My great passion in life is vegetable gardening. I was one of those people born with a green thumb. Like so many others, as the winter raged on, I poured over seed catalogs and new plot ideas, deciding what to grow in the spring. There are basic rules to best ensure a successful growing season. You need to plant at the right time, after the last frost – which can be tricky, as Mother Nature seems to be a merry prankster. Next, you must work the soil, remove weeds, the nutrients in the soil must be balanced, your seeds viable and of good genetics, the plants need to be spaced properly, and nitrogen enriched plant food should be given at just the right times. Even when all those essentials are taken care of, there may be problems with disease, insects, hungry bunnies, and the weather. That’s why I’m a mojo gardener. I take all the right steps, use all the best nutrients in perfect measure, and I commune with my plants with love, intention, and the positive energy of prayer.
In his book, “The Hidden Message of Water,” Dr. Masaru Emoto, describes a phenomena he calls “hado.” He explains that hado is the energy or vibration inherent in all things. When you feel and send positive energy to plants, they respond to your intention. Anyone who has been gardening for a while can attest to mysterious effect that thoughts, feelings, and intention have on the plants we grow. The prayer research group, Spindrift, conducted all their prayer experiments with sprouts, seedlings, plants, and molds. When prayer was directed or withheld from their test subjects, there were measurable results in growth. Prayed for plants thrived at an accelerated rate when compared to those subjects not prayed for. What was even more interesting was the difference in growth between test subjects that received directed prayer and those receiving open-ended prayer.
It may come as surprise to some that those test subjects that were specifically prayed for did not fare as well as those test subjects that received an open-ended prayer – that the best result occur for that subject. Further, the electrical signal registered by the test subject and duly recorded, indicated that directed prayer was hit or miss, in other words, the intention of the prayer did not always affect the plant. On the other hand, prayers for the test subjects that were open-ended, produced a stronger, more consistent electrical signature and the plants, etc., did better. For details on these tests and more, I direct you to the book, “A Journey Into Prayer,” by Bill Sweet. Somehow, I am still attracted to praying specifically for things as it seems more natural.
Each gardening season, I learn more about plants and the plants cause me to learn more about myself. For example, last season, I planted several Roma tomatoes that were puny and I didn’t know if they would survive, let alone produce fruit. As the season progressed, those Roma runts were dwarfed by the heirloom varieties next to them. Every few days I would visit them and stroke their leaves, chanting gentle daimoku with the intention that they would flourish and produce fruit. Amazingly, these three runts produced many fruit. They did not grow tall or wide, like other Roma’s I had grown, but put all their energy into the fruit. Each plant produced about thirty fruit and then died, while my other tomatoes kept growing and producing in abundance.
This year, I will experiment with open-ended and directed prayer to see if there is indeed any discernable difference in health or production. As usual, there will be the same symbiotic feelings of love and mutual benefit. The garden is my sacred place.
Note: For the next month or so, due to pressing demands of a major project, Phantom City will run weekly articles that previously appeared on BuddhaJones. Thanks for reading and good gardening
Not long ago, I received a letter from a longtime SGI member who was wracked with fear and doubt. She asked my advice. She had distanced herself from the movement for the usual reasons. I wrote the gist of her story in my journal to add to the growing number of Soka refugees that have written to me to express their anxiety. They ask me because I successfully made the adjustment from active to independent. After receiving this last heartfelt letter, I have begun to closely examine the plight of these expatriated bodhisattvas.
Although most feel justified in their departure, soon thereafter, they begin to experience a withdrawal of sorts that can include depression, confliction, escapism, doubt, malaise, anger, guilt, remorse, re-identifying with the system that they grew to loathe, and fear of karmic punishment. The psychological term for this internal pattern is called learned helplessness. This condition results from being immersed in an external system such as family, religion, tradition, community, profession, or institution. How much more true for those fully invested in what is hailed as a living organization and will of the Buddha.
Buddhist author, Ken McLeod, has this to say about the systems that foster learned helplessness. “Initially, a system develops for a specific purpose. But as a system evolves, it increasingly tends to organize around beliefs, perspectives, activities and taboos that serve the continuation of the system.” http://www.unfetteredmind.org
Does this model look familiar? Of course, in the past, if I were to visit someone who left the organization, and could actually get them to open up and tell me that they were suffering, I would probably tell them that the reason that they were unhappy is because they left the movement and were using up all of their good fortune. I’d tell them that they would never be happy or attain enlightenment outside the organization. My words were like a curse. What an arrogant fool I was. That last letter made me wonder what would happen if all the diehard leaders and members were confronted with a similar situation to those who had to leave the organization to keep their sanity or get control back of their life?
Based on that idea, what would happen if the SGI was disbanded or if schism split the organization into opposing factions, perhaps from a dispute over succession when the mentor dies? In that splintering, what would we do if there were no clear-cut path for us to follow? How genuine is our faith? Could we continue, even if we learn that we’ve been lied to? Would the dissolution of the organizational hierarchy break our spirit and erode our practice? The disassociation 1990 should give us pause that anything is possible. I draw this scenario to illustrate the plight of SGI members who’ve tried to move away from what they perceive as an unsuitable organization, only to find out that they’re, in many cases, haunted, beleaguered, and hindered by attachment to the very thing they were trying to escape. This pathology is well illustrated by an abused partner that makes excuses for the abuser and keeps coming back. Abused children try and protect their parents. The same pathology applies to religions.
You can’t really tell what’s inside someone until the crucial moment comes. One would hope that the lessons of maintaining our faith, practice, and study throughout one’s life would not be swayed. Many would try and rebuild, perhaps repeating the mistakes of the past. However, I believe that the conflicting pains of separation from the revered system, and oh so familiar to Soka refugees, would bring forth the agonizing symptoms of learned helplessness, buried just below the surface.
Some would deny they had cultivated the pattern of learned helplessness in their lives. They are, after all lion kings and disciples of the mentor. Their connection to the organization is one of absolute freedom. Nevertheless, if you take away that attachment, the aforementioned sufferings will ensue.
When asked how I overcame my doubts and fears of leaving the group, I offer my perspective and a few suggestions. First, we are directly connected to the Buddha, the dharma, and the Gohonzon. Second, the Lotus Sutra clearly defines our benefit and status. Third, our happiness, self worth, and enlightenment are not dependent on an organization because of the first point.
How does one change the pattern of learned helplessness into the character of self-reliance? Ken McLeod offers a strict answer.
“We can only undo learned helplessness by severing our internal connection with the system that gave rise to it.”
Applying this to the plight of the Soka refugee, I would say that once we cut the internal attachment to the external system, our lives begin to heal. How does one do that? We do that by affirming our direct connection to the Buddha, the dharma, and the Gohonzon through prayer. I call that, learned wellness. That’s how I did it.
For more information on learned helplessness visit www.psychologymatters.org or do an advanced search.