I had lived a relatively comfortable and secure life until everything unraveled in my 50s. In 2012, my wife of 26 years passed away from cancer. The year prior, my career of 30 years, which I loved, came to an end, leaving me unemployed and seemingly void of skills relevant to the 21st-century workplace.
I was trying with all my strength to restart my life, stay afloat financially from all the medical bills and somehow maintain stability for my then-20-year-old daughter, whose life had been so profoundly interrupted. Grieving and scared, I felt stuck in a nightmare.
Several difficult years passed and, by the beginning of 2016, I was barely hanging on—unfulfilled, unhappy and about to lose my home of 25 years. Devilish functions were having a field day with me, although back then, I was not even aware of what that meant.
A turning point came as I was having a conversation with a friend, a retired massage therapist.
“What would you do if you could choose anything?” she asked me.
“Maybe I could be a massage therapist… if I were 20 years younger.”
She reassured me that I wasn’t too old, and that I’d probably be great at it. The idea of starting over and recreating myself in my late 50s proved scary, but I thought: If not now, then when? I can’t go on doing what I’m doing.
After much consideration, I quit my job and signed up for a one-year certification program in massage therapy. Amid my reinvention, I met Jude, in 2016. When I walked into her home for the first time, I saw her altar and thought, Oh boy, what do we have here? She didn’t mention it but waited, instead, for me to ask.
“I chant for my happiness and the happiness of others,” she told me. It sounded like something I could wrap my head around. Months in, she asked, very gently, if I’d like to chant a few minutes with her. Her vast knowledge of Buddhism, along with her powerful faith experiences, stirred a curiosity in me, so I started chanting with her, and in September 2017, received the Gohonzon. Shortly thereafter, I took on the role of district men’s leader.
That same year, I started my massage practice. It was hard, both physically and financially, however I began to slowly build my private practice and then started my own chair-massage company with Jude. All was going well until the pandemic shutdown. By mid-2020, I wasn’t sure that massage would even come back given the state of the pandemic. I had to find the courage to recreate myself… again!
I continued to chant and deepened my vow to support the members in my district, and to study and share Buddhism with people that I felt might connect with it.
I remained unclear about how my life could expand at this age when I came across this quote from Ikeda Sensei:
Life loses its dynamism from the moment we lose the passion with which to live it. No matter what our age, we cannot afford to let the flame within our heart grow dim. … We do not become unhappy because we grow old. We become unhappy only when we grow ever more unwilling to change as we age. (www.daisakuikeda.org)
I completed a one-year certification program to become a life coach. However, I was missing massage and the connections that I had with my clients. Later that year, I decided to start offering massages again. I soon discovered that these heart-to-heart interactions created tremendous value for my clients, as well as myself, and were vitally important to my sense of purpose in the world, and therefore my happiness.
I have always been inspired by Sensei’s innate ability, even in the briefest interactions, to be totally present and deeply connect with the person in front of him. Through the power of his life condition, he makes every person feel that there is nothing more important to him than the present moment. I came to understand that my mission is best served by honoring my desire to connect with people’s hearts. This led me to rededicate myself to my massage practice and expand my life in additional ways that fully express my Buddha nature.
It’s become clear that my Buddhist practice, supporting the members of my district and earnestly chanting for the happiness of myself and others have brought me tremendous benefits.
In October 2021, I married Jude, the love of my life and soulmate. And just this year, my massage practice has grown over 75%, thus creating financial stability for me and my family. I have relaunched my chair-massage business, and recently received my certification as a personal trainer.
Every day I meet new clients and people curious about my life journey. Invariably, they tend to be inspired by the fact that I recreated myself in my 60s. It opens the door to explain that I’m a Buddhist practitioner and tell them what the practice has done for me. It’s been fulfilling to share my life with others in this way.
I plan to work with men and women over the age of 50, to reenergize, reinvigorate and help them restore their own vitality. I will continue to provide massages as long as my body will allow me to. I’m planning on doing this well into my 70s.
At age 66, life for me in many ways has only just begun.
