Category: Buddhism

Reborn as a Buddhist

My Metamorphosis from Christian caterpillar to Buddhist butterfly

By Patrick Taggart


Caterpillar: in reality I was a judgemental asshole

I am ashamed of the young man I was in 1985. I was an evangelical Christian and I remember chiding a friend for not being sufficiently joyful. Yes, she had lost her only brother, her soulmate, in a tragic accident quite some time before. But that was no excuse; Christians have a duty to praise God without ceasing and, anyway, it was years ago. At the time, I liked to think of myself as a humble and faithful servant of the Lord. In reality I was an insensitive and judgemental asshole.


Fast forward to 2003 and the deficiencies of my arrogant and inflexible view of the world were becoming all too obvious. My marriage was falling apart, and I was burdened by depression. I started to ask questions.


Had God really been guiding me throughout my life, as I’d thought? It certainly didn’t look like it. Why would God set belief as the bar for entry to Heaven? I mean, it’s not as if we often get to choose what we believe; for example, I can’t simply choose to believe, against all evidence to the contrary, that I still have the luxurious head of curls that I had in my youth.


And then there was the perennial question: why does God allow so much suffering in the world? These were all important questions, at least to me. All the responses from Christians seemed more like facile attempts to explain difficulties away than genuine answers.

Pupa: I felt the intimations of liberation


And so began my slide from belief to agnosticism and eventual atheism. Despite being in my chrysalis at this stage, I already felt the first intimations of liberation. The constant struggle to defend the fortress of my Christian faith had been exhausting. The duty to spread the good news of Jesus to people who would spend eternity in Hell, if they didn’t believe it, had become too heavy a burden to bear. The conflict between trying to share God’s love while belonging to an organisation that was, at best, ambivalent on questions of equality, had created an internal tension that was not sustainable in the long term.


The universe became a dazzling phenomenon. It itself was difficult enough to believe in without the imposition of a creator God, who would have to be even more incredible. But the universe couldn’t have come into existence by pure accident. It had to have been created by God, my Christian friends would argue. Well, who made God then, I would counter? Nobody made God; he has always existed. Well then, why can’t the universe have always existed? These discussions would circle around infinitely, without hope of resolution. Far better, I thought, to marvel at reality and forget such religious nonsense.

I was in trouble, in freefall, and I realised that cold hard atheism did not have what I needed


Then in 2010 my life was overtaken by crisis. A relationship that had become one of the pillars of my life disintegrated. In addition, I was living with prostate cancer and the ravages of the treatments which, although successful, did not leave me unscathed. I was in trouble, in freefall, and I realised that cold hard atheism did not have what I needed to get through my troubles. Enter Buddhism. I started to read about it and liked what I read.

Drawing by Patrick Taggart


Butterfly: What appealed to me about Buddhism

First, as I understood him, the focus of the Buddha’s teaching was modest and pragmatic. Rather than bothering much with elaborate creation stories and cosmologies, he seemed to have focused on understanding and relieving human suffering.


Second, the impermanence and lack of essence that characterise all things are not seen as a tragedy. Instead, they open up a world of possibility.


Third, while not an atheist in the modern sense, the Buddha seemed to have regarded gods as having no role to play in overcoming suffering. Spiritual help is available without having to believe in anything supernatural.

as someone who loves nature, gardening, sea swimming and other outdoor pursuits, the earthiness of Buddhism appealed to me.

Fourth, the Buddha’s philosophy empowers us. He tells us that by living ethical and compassionate lives, studying the causes of suffering and happiness and training our minds in meditation, we can cultivate happiness for ourselves and others.


Fifth, as someone who loves nature, gardening, sea swimming and other outdoor pursuits, the earthiness of Buddhism appealed to me. One of the iconic images of the Buddha, depicted in many paintings and statues, is of him touching the earth with his right hand while in seated meditation at the moment of his awakening. Rather than waiting for salvation to descend from on high, it comes from the earth. Rather than yearning for some blissful afterlife, we are to create happiness here and now.

