Remembering The Love For America

Prayers for World Peace at the JFK Memorial, Dallas

As the trend of traveling to India, Tibet, and Buddhist countries in Southeast Asia for pilgrimage continues, I feel it is important to remember the opportunities for spiritual pilgrimage here in our own country. As Americans we are karmically indebted to our nation. We have been reborn with great fortune here as a part of a continuum of cyclic existence. For most of us, as Americans, even our introduction to Buddhism comes as part of a freedom we enjoy in this lifetime.  Certainly, there is much to learn from the East, but at the same time we are uniquely qualified to contribute much to the West.

The Grassy Knoll

I chose the JFK Memorial site as a place to find solace, and to reflect upon World Peace. During my visit I was surprised to see so few Americans present, and those who were present seemed too young to have been alive during the JFK presidency.

As I sat on the knoll, I remembered the day and the aftermath of witnessing the assassination of an American president in broad daylight along a crowded street in front of cameras from every major television network. It was a day of passage for America, as we were hurled from innocence into the reality of a new and increasingly dangerous world.

The loss of JFK as a symbol of hope affected hundreds of millions of people throughout the world.

My visit to the grassy knoll forty years later brought back many memories and emotions. The knoll seemed both profane and holy during the day of my visit. The temperature was a sweltering 102 degrees. The eerie feeling of unresolved issues was thick in the air. Visitors tread lightly on the fresh cut grass, as though something sacred lay just beneath the surface. The mood was somber, funereal. I reflected on how much I loved America as a child and how events since had subtly transformed that love into cautious patience in the face of constantly shifting circumstances.

I took time to trace the steps some theorists call the path of the second shooter. I had a sinking feeling as I faced the back of the fence where the alleged shooter would have stood. My stomach tightened as I considered the who, what, and why of it all. The only thought I could muster in the moment was "do Dharma," as my teacher had told me in one of his last instructions. Doing Dharma meant taking my mind off the machinations of this world. In these matters one simply must accept that human beings can cause great suffering. The only thing to do from here on was to try rekindling the love for America I'd once felt, however naive I may have been at the time. I understood that now, as a result of the Dharma in my life, there was a possibility of renewing my love for America as a mature understanding.

Determined not to lose the essence of the moment, I forced myself to look through the eyes of the alleged shooter. I heard my teacher's voice telling me, "Human beings are obstructed by directions. The left and right constantly challenge one another, those above refuse to look below, the east and the west see themselves as different, the ones in the front don't want to be in the back, the north and the south find reasons to argue," and so on. Heeding this advice I looked left and right without preference for seeing anything in particular.

I then looked across the street and marveled at the modern architecture. Its symbolic presence was beckoning me to forget about the past. The glass and steel shone brightly like a torch illuminating the way from despair. But what hope can be gleaned from phallic buildings scarring the sky?

I looked directly above me and found reprieve in the limbs and branches from a nearby tree. Yet, trees cannot tell their tale. I wondered what world-changing story this tree could tell if only its limbs could speak? Alas, its only offering was modest shelter from the sun and a few whispers as an errant breeze rustled its leaves.

Although I tried to bring a sense of purpose to my observations, it was only after I looked down that hope began to return. There, on the fence, scribbled in quick pen were the emotions of other visitors. Graffiti on this otherwise sanitized shrine had been left behind as commentary.

I was surprised to find such expressions of love and concern in such a nefarious place. From that point on, the day seemed a little brighter. There were signs of hope in every direction. I realized I was not only having a Buddhist moment, but an American Buddhist moment. My great blessing was to have survived all these years, and to have been able to visit this place with Buddhist openness. I felt a freedom that is hard to describe. It was a freedom to love America in a way that was not political, obligatory, or subject to explanation. By using this charnel ground of carnage, I had come to resolve and liberate a forty-year inner obstruction of disappointment and hurt. Through the graffiti gift of others I found strength to give myself permission to leave the horror of my generation behind this fence. Indeed, the fence was an American crying wall and I came to realize that its transformative power meant to me what Milarepa's cave may have meant to him. I felt that His Holiness the Dalai Lama's love and devotion for Tibet could be an inspiration for me to renew the same for my country, America.

I dwelled in this state of renewal for a while as I continued to observe other aspects of the area. Eventually, the heat of the day reminded me that this very special day for me was just another day in the bustling city of Dallas. I prayed again for world peace, gave thanks for this human life, savored the great blessing of a supportive family and unparalleled mentor who once said, "America IS Shambhala."