22 ICSA TODAY
I
leave the house at 5 a.m. to do the laundry. Not that I have to—I
want to. It’s summer I’m a teacher I could do it any time during
the day or night. But I have a ritual I love to follow: wheeling the
small, black shopping cart (bought for its petite, pretty lines) out
to the alleyway, the night still dark, the security light on, making
me feel, indeed, secure. Once in the alley, I can see the night sky
clearly: stars, moon, Milky Way. Here in Bay Ridge, most of the
houses are one or two stories, so it’s easy to see the sky.
I open the gate, pass through, and I can see across the street my
neighbor’s lights shining on the lovely tree that lives outside their
house. Its branches spread out on the right and left side of its
trunk in what jewelers call an east-west design. At Christmas, they
decorate this tree with elegant Christmas lights near Valentine’s
Day, it’s kitted out1 with red hearts. In spring, it adorns itself in an
abandoned profusion of green leaves that bloom straight through
autumn. This tree is the first thing I see as I leave my little area and
head out to the world.
Having passed through the gate, I turn left and push the cart
down to 5th Avenue. No one is awake on my block, no one stirs.
The world is mine. I can look up at the stars as I walk and not feel
foolish. Sometimes a slight breeze will be stirring, and it does feel
like a caress. I’m always in awe of the night sky, revealed through
the trees—sometimes, especially in Indian summer, the clouds
sweeping from one part of it to the other.
...
All the time I first lived in Queens, I missed the sky. And though
Queens had many beautiful old trees, there were mostly apartment
buildings where I lived that had a glamour of their own but they
blocked away the sky and made stargazing near to impossible.
I’d moved to Queens with my husband, whom I had met when
I became a member of SGI (Soka Gakkai International), an
international group purporting to be Buddhist, and dedicated “to
world peace and the happiness and freedom of every individual.”
I’d been introduced by a friend at work whose life seemed infinitely
better than mine. I found out afterward that she had been trying
to recruit me for a long while before she finally accomplished my
conversion.
At first, things were wonderful. As a new member and a young
member, I was fussed and fawned over. Every word I said and
everything I did seemed to delight. People told me constantly how
wonderful I was, how beautiful I was, what an invaluable addition I
was to the group.
We were told every prayer would be answered, every desire
fulfilled. No prayer was too trivial or selfish. When things happened
in accord with our prayers, it was explained that was because the
prayer was “correct,” and our activities within and our allegiance
to the sacred group was “correct.” At first, life seemed to get
immeasurably better. Soon, though, my life became immeasurably
worse.
...
But now, the small houses on the block that I pass and take in,
one by one, are quaint and lovingly cared for. Most have little
gardens, or, at the very least, potted plants. In winter, quite a few
are decorated for the Christmas season. The first winter I was here
after I returned, it used to take me an extra 5 minutes to reach the
morning bus for work because I would have to stand at each house
and enjoy the scene.
Some houses were garish, but still joyful. One in particular was so
elegant it was breathtaking. I stood outside that house quite a few
times: no plastic Santas here! My neighbor paid homage to the
season with potted fir trees, wreaths, reindeer made of bent birch.
And white lights, of course, celebrating that which is numinous in
all nature.
...
For the first 15 years that I was a member of SGI, celebrating
Christmas was verboten. If you did so, you would be committing
sacrilege. Putting up a Christmas tree was tantamount to
blasphemy. You were putting your soul in danger. No matter how
badly you wanted to visit your nonmember family, you couldn’t
go. Such blithe disregard for the teachings of Nichiren Shoshu
would result in your ancestors for seven generations back and
descendants seven generations forward falling into the hell of
incessant suffering.
I missed Christmas in those years, not because I believed in
Christianity but because of everything that came along with
it: happy people, polite people! festive buildings, crisp air, the
certainty of new beginnings.
...
And now, I have it again, all of it, the flat-out (if unconscious)
adoration of nature and gratitude to the earth. That is what drew
me to Buddhism: the basic tenet that all of life is sacred.
When I get to 5th Avenue, I turn right and start toward 75th Street
where my favorite laundromat is: Bubbles and Suds. 5th Avenue is,
to me, another amazement. Between 100th Street and 69th Street,
each and every block on the avenue has at least three benches
on each side of the street. The benches are all forest-green,
twisted metal spaced for three people. Each street has matching
municipal garbage containers designed to contain the garbage
while keeping it invisible to the eye. And, of course, more trees!
5th Avenue is like a village shopping area, only laid out lengthwise.