Drawing by Ms. Taggart


Sixth, the Buddha, rather than being some kind of saviour was an entirely human teacher. Even if he had never existed, the teachings ascribed to him did exist and, if they worked, well, that was good enough for me. In contrast, in all major forms of Christianity, Jesus is a saviour. Therefore, the historical facts of his life, which I doubted, really mattered.

My demons were gradually losing their power. I could confront them, unflinchingly, as I grew in confidence and awareness of my own resilience.

Granted, there are several schools of Buddhism, some of which are quite different from the form to which I was attracted. For example, some portray the Buddha as a demigod. Nevertheless, with my appetite whetted, I happily set them to one side. I knew that my friend and sometime climbing partner, Gary, attended Black Mountain Zen Centre in Belfast. I asked him what it was all about. Finding his answers rather unenlightening, I decided to check it out for myself.


First impressions were bewildering. The meditation sessions were very minimalist; they were silent, apart from the ringing of bells and the creaking of floorboards during painfully slow walking meditation. Long periods were spent motionless, in silence, staring at a wall. When we did move, our movements, characterised by much bowing, were circumscribed by an OCD-inducing choreography.

The teachings and practice are non-dogmatic and emphasise mindfulness, respect, compassion, peace, joy and engagement in the world.


The bizarre practice at the Zen Centre seemed at odds with the helpful things I was reading in Buddhist books. Gradually, though, I noticed something that surprised me. Despite my anguish, which had seemed unbearable, I found myself able to sit quietly staring at a wall, without the distractions of a screen, music, literature, food or drugs for the guts of an hour at a time. My demons were gradually losing their power. I could confront them unflinchingly as I grew in confidence and awareness of my own resilience.


Not long into my involvement with the Zen Centre, I crossed paths with people who practised Buddhism in the Plum Village Tradition of Vietnamese monk, Thich Nhat Hanh. Although I had found the Zen Centre helpful, there were certain elements about the practice that had made me feel uneasy. It seemed very Japanese and, as someone brought up in the UK, I didn’t feel it was totally authentic for me personally. Also, I had reservations about what I perceived as the cold austerity and unnecessarily macho nature of the practice.

My wings are unfolded and I am learning to fly. I still have much to learn, but I feel I am happier and more accepting, peaceful and useful to others.


I found myself gravitating towards the local group (or Sangha), The Leaves of One Tree, practising in the Plum Village tradition. In this tradition, I found a practice more accessible to western people. The teachings and practice are non-dogmatic and emphasise mindfulness, respect, compassion, peace, joy and engagement in the world. The founder, Thich Nhat Hanh, is singularly impressive, with his long history of peace and environmental activism.


I have been involved in Buddhism now for over a decade. Occupying a place somewhere between philosophy and religion, my understanding of Buddhism seems to meet my needs. Like us all, I’ve had my ups and downs. My health has been problematic. My diagnosis with a heart condition and a rare form of blood cancer (myelofibrosis) led to my premature retirement in 2019. Fortunately, though, I seem to be fairly healthy for an ill person. Although walking any more than a short distance can be difficult, I still enjoy cycling and sea swimming. Of course, I can’t be sure how I’d be now if I’d never encountered Buddhism, but I credit it with helping me cope with whatever life has thrown at me. My wings are unfolded and I am learning to fly. I still have much to learn, but I feel I am happier and more accepting, peaceful and useful to others.

there are many Christians that I admire greatly, both well-known names like Father Richard Rohr and the late Archbishop Desmond Tutu, as well as lesser-known people, such as my partner Anne


Looking back, I recognise that the form of Christianity I turned my back on all those years ago was just one among many. There is much diversity within Christendom and there are many Christians that I admire greatly, both well-known names like Father Richard Rohr and the late Archbishop Desmond Tutu, as well as lesser-known people, such as my partner Anne, living lives of quiet service. But admiration does not equal belief and I still find the existence of any creator god, let alone the Christian God, inherently implausible. Whether right or wrong, belief in a creator god is a door that is locked to me.


