SETTLING IN IS PROVING HARDER than I hoped. I feel strange here. I feel lonely and constantly confused by the pieces of furniture that were bought with a vision of a life together.
And I’ve got to clean out my computer. I actually went onto social media, deleted all the photos that had Jon in them, and blocked him. While it was necessary, it felt like I had opened the wound back up and poured salt on it, rubbing it in with painful vigor. My dear friend Stacy, who is a tech wiz, helped me to pick out an external hard drive so I would have all the information that was on the shared drive from my marriage. Except when I got it back after mediation, it didn’t have all my photos on it. Years’ worth of photos were gone, and I was resolute not to reach out to Jon. I received the hard drive months ago; I just haven’t had the emotional capacity to look at it until now.
Except it appears I don’t have the capacity now either. The apartment doesn’t feel like my home. It feels like a stranger.
I’m making the trek every Sunday to Zen service in Brooklyn from Queens and finding great solace there. I don’t speak to anyone, really, but I feel safe there. Sitting in meditation with a group feels like a refuge. And the Abbott of the temple has become a shining beacon. His talks go right through me as if he is speaking directly to me.
Last week, he spoke of the walls we create in our minds and offered the invitation to stand in front of the wall and take it down piece by piece. This felt like such a relief, and as I sat in meditation, I saw the image of carefully removing one stone at a time, my hands gingerly removing a heavy, rounded mass. As I stared at the gray matter, I knew this first stone was my mind. Beginning with the step of having a daily meditation practice, I had tools around the thoughts and beliefs that had driven my life for years for the first time.
As my therapy continues, I am really beginning to see there was a lot that led up to the divorce. There is a lot unraveling within me and actually coming to light. This isn’t about smashing a wall to pieces in one swoop; this is going to be a process. Smashing the wall feels horrible, anyway. I tried that for years. It never worked.
And I have no idea how long it will take to dismantle the wall. Some days, I’m ok with that, although most days, I really struggle with the enormity of it and desperately want it to go faster. This hurts. A lot.
While I feel too shy to speak to the other practitioners who come weekly to Zen service, I feel safe to speak to the Abbott and share with him where I am, what brought me to Zen, and my profound experience at the intro to Zen Training weekend. He always makes space for me, taking me in with his big, calm eyes and offering words of support.
I’m learning about impermanence and Buddha nature. Both of these feel like a healing balm to me. I had created a belief that not only could I control things but that things were permanent and non-changing. And now, with the help of Zen, I am really seeing how this is causing me and has caused me so much suffering in my career and my marriage. Realizing that impermanence is actually the root of reality changes everything. One, it means that the ending of my marriage was actually okay. It was never permanent, and also that, the state I am in now will change.
I can change.
This coupled with the teaching that I possess Buddha nature, that I am whole and complete as I am, is crucial. I feel such deep shame for my affair, and now I feel hope that I can heal this and also that I am not a “bad” person at my core. I am not the sinner I was taught I was in Sunday school. I was actually horribly unhappy and terribly confused. I created massive damage with my actions, and I can atone because I am whole.
Atone = at one.
This is becoming my foundation and keeps me motivated to continue to meditate every day, go to therapy, and become a student of Zen.
After moving into my apartment, I updated the Abbott on where I was, and he said, “It’s as if you are in the same room you were always in, but now the lights are on.”
Yes.
This is my life. This is my being and body. And I was so disconnected. I had no idea how to help myself, how to ask for help, and yet, when I lost everything and did ask for help, it came, and it’s coming. Day after day, I am surrounded by care. My friends, my family, and new teachers all led me back to looking within.
As I took in Abbott’s words, I suddenly realized I didn’t know where the light switch was anymore. I actually couldn’t turn the lights off in my room again, even if I tried. In losing everything, I’ve lost the ability. The light is on. And it’s bright, and it’s blinding, and I have a lot to look at. But for the first time in my life, I want to. In fact, I now realize if I want a different life than the one I had, I have to keep the lights on, regardless of what I discover, regardless of how ugly it appears at first.
Another teaching that has been really hitting home has been the concept of my ego burning to ash. Except in the wake of the robbery, I feel like my life is burning to ash. I know things need to change, but how much fire is in front of me? How much has to burn?
How long is this going to take?
Am I safe now in this apartment?
Or is this just the beginning of much more that has to fall away?
Feeling vulnerable, I call Stacy after looking at my closed computer and deciding there’s no way I can clean it out today.
Unloading where I am, I say to her, “I feel like I’m burning to ash again and again.”
There’s a beat of silence, and she says, “You’re a phoenix.” Then she texted me a picture of the X-Men character Jean Gray, standing strong, with flame leaping off her body.
And just like that moment at the Zen Training weekend when I was asked if I was okay without Jon, something changed.
The phoenix rises. No matter how many times it burns, the Phoenix always rises. I realized I had been placing all my attention on the fact that I was burning down, and Stacy helped me reframe it to focus on the fact that I was rising every time.
Rising from the divorce.
Rising from the affair.
Rising from the robbery.
I can rise.
Oh, thank you, Stacy. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
No matter what comes, I can rise.
Connect with Nikól Rogers at 13thebook.com and on social media @Nikol_Rogers.
by Nikól Rogers
