black while Buddhist

It all started at the corner of 45th Street and Imperial Ave, in front of the Jackie Robinson YMCA at New Corinthian Baptist Church in San Diego, California. This is where my earliest memories, curiosity, and confusion about religion took shape. 

I grew up attending a traditional Southern Baptist church that barred women and girls from wearing pants. Yet the pastor dipped his pickle into multiple jars throughout the congregation, if you know what I mean. Eventually, my mama left New Corinthian, and we joined the church on the hill. If you're Black and from San Diego, you know that one: Bayview Baptist Church. My time there was cool, but I never felt connected and always had more questions than answers. Eventually, I walked out of church and never went back.

I know that religious indoctrination is not impossible, but it seems difficult as hell in a place like San Diego. The diversity of thought, beliefs, and spiritual practices is vast and influential. Not to “I have two Black friends” this situation, but I grew up surrounded by an assortment of faiths. You name it, I likely went to high school with someone who practiced it, or with someone who practiced nothing at all. 

My religious unlearning began long before I stepped into my first Buddhist temple. It started the day I sat in New Corinthian Baptist Church, no older than 10, and heard two women in the basement arguing and cussing each other out. It turned out they both had children with the church's pastor, and they were downstairs fighting over his crusty, crinkly, crooked ass. I may have been young, but I have never been dumb. I knew then that something was afoot. 

The second formative moment in my unlearning was September 11, 2001. I was sitting in 8th-grade Spanish class, watching the news on the TV cart. I remember there was a Sikh student in my class, and a Christian student who shall remain nameless, who folded a paper airplane and threw it at him. Admittedly, at the time I was not clear on the differences between Islam and Sikhism. However, I knew this was wrong, and it pissed me off.

The final moment that made me walk out of church and never return came in 2005. The lead pastor at Bayview Baptist Church was revered and respected in the community, yet his life was not without scandal. I vaguely remember his sermon that day, but I do recall it was rife with contradictions and called for the abandonment, isolation, and harm of people I cared for. I could not take it anymore, so I asked my mama for the car keys and told her I would be waiting there when the service was over. Thankfully, she allowed me, and although she may not have agreed with it during this period of my development, she made space for me to explore my spiritual identity. 

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Throughout undergrad, I questioned, explored, and tested. Obviously, I got caught up in the Nation of Gods and Earth, aka Five Precenters and Supreme Mathematics. I’m Black as hell and went to school in the early 2000s, and k-os had me in a chokehold. None of it lasted long. The misogyny of it all made sure of that. 

My undergraduate major was behavioral science, an interdisciplinary program that included coursework in anthropology, sociology, and psychology. This is where I was formally introduced to Buddhist teachings. I was already dabbling in certain texts because I had been exposed to the tenets while working in the cross-cultural center on campus, and what I was reading made a special kind of sense. It was effortless and felt like what I had been searching for. The first two books I read were Being Peace by Thich Nhat Hanh and Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. I also purchased the Pocket Buddha Reader and my first 108-piece rosewood mala. I had no idea what I was doing; however, I definitely assembled my little Buddhist starter pack.

I have worn a mala almost every day since 2009, and I find solace in knowing it is with me because I've used it for breathwork and meditation in plenty of moments. I still have my original Pocket Buddha Reader with its pages covered in highlighter, and I have gifted Being Peace to many people since my first encounter with it. I feel at home with my Buddhist practices because I know it is not a religion but a way of life. Every day, I make a conscious effort not to create evil, practice good, and practice good unto others. 

 Over the last 18 years, my relationship with Buddhism has evolved. Although I have never formally called myself a Buddhist, I contribute my way of living, thinking, and being to this practice. The words and wisdom of Angel Kyodo Williams, author of Being Black: Zen and the Art of Living with Fearlessness and Grace, were liberatory and found me when I needed them most. This text has served as one of my compasses for the past decade. I find clarity within the bodhisattva vows, which I recite daily.

• Beings are numberless. I promise to notice them and see there is no difference between us. 

• Desires breed pain. With practice, I promise to become aware of them, notice them, and allow them to fall away.

• Truths are without limits. I promise to be an active and engaged thinker, open to possibilities, giving myself tools to work with.

• The path to enlightenment is unattainable. I am doing the work. I am the path.

I find direction in the Eightfold Path, the steps we can take toward enlightenment, broken into three areas of focus.

•  Wisdom Training

  • Right Understanding

  • RIght Thought

• Ethics Training

  • Right Speech

  • Right Action

  • Right Livelihood

• Awareness Training

  • Right Effort

  • RIght Mindfulness

  • Right Concentration

I am far from having life figured out, and I struggle often. Yet I do accept that what is right means true, authentic, and real. This acceptance creates room for mistakes without defeat, space to be as I am, and the belief that I already have everything I need. I am enough, and my life feels as if I belong to it and in it.