I’ll end with a poem. As well as the Buddhist inspiration, it is also inspired by the Italo Calvino story, All at One Point. It is illustrated by my daughter and is an excerpt from our collection, A Heart Sutra.

A Heart Sutra, by Emma and Patrick taggart

Poppy and Patrick taggart

Want to meet the Dalai Lama? Don’t bother.

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Adam with his students

By Adam Lickley

2017 did not end well for me. I was ‘let go’ from my job, my apartment was flooded, and I spent an uncomfortable night in hospital having my appendix removed. Life was on hold for a while, but within 2 short months, post-op boredom set in and I felt the urge once more to work. Trouble was, nothing appealed to me in the 9 to 5 world.

However, Daveseslcafe.com provided inspiration by means of an English Teaching job with a twist.  It was nestled discretely within the usual adverts; I stumbled upon something rather appealing.

“Work in McLeodganj for Tibet Charity teaching English to Buddhist Monks in the foothills of the Himalayas, home to His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama.”

I thought it was high time I gave back. You know, do some ‘angel work’ – work for charity.

It seemed like prayers were being answered and this was the kind of blast I was looking for. You see, I spent the previous 7 years working for a giant Saudi Arabian oil company and I thought it was high time I gave back. You know, do some ‘angel work’ – work for charity.

No sooner was I accepted than I was bound for McLeodganj, India, home to the Dalai Lama.

 

When I arrived I was housed in a small studio flat attached to the school and soon began teaching Buddhist monks and nuns from as far afield as Laos, Thailand, Tibet and Bhutan.

Tibet Charity is located at the bottom of a terrifyingly steep hill, which I nicknamed Devil’s Hill, for its unforgiving length, its steepness and its unholy curvature. As promised in the advert, McLeodganj was indeed nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas and the view from my apartment was quite spectacular.  The mythical Himalayas were to the west of my veranda and they always inspired me with awe and wonder; even when the heavens opened. It was rainy season after all.

McLeodganj is a small, culturally diverse, rich yet unlikely town.  First and second-generation Tibetan refugees and devoted followers of the Dalai Lama who fled Tibet on foot have made their temporary homes permanent in McLeodganj.

But by far the most dominant or predominant travellers are Israelis. They are ubiquitous; young, post-military service and on what’s they fondly refer to as ‘The Granola Trail’.

Many of my students told me their heart-stopping accounts of how they risked life and limb escaping from the Chinese. Shocking accounts were told to me time and again. The only means of escape from Tibet is by crossing deadly snow-covered mountain passes by night in order to prevent detection by the Chinese authorities.

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But if they make it over the border into Nepal, refugees can begin a new life away from the oppressive regime in Chinese occupied Tibet. For my fortunate students, the risk had paid off.

Most small-scale trade in McLeodganj is dominated by Indian Kashmiris. They bring their own Islamic culture to the town and have set up shop to benefit from both the local and international tourist trade. Catering to the tourists means selling jewellery, healing crystals, and mala beads and hand embroidered Kashmiri rugs and shawls. All perennial favourites.

Living alongside these permanent residents are the tourists or travellers who fall into different sub categories; weekend trippers are mostly from Indian Punjab which is only a few hours away by car or coach.

But by far the most dominant or predominant travellers are Israelis. They are ubiquitous; young, post-military service and on what’s they fondly refer to as ‘The Granola Trail’.  They are easy to spot in their loose-fitting hippy clothes and sandals. They wear long straggly hair and are always inked to the max. They move together in small or large gangs and have pretty much laid claim to Upper Bhagsu which is a tiny hillside settlement just above McLeodganj.

 

Finally, you have the local Hindu population who tend to own a few of the restaurants and drive the local taxis, among other things.

As luck would have it, whilst I was in McLeodganj, the Dalai Lama was in residence at his palace, taking a short break from his globe-trotting lecture tours.