From July 31 to August 11, the first session of the Preparatory Committee for the 2026 Review Conference of the Parties to the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons (2023 NPT Preparatory Committee) was held at the Vienna International Centre in Austria. An SGI (Soka Gakkai International) delegation led by SGI Director General for Peace and Global Issues Hirotsugu Terasaki attended the meeting. On July 31, Mr. Terasaki submitted President Daisaku Ikeda’s Statement on the G7 Hiroshima Summit, the Ukraine Crisis and No First Use of Nuclear Weapons to the chair-designate of the first session, Ambassador Jarmo Viinanen of Finland. On August 2, a youth statement signed by some 50 organizations and individuals including the SGI was delivered during a plenary meeting for NGO presentations.
On August 1, the SGI co-organized a side event titled “The Catastrophic Consequences of Nuclear Tests in Kazakhstan: A First-Person History” together with Permanent Mission of Kazakhstan to the International Organizations in Vienna and the Center for International Security and Policy. On August 3, the SGI co-organized another side event with the Nuclear Age Peace Foundation and Parliamentarians for Nuclear Non-proliferation and Disarmament on the theme “No First Use as a path to Nuclear Disarmament.” Representatives of each organization spoke as did a representative from the Vienna Center for Disarmament and Non-Proliferation.
byOscar Adams Oakland, Calif.
Once my mother closed her door, she’d be gone for hours. You can imagine, left alone in the living room, a 5-year-old begins to wonder: Why am I alone? What’s behind that door? For entertainment, I’d tiptoe to her room, silently, slowly crack it open and watch: the drugs passed hand to hand, the pipe smoke, the rubber band wrapped around her arm, the needle going in.
By the time of my mother’s death in 1999, I’d begged her countless times to stop using. When she died of cirrhosis and HIV, two years after my sister’s overdose, I was left at 18 feeling powerless to protect those I loved.
By then, I’d been dating for four years a young woman I’d met in the local library. My friend nudged me one day, “Bet you can’t get her number.” On the other side of the room, she was talking with her sister. Little did I know that I was about to make a connection with a bodhisattva.
Dawn’s home was so different from mine. We often came in to the smell of incense and the sound of her mother chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. I was raised to believe in God, but I didn’t understand religion. What I did know was what that home felt like: peace.
Dawn and I moved in together in 1999, and married in 2004. I’d come home and she’d be doing gongyo. I never joined in, but I’d heard it so many times that, while washing dishes or putting groceries away, I’d find I was doing gongyo with her in my head. Many times, I wanted to sit down with her, but I had this notion—a stupid one—about being the man in the house: that she ought to follow me, not the other way around. It was my ego, simple as that. But as the years passed by, as I cycled through one dead-end job after another while her life and career took off, I began to wonder if I wasn’t missing out. Working as a security guard, there were often long, dead hours I’d use to read, usually the Bible or the Quran. By that time, I had also read Malcolm X, The Nation of Islam and The Black Panthers. I was seeking a mentor, really—a way of life that led to empowerment. Without her knowing—my pride wouldn’t allow it—I began to read works by Daisaku Ikeda on Nichiren Daishonin’s writings.
For instance, I read: “If you think the Law is outside yourself, you are embracing not the Mystic Law but an inferior teaching” (“On Attaining Buddhahood in This Lifetime,” The Writings of Nichiren Daishonin, vol. 1, p. 3). I understood it to mean that empowerment did not exist in anything that was not already within my own life. I thought of my mother, who had never read a word of Daisaku Ikeda but whose fighting spirit had shone through even from the depths of her suffering, in moments when she told me, as she often would, to try my best and to never give up.
No one pushed me to begin my Buddhist practice. Dawn opened our home for discussion meetings, and I’d be sneaking into the kitchen for a glass of water and run into some men’s division members. They were kind, energetic, happy to see me. I began talking with one of them, and all he encouraged me to do when it came to the practice was to maintain a seeking mind—to ask questions if I had them, to keep asking if I got an answer that I didn’t feel I understood, and to read to my heart’s content to find my own answers.
One day in 2013, I came home and, as usual, Dawn was chanting before the Gohonzon. I put the groceries on the kitchen table and went to her side. “I’m ready,” I said.
