Do we really have to institutionalise religion?

Thoughts one thinks about ordaining

This was one of the one hundred nuns I lived with at the monastery. She never talked, but she always had a peculiar smile for me.

How should I say this, why did that smile stick with me? Because it wasn’t any kind of smile, but a serious kind of smile. One that comes from a strange seat of respect. And recognition. Soft and powerful at once. Like when someone sees you in a very new and unexpected way. It freezes you, but it freezes you in a sweet spot of timelessness. If you know what I mean.

Only when I took this photo of her, after two months of silence and smiles, did she finally talk to me. She only said a few words. A question:

‘When will you ordain?’

It was about five in the afternoon. Fresh blue skies were extending above the coconut trees. The air was clear and pleasant, as a gentle breeze stroked the flowers in the garden.

I was an hour early for the ceremony that marked the end of the intensive retreat. I went earlier as it was one of my last days at the monastery, so I wanted some extra time to put my seven-week stay into a bit of perspective.

What did I answer to the nun?

I’m trying to remember. I’ve been trying to remember for days. How did this significant moment get lost in the jumble of my memory?

I only remember walking down a path towards a meditation seat in the garden, horrified by the amount of concrete that was showing up everywhere on the compound. So many walking paths of concrete, houses of concrete, and stupas of concrete. Much more concrete than necessary. It hurts. The concrete hurts me. And I’m not joking. Let me say it aloud: It’s ugly and it’s aggressive!

I was once again questioning my sanity for being so disturbed by the mere view of concrete. What is the mental disorder associated with despair raised by the sight of specific objects?

‘I would have to put up with the concrete if I was to live here’, I thought as I crossed my legs for meditation.

Sometimes I look like I meditate but I don’t follow any rigid rules. Especially lately I found a simple, fresh way of relaxing by just listening to nature. I am replacing my thoughts with the sound of the wind, the birds, the animals, and the rain. Especially the rain, the drops washing the air work best for me.

But this time it was a warm sun getting ready to set off the sky as the nuns started to slowly arrive in the garden. I was doing nothing but listening and looking, dealing with some random anxiety inside, thinking, as I do so many times, ‘How am I gonna live with this constant pain in my heart?’

But as I listen to nature, all the struggles drop. I can instantly let go. And it’s not me who lets go, but it happens on its own. Nature lets go for me.

So from struggle, I dived into relief. A sense of lightness and safety like swimming in a most comfortable pool. I recognized this state of being as truth. As my natural state of being. As who I am.

I then let myself slide into imagining my life as a nun. All the inconveniences that the mind had previously constructed against it seemed ridiculous. I imagined living a life free of societal expectations, a life dedicated to discovering, again and again, this most natural sense of being, and to cultivating it. There is only love there. Innocence. Care. That’s what we’re made of.

For most people I know it’s a radical choice to renounce the world. To some, it means coming closer to heaven. That’s what these Buddhist communities do. They live at the border between worlds. It’s profoundly spiritual and profoundly realistic at once. It takes great courage and clarity of mind to do it.

My only concern is: Could we do it without institutionalizing our practice? That’s one thing that does not feel natural to me. Yes, we can. Shamans do that. While I find many of the Buddhist practices profoundly shamanic, the institutional part of it is like putting heavy prison bars on something supposedly sacred.

The institution gives you protection, it’s true. But aren’t all kinds of protections some sort of prison bars? The shaman takes much bigger risks. She is free in the wild world, having to find his inherent power to take care of himself.

Will I ordain or not – might not necessarily be the question. But will I ordain as a Buddhist or as a Shaman?

Between doubts and certainties, I am waiting for an answer.

Thank you for being here. I value every minute that you are spending reading my stories.

May you be blessed and loved eternally!