Um, wow.

Warning - I'm not sure this post makes any sense at all. Read at your own risk.

It’s been a day.

I became a Buddhist today. Not exactly sure how that happened. It kind of sneaked up on me. My darling friend, Brad, introduced me to chanting over the summer. He’s a Buddhist and I’ve always been fascinated by it so I was excited to learn how to chant. He and his friends who were there also explained the philosophy behind the sect of Buddhism they belong to and I was intrigued. He finally invited me to a meeting, as did his friend, CJ, and I went today just to check it out. Brad wasn’t there because he was out of town all weekend and overslept but CJ was there as well as one or two other faces I knew. The meeting was amazing, stuff was explained and folks shared. Okay, oversimplification but I’m really, really tired and have other stuff to talk about.

At the end of the meeting, Christine, one of the district leaders, was talking to me about my chanting - how often, what benefit, etc. When you chant in this particular sect of Buddhism (SGI - http://www.sgi-usa.org/), you chant to a sacred scroll called the gohonzon. I wish I could explain more but I’m a baby at this. Check out the website for more info. Anyway, Christine asked me what I chanted to and I told her I usually had my laptop in front of me because I was using the audio guides on the SGI site to help me chant. She asked me if I’d like my own gohonzon. Huh? I had this idea that I had to earn it or something. Not that it was just given to me when I felt ready for it. I thought there’d be a test or an initiation or something. Nope. I said, sure, not entirely sure what it all meant. Next thing I know, there’s a little ceremony going on and Christine and CJ and Brad are planning to come to my place to enshrine my gohonzon (yes, there’s a little shrine involved) tonight.

Tonight.

Have I mentioned I’m moving? Just across the courtyard but still. And I have to be moved before 8 AM. I’ve been moving for the past week. I’ve hit the “holy cow, where did I get all this crap” stage today. Had to find folks to help move the 52” screen TV and the couch. The place is a disaster because, hey, I’m moving.

And you want to enshrine my gohonzon tonight.

I could have said no. But then Christine offered to help move my couch and I was in.

Okay, kind of selfish but I needed the help!

On top of all this, there is a myriad of emotions coursing through me today. Moving always sets me off, as it does everyone, I’m sure. But it’s made me miss my folks. My dad is not doing well and I miss him terribly. Mom sounds like she misses me and that makes me miss her. And finding a batch of their stuff just made me sit down and cry.

And somehow, I feel like a failure on this move. I couldn’t afford the old apartment - FAIL! I should have been able to - FAIL! Etc. You get the picture.

And finding stuff from RJ, which makes my heart break all over again. Photos of us, smiling at the camera, arms around each other. Were we really ever that happy? Were we just good at posing as happy? Again, EPIC FAIL! How could those people in those pictures not be together. Look at them!! They’re smiling! They’re happy! It must be love.

And feeling terribly alone. Monica had her boyfriend helping this week and he’s been awesome, not just for her but for me. He’s helped move a ton of stuff and even bought us a coffee table because we desperately needed one. He’s a great guy and a terrific boyfriend.

And I don’t have one.

It’s me. All me. Just me. Monica and Brian helped but it was still down to me. Made me feel very alone. Very no-boyfriend-y. Very never-gonna-ever-have-a-boyfriend-y.

Which lead me to (stay with me now, I’ll get to a point eventually) the current wonderful man in my life - Brad. I guess I’m blessed that I always have wonderful men around me who make me feel giddy and terrific and amazing. But they always seem to come with one thing I can’t overcome - a committed relationship to someone else. I can love them, I can adore them but I can never have them. So I’m back to very-no-boyfriend-y. I’m trying not to let my heart get carried away with this one, although it’s way too late. But the sensible side in me is winning out lately and I’m trying to reign my heart in before it gets shattered again because I’m dumb and have lost my head over someone I can’t have.

So, back to tonight. I agreed to let the Buddhists descend on my disastrous apartment. I’m glad they’re gonna help me move because it took me two hours just to clear off and dismantle and reassemble the giant Ikea bookcase in my living room. A nice group coming - CJ, Brad, Christine and me.