“OK,” she said. On Aug. 24 of that year, I became an SGI member and joined the Gajokai Academy (now called the Young Men’s Division Academy). I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life but had come to the understanding that destiny was not something that needed to be submitted to but could be shaped by my own determined prayer and action. I came across guidance from second Soka Gakkai President Josei Toda urging youth who were unsure of what they wanted to do in life to just dive into something. As a result, they would elevate their life condition and eventually discover their chosen path.
This guidance was a tipping point for me. I decided that I could and would take my life into my own hands. For some time, I’d wanted to return to school to get my master’s. I’d been interested in psychology and sociology but had been unable to imagine how I’d pay for my education or how I’d make time for it as a new father. If anything, I was busier than I had ever been, involved as I was in the Gajokai Academy. But I also had more drive, more energy than before. My mother-in-law suggested a program through which I could get my master’s in social work for free, from a federal program that trains child protective service workers.
In 2014, I applied to graduate school. The application prompted me to tell about my life, about the things I’d been through that would help me relate to the population I’d be working with. The population referred to being children who’ve been abused, neglected and impoverished. Wow, I thought. My life had all of that.
It took me 17 years to join the SGI. But since then, if memory serves, I’ve not once been without a leadership position. Raising our daughter and twin boys, working full time, going back to school, kept me very busy but joyfully so. And this practice and community have supported me tirelessly. Supporting members as a leader feels to me the natural way to repay my debt of gratitude.
Over these years, I have not been perfect. I have been blown about by foolishness, jealousy and insecurity—in short, my own ego—as well as my successes and failures. I’ve fallen down along and very nearly off the path of my human revolution. But in those moments, even at my lowest, I’ve maintained a determination to get back on the path of inner transformation. What would Ikeda Sensei do in this situation? I’ve asked myself. And always the answer I arrive at is: He’d fight! Harder than ever, he’d fight for kosen-rufu!
Just last year, I became a licensed therapist. In work and SGI activities, at home as a father and husband—in everything I do—I strive to bring forth the hidden strength in my life and others, to help them grasp that they have the power within to shape their destiny.
The following letter was sent to the U.S. Congress by a coalition of faith-based groups, leaders and institutions, including the Soka Gakkai International-USA.
July 16, 2023
Dear Member of Congress
As people of faith committed to building a peaceful and just world, we unite our voices on this occasion of the 78th anniversary of the Trinity atomic bomb detonation. That historic event in New Mexico left many people in New Mexico to deal with the horrific health consequences of being overexposed to radiation and enabled the first use of atomic weapons in war just weeks later, destroying the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It further led to the development of yet more powerful nuclear weapons unleashing upon the world the horrific risk of a civilization-ending holocaust.
On this anniversary, we express profound concern about potential escalation of current global conflicts to the unthinkable use of a nuclear weapon. Spurred on by survivors of the damage wrought by the production, testing and use of nuclear weapons, we aim for outright elimination of these weapons as well as victim assistance and environmental remediation for affected communities.
As people of faith, we respectfully remind you, Members of Congress, of our shared humanity. Despite national interests and objectives that can contradict each other at times, we share the fundamental goal of preserving our planet, our countries, communities, and families, without which we cannot pursue our prosperity, well-being and happiness. Nuclear weapons, whether used by design or accident, will destroy the world as we know it and cause tremendous suffering, as testified by the Hibakusha, Downwinders, and others. Nuclear weapons are incompatible with our fundamental values of respect for human dignity; their continued role in so-called national security should not be tolerated.
We ask you, as a Member of Congress, to do your part by:
Co-sponsoring House Resolution 77 (H.Res.77) “Embracing the Goals and Provisions of the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons” and introducing a companion resolution in the US Senate to voice your support for the following nuclear weapon risk reduction and disarmament steps:
Actively pursuing and concluding negotiations on a new, bilateral nuclear arms control and disarmament framework agreement with the Russian Federation before 2026 and pursuing negotiations with China and other nuclear-armed states on an agreement or agreements for the verifiable, enforceable, and timebound elimination of global nuclear arsenals;
Renouncing the option of using nuclear weapons first;
Ending the President’s sole authority to launch a nuclear attack; Taking the nuclear weapons of the United States off hair-trigger alert; and Canceling plans to replace the nuclear arsenal of the United States with modernized, enhanced weapons.
