While living in the Bay Area, I volunteered with a Buddhist organization that operated a program to feed and clothe the homeless population. During the first few months, I assisted with packing the food into plastic bags. The volunteers would usually visit two or three locations during the day. They would start in San Jose and end in San Francisco or Berkeley. It was a fast-paced operation. I did not have the time to look around or notice what was going on. As I adjusted to the pace slowly, I noticed a sense of being in something akin to a refugee camp. It was like visiting another world. 

After the food was served, the volunteers would distribute clothes and sleeping bags, then pack up for the following location. I would take this break to walk around the park and talk to the people. I would just ask how they were doing or find out if they needed anything. Unexpectedly, just this simple question would allow them to become open, and they would start telling me about their situation. Now, I cannot describe these interactions as “conversations” as I was only a “listener,” that is all that I could offer, but it seemed to be enough. As I listened, I began to realize that much of what I heard and thought about homeless people was inadequate. No doubt that many of them had substance abuse and mental issues, but there were so many other life histories. I met people that lost their homes or jobs during the most recent financial crisis. Some people became financially distressed due to medical bills; others were trying to support themselves on Public Assistance, Social Security, Veteran, or Disability benefits. They told me about their lives before becoming homeless, their occupations, homes, spouses, relatives, and children. 

On a visit to a park in Berkeley, a woman saw me talking to homeless people. She asked me, “what group do you represent?” I pointed to the group of Vietnamese Buddhists. She knew the group but thought it was unusual to witness someone talking to the homeless; most groups just serve food and leave. She asked if I was writing a book or working on a school report. I let her know that I was not doing a study.  I was interested in talking to people because I realized that I misunderstood the homeless population; it was not what I expected. She then explained that she worked for a group that identified and aided homeless women. She then asked me, “What do you think? What have you found?” I let her know that it felt like a refugee camp and like another world. She let me know that I have only skimmed the surface; most homeless families live in their cars throughout the area. Their car was their last sanctuary. One of her greatest joys was to provide the women and children with a shower and clean clothes. “You should see it,” she said, “after a shower, for that brief moment they become alive again.” 

At every volunteer event, I realized that I saw what had previously been unseen for me. I had to start with an acknowledgment that there were many things that I did not know or understand. I was able to see the Buddhist teachings of Dependent Origination, but I could only begin to understand the causes and conditions in each story. I found that there was no place for judgment. It was a time for sweeping away old ways of thinking.

I have always viewed Buddhism as an Invitation. To bring Buddhist teachings into our daily lives, we must accept the invitation. Get on the chariot with Siddhartha as he crossed the four gates. Go on a mental journey of realization with Shakyamuni as he sits under the Bodhi tree. Then continue a lifelong journey to turn the Wheel of Dharma. With Buddha’s final invitation to find our own way, he was inviting us to find a way of utilizing the various methods that he taught. He also invited us to acknowledge the thought of “I do not know” but with the caveat “I will try to find out.” It is an invitation to embark on a personal Age of Discovery. 

The story that I shared about my experiences as a volunteer is a personal example of accepting the “invitation” and admitting that there are factors that I do not know, many issues that I do not understand. By personalizing the phrase “I do not know,” I was able to further my understanding of the teachings of causes and conditions and compassion. 

There is a story about a Monk sweeping the floor from the Zen tradition. He tells the Master that he was finished sweeping the floor. The Master tells him to sweep it again, then sweep it again. What at first seems like a clever way to have the Monks perpetually clean the temple is a profound metaphor. We must perpetually sweep our minds, sweep away the thoughts that may hinder us or cause distress to others. When we are finished sweeping, sweep again, then sweep again! 

I would like to offer a poem that I wrote about an Awakening, which I titled “The Unseen”.

“The Unseen”

What is the color of the wind?

What is the sound of the light?

wandering around,

Trying to find our way home

The difference between a dream and a nightmare

depends on where you lay your head

When we wake, we dream, we dream that we’re awake

We dream that you see us

You dream that we are not here, we are the unseen

Can we begin again?

What is the color of the wind?

What is the sound of the light?

Grasping at shadows and your hands are empty

We live in the shadows

Out of the box into the light

A book of mirrors unread

So many words unsaid

The wind is blowing

The pages are turning

Can you tell me?

What is the color of the wind?

What is the sound of the light?

In a world with no goodbyes

Your words cannot touch where Silence is so loud

The unseen seen, the unheard heard

You Forgot to remember

You Forgot to look

You’re going there by yourself, you’re not going alone

I think that you understand now

What color is the wind?

What is the sound of the light?

In Gassho,
Mark S. Van Dyke, Ministers Assistant