Swarms of Buddhist monks snaked up Devil’s Hill, illuminating the dull concrete road with their robes of burnt orange and deep maroon.

As a gesture to the local Tibetan youth, the Dalai Lama had decided to organize 3 days of lectures in The Dalai Lama Temple whilst I was there. The doors were open to not only the local Tibetan youth, but also to other Buddhists or simply the curious from other faiths, enthusiastic to see him in person. A quick registration at a local government office gave me the name badge I needed and I was all set to meet His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama.

On the day, I was quick to rise; eager and ready to drink in the wisdom of a man who is considered by some to be the most spiritually influential person alive.

But as I drank coffee on my balcony, it was clear I was not the only person in this remote hilltop settlement who had come from far away for this once in a lifetime opportunity. Swarms of Buddhist monks snaked up Devil’s Hill, illuminating the dull concrete road with their robes of burnt orange and deep maroon.

Following closely behind came a steady stream of nuns, all dutifully following and showing no signs of tiredness. I saw hundreds of monks and nuns climbing that hill. And it was spellbinding.

Once at the temple gates, tight security measures were obvious. You could be forgiven for calling it call it a high security temple. It’s something that we are perhaps used to nowadays – security round a temple. Our ancestors would no doubt have shuddered at the sight.

I grudgingly left behind my cigarettes and lighter with security and made my way to a zone designated for foreigners. Then I squeezed myself between a young Italian man and an Israeli woman. Everyone assembled was soon served Tibetan tea and bread.

I can assure you, Tibetan tea is not for the faint of heart. The unlikely ingredients are tea, yak butter, salt and hot water. And yes, it tastes as foul as it sounds, perhaps even more.

I can assure you, Tibetan tea is not for the faint of heart. The unlikely ingredients are tea, yak butter, salt and hot water. And yes, it tastes as foul as it sounds, perhaps even more. I did recognise the kindness of the gesture, but how welcome would an espresso coffee have been at 7 am? Oh, the joys of cultural encounters.

His Holiness did not keep the assembled throng waiting for long and despite the hordes, I managed to get a quick glance at the star we had all come to see.

He was led by an army of protection officers. We the onlookers were content to simply stand and admire. The excitement was real. The crowd fell into a reverie and a feeling of incredulous joy gushed out towards His Holiness. I too was caught up in the wave of emotion that washed around the temple.

The lecture began. The foreigners had been given the cheap seats, so to speak. You know, those half price theatre tickets where the only thing standing between you and the stage is a goddamn concrete pillar?

So, there was I, squeezed by perfect strangers every which way I looked, sitting slumped on an intolerably cold concrete floor and about a mile from the main action.

There was chattering all around from every language imaginable, but that just quickly turned the thoughts in my brain into some kind of rare undrinkable soup. I remembered to tune into my personal radio that we were recommended to buy in order to benefit from the direct translation. The Dalai Lama spoke, the teachings fed back with a delay.

There was chattering all around from every language imaginable, but that just quickly turned the thoughts in my brain into some kind of rare undrinkable soup.

It wasn’t long before my attention turned from the lecture to the numbness seeping into my entire body and the pain in my coccyx. All of a sudden the idea of merely surviving this physical torment for an hour, seemed like an epic victory.

The end of the hour struck and I skulked off, sheepishly avoiding the flagging carcasses of my fellows as best I could, tiptoeing through the crowd that littered the temple.  I headed straight to security, reclaimed my cigarettes and lighter, and walked down Devil’s Hill.

I had reclaimed the use of my body and victoriously enjoyed every nicotine hit.

At home, I’m comforted by modern technology; a small tablet and a fast Wi-Fi connexion. I’m on my bed at the moment watching one of the Dalai Lama’s numerous lectures, quilt tossed around me. In my left hand is a cup of English tea, and in my right hand a Scottish shortbread biscuit. I’m propped up by a Hungarian goose pillow. So, if this is the fast track to enlightenment, I’m staying right where I am.

 

 

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