Extending and expanding the Radiation Exposure Compensation Act (“RECA”) to add the first Downwinders along with others who were harmed and left out of the original bill; and
Canceling plans to expand plutonium pit production at the Los Alamos National Laboratory in New Mexico as well as the unnecessary W87-1 nuclear warhead that is being used to justify it. We note that no future pit production is required to maintain the safety and reliability of the existing, extensively tested nuclear weapons stockpile. Instead, future pit production is for speculative new designs that can’t be tested, therefore perhaps eroding confidence in the stockpile. Alternatively, it could prompt the U.S. to resume testing, which would have serious global proliferation consequences; and
Strongly encouraging the U.S. government to lead by example, entering into serious negotiations leading to nuclear disarmament, as pledged by the then five nuclear weapons powers more than a half-century ago in the 1970 Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons.
The Trinity atomic bomb detonation anniversary reminds us of how the story of nuclear weapons began. But more importantly it reminds us that this story must have a peaceful ending. It will either be the abolition of nuclear weapons or the end of human civilization.
Our diverse faith traditions remind us that we are not prisoners of our current reality. Each and every human being is creative, resilient, and capable of helping to create the world we desire. We trust that you will act in accordance with your moral conscience, and we pray that future generations will take inspiration from your leadership in delivering justice to affected communities and building a world free from the threat of nuclear weapons.
Sincerely,
National
American Friends Service Committee EarthKeepers 360 The Episcopal Church Franciscan Action Network Friends Committee on National Legislation National Council of Churches Pax Christi USA Religions for Peace USA Soka Gakkai International USA United Church of Christ, Justice and Local Church Ministries Voices for a World Free of Nuclear Weapons, (United Religions Initiative)
Local
Archdiocese of Santa Fe Reverend Talitha Arnold, Senior Minister, The United Church of Santa Fe Reverend Harry W. Eberts, First Presbyterian Church of Santa Fe Reverend Madeline Hart-Andersen, Westminster Presbyterian Church (Santa Fe) Assisi Community Atlanta Good Shepherd Community Church Center on Conscience and War Dorothy Day Catholic Worker, Washington DC The Evangelical Reformed United Church of Christ Frederick Friends Meeting Martin Luther King Jr. International Chapel, Morehouse College Pax Christi Metro DC-Baltimore
Living Buddhism: The last several years seem to have been a series of challenges. But before that, please tell us about the earliest benefit you experienced from your Buddhist practice.
Sylvia Dare: That’s right. I was a struggling filmmaker and sound recordist living in Santa Monica, California, newly graduated from the University of Southern California, with no credentials in the industry. I was 29 when I landed a job working on a film set in Atlanta. As a young person with little experience and no connections, I was a nobody as far as the industry was concerned. And that’s how I was treated. But there was one person on that set, the director’s secretary, who treated me like a human being. As we got to talking and built a relationship, I learned that she was Buddhist.
“You can become happy right where you are, just as you are,” she told me. And I remember thinking: But how could that be? No one’s happy in Hollywood. But in this woman, this secretary, I seemed to have found at least one exception.
Her humanity convinced you to give it a try.
Sylvia: It did, definitely. But you know, her kindness notwithstanding, the key was that I was desperate. I don’t know that I’d have given Buddhism a try otherwise. I remember chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo with her for the first time; I felt this inexplicable thrill: Everything’s gonna be good. There’s something ahead, something great to come! Had you asked me why I felt this way, I don’t think I could have given you a logical answer. As far as the industry was concerned, I was still a nobody. And yet, this self-confidence arose from my prayer, this conviction in the power of my life that had lain dormant.
Where did that prayer lead you?
Sylvia: Well, I did, indeed, land a job working as a filmmaker. But that venture was short-lived; very quickly I realized it was not for me! I went a completely different route. In 1987, I met my first husband and in 1994, we moved to New York, where I was raised, and started a family. There, I ventured into the field of educational publishing, first as a freelance agent, then full time.
