Rude Awakenings
I try to relate to my patients that trauma has meaning and serves a purpose. If we are paying attention, it can redirect us when we stray from our individual priorities in life.
In 1997 I was living at a zen temple in Los Angeles. I had graduated from college the previous year, and was desperately struggling to find some career direction. I was also struggling to understand the divisions and conflicts in my family relationships that had never been dealt with. I would say that I was at a crossroads. And my rigorous daily sitting was not helping me.
One morning I left the temple at 4:30 to go to work. As I approached my car in the early morning darkness, I had an inkling that something was not right. When I got into my car and reached to close the door, a form materialized out of the darkness. It took me a few seconds to realize that I was being carjacked. The carjacker pulled a knife out of his back pocket and held it to my throat. Time froze. We looked at each other. He told me, "I don't want to hurt you." He demanded my wallet and stripped my watch and pager. Then he grabbed me by the lapels, dragged me out of my car and threw me down on the street. When the police arrived, one of them matter of factly told me, "don't expect your car back, just be happy you're alive."
Less than a week later, I had packed my belongings and was ready to leave the temple. I was partly motivated by fear, and partly motivated by a feeling that it was time to set things right in my life. I sat down with my mother to talk about my early struggles with anger and depression. I looked at my future, and decided I wanted to work with people as a psychologist. And I looked at my zen practice and knew it was time to reevaluate.
It wasn't until 2001 that I began sitting zazen again on a regular basis. I reconnected with Sensei Bob McNeil, a disciple of my first teacher, Matsuoka Roshi. Bob works with a small community of lay practitioners and has taught me a lot about not leaving your "zen" behind in the zendo. He is a living reminder that Zen is our life, not something that we pick up along the way.
I'm still learning from trauma. Last year my brother passed away. He suffered greatly. Thank you, my brother, for life lessons in courage and compassion. And if the person who carjacked me is still out there, thank you, too. I don't hate you. In fact, I bow to you. I guess that's the lesson.
In 1997 I was living at a zen temple in Los Angeles. I had graduated from college the previous year, and was desperately struggling to find some career direction. I was also struggling to understand the divisions and conflicts in my family relationships that had never been dealt with. I would say that I was at a crossroads. And my rigorous daily sitting was not helping me.
One morning I left the temple at 4:30 to go to work. As I approached my car in the early morning darkness, I had an inkling that something was not right. When I got into my car and reached to close the door, a form materialized out of the darkness. It took me a few seconds to realize that I was being carjacked. The carjacker pulled a knife out of his back pocket and held it to my throat. Time froze. We looked at each other. He told me, "I don't want to hurt you." He demanded my wallet and stripped my watch and pager. Then he grabbed me by the lapels, dragged me out of my car and threw me down on the street. When the police arrived, one of them matter of factly told me, "don't expect your car back, just be happy you're alive."
Less than a week later, I had packed my belongings and was ready to leave the temple. I was partly motivated by fear, and partly motivated by a feeling that it was time to set things right in my life. I sat down with my mother to talk about my early struggles with anger and depression. I looked at my future, and decided I wanted to work with people as a psychologist. And I looked at my zen practice and knew it was time to reevaluate.
It wasn't until 2001 that I began sitting zazen again on a regular basis. I reconnected with Sensei Bob McNeil, a disciple of my first teacher, Matsuoka Roshi. Bob works with a small community of lay practitioners and has taught me a lot about not leaving your "zen" behind in the zendo. He is a living reminder that Zen is our life, not something that we pick up along the way.
I'm still learning from trauma. Last year my brother passed away. He suffered greatly. Thank you, my brother, for life lessons in courage and compassion. And if the person who carjacked me is still out there, thank you, too. I don't hate you. In fact, I bow to you. I guess that's the lesson.
posted by David H at 1:30 AM
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