The buildings in which the stores are located are two stories. Most
By Mary O’Connell
CLEANSING RITUAL
I
leave the house at 5 a.m. to do the laundry. Not that I have to—I
want to. It’s summer I’m a teacher I could do it any time during
the day or night. But I have a ritual I love to follow: wheeling the
small, black shopping cart (bought for its petite, pretty lines) out
to the alleyway, the night still dark, the security light on, making
me feel, indeed, secure. Once in the alley, I can see the night sky
clearly: stars, moon, Milky Way. Here in Bay Ridge, most of the
houses are one or two stories, so it’s easy to see the sky.
I open the gate, pass through, and I can see across the street my
neighbor’s lights shining on the lovely tree that lives outside their
house. Its branches spread out on the right and left side of its
trunk in what jewelers call an east-west design. At Christmas, they
decorate this tree with elegant Christmas lights near Valentine’s
Day, it’s kitted out1 with red hearts. In spring, it adorns itself in an
abandoned profusion of green leaves that bloom straight through
autumn. This tree is the first thing I see as I leave my little area and
head out to the world.
Having passed through the gate, I turn left and push the cart
down to 5th Avenue. No one is awake on my block, no one stirs.
The world is mine. I can look up at the stars as I walk and not feel
foolish. Sometimes a slight breeze will be stirring, and it does feel
like a caress. I’m always in awe of the night sky, revealed through
the trees—sometimes, especially in Indian summer, the clouds
sweeping from one part of it to the other.
...
All the time I first lived in Queens, I missed the sky. And though
Queens had many beautiful old trees, there were mostly apartment
buildings where I lived that had a glamour of their own but they
blocked away the sky and made stargazing near to impossible.
I’d moved to Queens with my husband, whom I had met when
I became a member of SGI (Soka Gakkai International), an
international group purporting to be Buddhist, and dedicated “to
world peace and the happiness and freedom of every individual.”
I’d been introduced by a friend at work whose life seemed infinitely
better than mine. I found out afterward that she had been trying
to recruit me for a long while before she finally accomplished my
conversion.
At first, things were wonderful. As a new member and a young
member, I was fussed and fawned over. Every word I said and
everything I did seemed to delight. People told me constantly how
wonderful I was, how beautiful I was, what an invaluable addition I
was to the group.
We were told every prayer would be answered, every desire
fulfilled. No prayer was too trivial or selfish. When things happened
in accord with our prayers, it was explained that was because the
prayer was “correct,” and our activities within and our allegiance
to the sacred group was “correct.” At first, life seemed to get
immeasurably better. Soon, though, my life became immeasurably
worse.
...
But now, the small houses on the block that I pass and take in,
one by one, are quaint and lovingly cared for. Most have little
gardens, or, at the very least, potted plants. In winter, quite a few
are decorated for the Christmas season. The first winter I was here
after I returned, it used to take me an extra 5 minutes to reach the
morning bus for work because I would have to stand at each house
and enjoy the scene.
Some houses were garish, but still joyful. One in particular was so
elegant it was breathtaking. I stood outside that house quite a few
times: no plastic Santas here! My neighbor paid homage to the
season with potted fir trees, wreaths, reindeer made of bent birch.
And white lights, of course, celebrating that which is numinous in
all nature.
...
For the first 15 years that I was a member of SGI, celebrating
Christmas was verboten. If you did so, you would be committing
sacrilege. Putting up a Christmas tree was tantamount to
blasphemy. You were putting your soul in danger. No matter how
badly you wanted to visit your nonmember family, you couldn’t
go. Such blithe disregard for the teachings of Nichiren Shoshu
would result in your ancestors for seven generations back and
descendants seven generations forward falling into the hell of
incessant suffering.
I missed Christmas in those years, not because I believed in
Christianity but because of everything that came along with
it: happy people, polite people! festive buildings, crisp air, the
certainty of new beginnings.
...
And now, I have it again, all of it, the flat-out (if unconscious)
adoration of nature and gratitude to the earth. That is what drew
me to Buddhism: the basic tenet that all of life is sacred.
When I get to 5th Avenue, I turn right and start toward 75th Street
where my favorite laundromat is: Bubbles and Suds. 5th Avenue is,
to me, another amazement. Between 100th Street and 69th Street,
each and every block on the avenue has at least three benches
on each side of the street. The benches are all forest-green,
twisted metal spaced for three people. Each street has matching
municipal garbage containers designed to contain the garbage
while keeping it invisible to the eye. And, of course, more trees!
5th Avenue is like a village shopping area, only laid out lengthwise.
The buildings in which the stores are located are two stories. Most
By Mary O’Connell
CLEANSING RITUAL