“Nothing’s ever wasted”—we say this all the time in Buddhism. Much of the educational material I helped to produce was for children learning English as a second language, material that relies heavily on visuals and recordings. I found myself working with filmmakers, artists, sound engineers—a group with backgrounds similar to my own, similar to those of many of the people I’d worked with in LA. Only this environment felt better to me, more conducive to my growth. It was a field in which I developed myself immensely, one I worked in for over 20 years. It ended abruptly—shockingly, even—in 2015.
What happened?
Sylvia: In 2015, in quick succession, I learned that two of my life’s longest commitments were coming to an end: my 30-year marriage and 20-year career in publishing. With regard to the marriage, there was nothing nasty about its ending; still it proved to be a shock. It was the end of my career that really blindsided me. I’d been working for the same company for years as a project manager, and had understood that operations relied heavily on my department, which always delivered quality work. But apparently, we were not as irreplaceable as we’d imagined. In July 2015, my entire department was given three months’ notice.
What did you do?
Sylvia: Studied, sought guidance and chanted—intensely. I have to backtrack here to mention something—another major disruption, four years earlier, in 2011, when I was diagnosed with cancer.
That experience, more than any other, taught me to chant with determination, to clearly visualize the victory I wanted to see. By 2016, I’d overcome the cancer but not before learning what it means to challenge something head-on in faith. Now, jobless, I prayed with the same intensity, fusing my prayer for a job with a prayer to advance kosen-rufu.
Again and again, I summoned the courage to put myself out there. But time and again, offers fell through. Even the most extensive, promising interviews, after which I was all but offered the job, fell through, one after another. It was brutal, and there were days I wondered anxiously, How long will this last? In many ways, I was at the opposite end of where I’d been years ago, when I was a struggling youth cobbling together a name for myself in LA. I’d built up a robust portfolio and an impressive resumé, and you’d think that would be all to the good. But many employers didn’t see it that way. In their eyes, a robust portfolio meant a heavy price tag. At 62, it seemed to be weighing me down.
How frustrating! When did things take a turn for the better?
Sylvia: My professional connections and experience all lay in the publishing industry. For the longest time, it didn’t occur to me to look anywhere else. But it was like I was trying to fit a square peg into a round hole; after two years of job hunting, two years of false starts and dead-end interviews, I began to feel that the universe was asking me to open up to other possibilities.
Visiting a young woman in my region one day, we got to talking about me and the job hunt. I’d recently applied on a whim for a job completely outside of my expertise, and, frankly speaking, a job I thought was beneath me, at a food market opening up in my neighborhood. When I mentioned the name of the place, she exclaimed, “Oh! They’re wonderful to their employees!”
When I got back home, I looked into it and found out she was right. The more I researched the place, the more interested I became in working there. That week, they called me. They wanted an interview.
They will never hire me, I thought. My resumé has nothing to do with this job. But the interview went really well, and afterward, I was more interested than ever. In June 2017, to my surprise, they offered me a job in the catering department.
What was your experience there?
Sylvia: My colleagues were a very different crowd than the one I’d worked with in publishing. Most of my peers at the market were homemakers, mothers who’d graduated from high school, raised families and then found work. Given my background (I’m quite tech savvy), there were times I felt a bit exasperated by one colleague who seemed to fear being left alone with a computer. But the more I worked with her and I saw her in action, the more I appreciated her strengths. She was wonderful with people and had a way of assuring them when they were flustered or uncertain that we would take care of them and meet their needs.
When the pandemic hit I was able to take time off. By this point, I was living on my own. One morning, while getting dressed, I got tripped up, taking a spill that broke my foot. On my own during the pandemic, recovering from the injury, I felt lonely. But I used this time to chant lots and lots of daimoku. As I did so, I felt the thrill I’d felt when I first encountered this Buddhism, as though poised on the edge of some new adventure. I’m gonna be fine. No matter what happens, everything’s gonna work out great! I felt … how to describe it—like a new member, like when I was young and just beginning my Buddhist practice, just discovering how wonderful it feels to chant. From this place of boundless optimism and confidence, I realized something: I wanted to share my life with someone.
Sylvia on a business trip in Cambridge, United Kingdom, October 2011.