I have to evaluate why I’m doing this before they come. Am I doing it to impress Brad because I want him to love me? My constant fault. I’ll do anything, become anything, just to be loved. But I am learning, with men like him and Ranger Smith in my life, that it is possible to be loved by someone without having to be their girlfriend or wife or significant other. They can love me just because I’m me. Broken and battered and emotionally damaged. I am their friend and they love me. Wow. Um. Wow.

I realize I am doing this because I want to do this. My grandfather was a Buddhist and I have always wanted to know more about it. I had gone to a Buddhist wedding years ago and was fascinated by the chanting and what it all meant and how it all worked. And here was this incredible friend offering this to me. Of course I’m going to do it. If I don’t like it, I can stop. Doh.

Brad arrived before the others and we discussed the placement of the shrine, etc. I was suddenly overwhelmed again because I felt like I somehow didn’t deserve this honor. After all, I’m just starting. How can I have my own shrine? I chant at a snail’s pace and don’t really understand what I’m doing. How can you honor me this way?

Because that’s what Buddhists do.

CJ and Christine arrive with the small wooden shrine -- which I can paint and decorate any way I want -- and the four of us kneel in the space beside my bed as CJ sets up the shrine. We begin to chant and it’s amazing. Just the four of us but I was overwhelmed by the sense of love and beauty coming out of that chanting. They weren’t here just to chant. They were here to help me and welcome me and share with me this beautiful, special moment. I had tears in my eyes as CJ unrolled the gohonzon in its new home in my plain and simple shrine. Then we sat and talked for a while about what this meant to me.

Christine then asked the loaded question. What am I chanting for?

Well, duh, finances. Can’t pay my rent, can’t pay my bills. Don’t need to be filthy rich but need to survive.

Then I tried to explain that, while I want to leave no-boyfriend-y land, what I really want is a peaceful heart. I want my heart to stop chasing what it can’t have and find its own peace. Whether that means someone in my life or accepting the solitariness of my life remains to be seen. But I want my heart to stop running, stop hiding, stop being restless and just be peaceful. That’s what I truly want. And until it’s peaceful, I’m not sure I can share it with anyone else.

I had to stop there because I couldn’t talk anymore. Too much emotion, too many thoughts.

I had started out the evening feeling very alone and very solitary because I had so much to move. Monica was definitely moved out although she was wiling to help but she was at the end of her tolerance for moving stuff. I had been standing in the old place by myself, thinking, this is it. This is my life. Me. Just me. This may be how it’s supposed to be. Having men in my life like Brad and Ranger Smith to love me without hurting me, without breaking my heart like the OOMA did. Maybe solitary isn’t so bad if I can be loved by these amazing men. But even that felt lonely and empty.

And then the Buddhists descended (bushel of Buddhists? Battle of Buddhists?) and surrounded me with love and blessing and beauty. And added to that, Beth was able to come by and help out. And Monica, burned out though she was, carried her fair share of my shit tonight.

And now, I am alone again. Sitting on my bed, nursing my aching body, afraid to look at the piles and piles and piles and piles of crap I have to now organize and find places for. So I shut my door.

But though I am alone with only my purry, barking cat with me, I’m not sure I am that alone. The love that filled this room just hours ago hovers in the air, like beautiful incense, just enough to let you know it’s there. Maybe solitary and alone aren’t the same thing. One implies emptiness and hollow and nothingness. Alone. The other says standing by one’s self but with pride and fortitude. Solitary.

What’s my point? There probably isn’t one and I’m sorry I’ve dragged you all the way to the bottom of the page without one. Wait. Let me make a point up, so you’re not disappointed.

Loving and being loved can take many forms. I guess I have to figure out how to love in those different forms so that I won’t be hurt by my expectation and so that I won’t drive away the men that I love. Be grateful for the love that I have, because I do have a lot of it. And find ways to return that love that will let the recipient know that he is loved, not in a crazy, oh-my-god-I’m-going-to-stalk-you way, but in a you-make-me-happy-you’re-in-my-life way. And I think I’m making huge steps in that direction.