct or force the growth process, and gratitude for whatever it is that has been leading her along all sound like this person is in Stage Four- to the extent that I can understand or interpret it from my imperfect vantage point.
Lora Mountoy said,
October 17, 2007 at 10:03 pm
Kia ora kotou, which means may you all be well. It was good to see my story out there, though I had mixed feelings about the process of being commented on. I have some sympathy for the framework of change you propose Margaret and I relate especially to your description of the Universal Love experience. I guess it seems to me that daily life moves through all parts of the model, some harder to be with than others.
I look forward to reading more stories. with metta,Lora
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MPJ said,
October 21, 2007 at 9:59 pm
Dear Lora;
I am sorry about the “process of being commented on.” I do this with some degree of trepidation, but really don’t know how else to get the point across. (If you have an idea for me, please do share it!) In any case, the commenting process is in no way meant to judge anyone - only to help us gain understanding of the stages and recognize patterns in the stories. Thanks for still being willing to share your story - even in the light of being “commented upon!”