Refuge From The Storm

"Until enlightenment, I go for refuge to the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha..."

In Buddhism, "taking refuge" is a foundational concept. We recite these lines repeatedly - often throughout the day. But what do they mean?

Today, I got a great lesson in refuge from my dog. She's afraid of storms, and with any hint of thunder, she launches at me like flypaper, sticking with a persistence that is impressive. If I get up and go to the restroom, she is on my heels, and sitting under my feet. If I am sitting on the couch, her preferred position is on my lap. She will, with much encouragement, settle for immediately next to me, or wrapped around my shoulders like a winter scarf. She is relentless.

She is convinced, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I have the power to protect her from the storms. In her mind, a tornado could come roaring through our house, and as long as she is with me, she will live through it. (To be fair, the photo here is of another pup who shares similar faith in me.)

Of course, their faith is misplaced. If our home were destroyed, I would not be immune to the dangers faced by the other beings in it. Upon tornado warnings, we all trundle to the basement, hiding in the bathroom tub like those clowns you see in the car at the circus. (HOW many will fit in that tiny space?)

But, it got me thinking - that to which we hold when things are difficult, that to which we retreat - that is our refuge. When times are easy, the words may be easy "I go for refuge...". But what do we do when times are hard? To whom and what do we turn? Do we drink until we're numb and take refuge in the bottle? Do we cling to our loved ones and place our sole refuge in them (who are just as unable to "protect" us from harm as I an unable to protect my dogs)? Do we crawl into bed and refuse to emerge for hours and sometimes days or weeks?

Or, do we go to the Dharma, the Sangha, the Buddha? Do we ask ourselves what applies to prevent our minds from being mired in the afflictive emotions that rise during difficult times? Do we call or write a teacher or friend who is from our Dharma Center and discuss the conundrum we're saddled with? Do we practice actively in our lives, applying the study and work we do when things are rosier? Do we stay present through the difficulties, fully and completely in the moment?

In times of happiness and times of sorrow, and even times in-between, that to which we consistently turn is our refuge. A constructively critical self-assessment of what/who we take refuge in can really aid us in our practice.

What do you take refuge in?

Thank You, Squirrel

Dharma lessons come from many unexpected places, people, and things in life. Many of mine frequently are sourced from my dogs (of which there are five, which means their teachings are frequent and plentiful). Today started with one from them about impermanence, with the help of a tiny friend.

It was a quiet morning for me. I was sitting peacefully, listening to a Dharma talk online (LamRim Radio channel on iTunes), and working on my computer when I heard my dogs scurrying around on the patio. One of their favorite past times is tormenting squirrels travelling across the top of my privacy fence from the front yard to the back yard. Normally, the sequence goes as so:

• Squirrel looks around thoroughly for dogs from behind the driveway gate.
• Squirrel cautiously steps out past the driveway gate onto the fence along the side of my patio.
• Squirrel and dogs spot each other at the same time.
• Dogs leap up from the deck and run headlong down the stairs, and at the fence.
• Squirrel realizes the peril and runs like hell for the tree at the back of the fence.
• Dogs leap and "just" miss the squirrel's tail as it safely vaults into the comforting branches of the tree.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

This is frequently accompanied by the chorus of me saying:

"go squirrel. go squirrel! GO SQUIRREL!! GO SQUIRREL!!!!"

with increasing frequency and volume until the little critter makes it to safety. I am positive that my neighbors figured out long ago that I have lost at least one of my marbles.

This morning, as I ran out to see if the squirrel made it, I found the dogs running from the corner, across the patio, and under the deck. The furry creature had fallen, and was desperately trying to escape the elated pups as they were equally desperately trying to catch her.

The dogs won. As I made it through the deck, stairs, and patio in record time (might as well have flown - I seriously have no recollection of it), my largest furchild got ahold of the squirrel's tail and grabbed the little gal by the middle. I got him to drop her just in time for one of the smaller ones to jump in and deliver what was surely the deadly blow. Scooping the squirrel up (still breathing and obviously dying), I wrapped her in a towel and assessed the damage. It was too late. I held her until she died.

Her eyes glazed to the sound of chanted mantras. Her her breathing slowed, then stopped. Blood leaked from her mouth, and I knew she was gone. I held her for a little longer, still chanting, and then headed out back to bury her.

I chanted as I dug, crying for the little squirrel. I thought about her life and her death, and the point where the two met.

Then it hit me.

Karma is surely an amazing thing. Here this squirrel was, at this time and place, dying not under the wheels of a car, nor in torment by a feline counterpart, but cradled in the hands of a fumbling, fledgling, but committed, Buddhist. Her last breaths, her last moments, were allowed to pass peacefully to the chanting of mantras. I finished the hole, chanting "Om Mani Padme Hum", and held her tiny body in my hands (ok, in a towel in my hands). I lit incense and prayed for her to be reborn in the human realm, and placed her in the hole. I asked her to please find her way to a human rebirth as I chanted, and if she wanted, one where we would meet again. I think maybe we will.

I looked at the shadow of a butterfly behind me as I finished, and thought about how truly ephemeral everything is. In the blink of an eye, it all changes. Nothing is constant, solid, what it seems to be. The squirrel's life ended. The butterfly's life will end. As, someday, will mine.