this is kimbila

I’m writing this after a very long hiatus of not publishing on this blog. I’ll be remedying that moving forward with more regular posts.

I’d like this blog, essentially, to be about sharing stories, experiences, commentary and reflection - little bits and pieces to provide solidarity and inspiration to you, dear reader, as we practice the path together in times of trouble. This time we’re living in is intense, but kalyāṇamitta come in many forms, one of them being a blog.

On 16 May 2024 I ordained for a second time as a monk, under my former name, Kimbila. The transition back into robes and integration into the saṅgha has me reflecting on the meaning of my role as a monastic, as well as the larger patterns I see in Buddhist communities.

I see a tendency, in early Buddhism in Western countries, to intellectualise the path; to make everything about pāli and the suttas, or Buddhist history, or to venerate the latest paper from Anālayo. There’s a dimension to Buddhism existent since its inception that has largely been forgotten in our current importation, and that’s the art of telling stories. Stories humanise the path, and give it life and colour. Through telling our stories, we give life shape and definition, and we learn who we are in relation to the world.

There are many trappings in monastic life, and I’m getting old enough now to spot them fairly easily. Coming back into monastic life for a second time, with a ten year gap in between, has been an informative experience. There aren’t many places where you can enter back into an environment which is largely frozen in time where you left it, even though you’ve changed in the interim.

I’ve seen people choosing to run their own show, usually because they find the complexity of communal living too challenging and would rather minimize their needs down to a handful, invisibilising themselves out of sight and mind. Although expedient in the short term, what this does over time is erase one’s agency in life.

I’ve seen the usual bag of tricks of spiritual personification and bypassing as a means of avoiding one’s deeper psychological wounds and emotional needs. My personal favourite is the twisted combo of toxic positivity and overly tolerant compassion, which apparently means I have to focus on the good qualities of the person who is taking advantage of, or abusing me, whilst simultaneously enabling them to continue.

I’ve seen the five-hundred-pound-pink-gorilla-in-the-corner-of-the-room-smoking-a-blunt-with-his-feet-on-the-couch issue of unaddressed mental illness in spiritual communities, narcissism being the most insidious and destructive. From Daddy-issue guru worship to the vacant, thousand mile stare, it’s all there, and it’s rarely talked about directly or openly.

The reason I came back to this milieu though, was obviously not for this. It was for the gems. In amongst the monastic scene, there are true gems. These are the people we look up to as beacons. It’s obvious who they are. These people aren’t perfect, they’re flawed humans just like you and me, but they’re the fruit of development on the path. They’re the people who serve tirelessly and quietly without need for recognition, those who move through the monastery with grace, drawing no attention and yet holding the room, they are those who pause to truly listen to us when we’re in need of a friend.

It’s these people and their qualities of love and compassion, that I choose to emulate. I say emulate, not imitate; as an important part of healthy individuation is defining ourselves by expressing these qualities in our own way. In order to do that, we need to have enough sense of who we are and what we stand for. We need to have begun the process of reconciling our nature, and healing ourselves. We need to own our life, not side-step it. Telling stories is one way of doing this.

I had doubts about continuing this blog. I was listening to the voices telling me that writing my mind is simply an open display of my own comical delusion, that there’s no point in having a voice because no one is listening, that I’m not entitled to speak until I fully embody the Dhamma, and so on. You know the voices that I’m talking about, I’m sure you have your own.

The thing is though, in this interim between two monastic lives, I’ve learnt that we are entitled to speak. Through sharing my life, no matter what terrain I find, I’m inviting you, dear reader, to celebrate your journey. If we do, we may find beauty and goodness in our world, and inspire others to explore this amazing adventure of Dhamma with us.

This is Kimbila.