What happened from there?
Sylvia: I never thought I’d be open to online dating, but in such a high life condition, I decided, very practically: This is a new century. These days, it happens all the time: People meet online! It took courage, but I started putting myself out there. As my foot healed, I started going on dates. I met a few guys but nothing clicked. That didn’t stop me though. This feeling that there was something to come wasn’t just about romance but an attitude toward life altogether. I chanted with confidence that the best path would open for me.
I met Bruce in September 2021 and we clicked immediately. Like me, he liked to be outdoors and to photograph nature. I found that he was kind, with a generous spirit. Not easily ruffled. Confident.
I’d just returned to work but decided a few weeks in to go part time. Where could I go? I asked the management. I put the question to the Gohonzon, too, chanting with victory in mind. Management came back with an offer: floral.
Now, that floral department is not what you see at your usual grocer’s. Not some potted buckets at the entry but a full-fledged operation. Roses, tulips, hydrangeas, you name it. People flocking in with questions, out with big bouquets, vases, custom arrangements. I loved the work, and it seemed that customers were affected by the beauty of the environment. My first day on the job, I was trimming rose stems. My co-workers were chatting pleasantly with one another or with customers. A gentleman had just come in, looking for flowers for his girlfriend.
“What kind,” he was asked, “what colors?”
“Well … maybe we could ask her,” he said. “She’s right there.” I realized then that I knew this voice, that it was Bruce’s, and that I was the girlfriend in question. I felt deep appreciation for him, for my life in general.
As of April this year, I retired from the flower store. Bruce and I have bought a home together in New Jersey, near the ocean. Of all the lessons learned over these few years, the greatest has been in confidence.
When I was a kid, my mother kept a garden where she planted all kinds of vegetables, garnishes and flowers. We had a string that ran up the east side of the house above a plot of morning glories. I remember sticking seeds in that plot and then watching, day by day, week by week, the morning glories pop out and twine their way up the string. Every morning, they’d open wide up to greet the morning sun, and then come evening close again. Close, open, close, open—a salute to nature. A fascinating flower, I always thought. And hopeful, expecting what’s to come: the sun and the fresh growth it brings.
Two-and-a-half millennia ago, the Greek philosopher Aristotle wrote that human beings by nature are social animals: “Anyone who either cannot lead the common life or is so self-sufficient as not to need to, and therefore does not partake of society, is either a beast or a god.”[1]
And yet here we are, in an age when we can enjoy every modern convenience without physically interacting with another human being. We can earn an income, buy groceries, launder our clothes, see a doctor and stream a movie without ever stepping foot outside the home.
But even the ever-growing convenience of virtual platforms has its limitations. The rise in loneliness among people of all ages and backgrounds has generated serious consequences that threaten our happiness, health and even social stability. In a 2021 survey studying loneliness in men, 15% said they have no close friends, a sharp increase from the 3% reported in 1995.[2] Studies also show that people who experience loneliness have a higher risk of heart disease, stroke and dementia[3]—not to mention its toll on mental health.
As community ties fray, so do mutual support as well as cooperation during natural disasters. Our lack of connection has also contributed to a widening political divide that has led to demonizing those of differing views. It’s no surprise, then, that in May 2023, the U.S. surgeon general released an 85-page advisory declaring loneliness a new public health epidemic in our country.
The advisory explains loneliness to be a subjective, distressing experience resulting from perceived isolation or inadequate meaningful connections.[4] As Buddhists, we aim to do the opposite: to treasure the people in our lives and provide them with meaningful connections.
Nichiren Daishonin explains:
“Joy” [in the phrase “responding with joy”] means that oneself and others together experience joy. … Then both oneself and others together will take joy in their possession of wisdom and compassion. Now, when Nichiren and his followers chant Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, they are expressing joy in the fact that they will inevitably become Buddhas eternally endowed with the three bodies[5].[6]
Buddhahood, in other words, cannot be experienced in isolation but rather this state of life is developed through our interaction with others.
As we strive to create lives of fulfillment and polish our humanity, let us consider three concrete challenges we can adopt toward creating families and communities forged by deep human ties.
Challenge One: Increase meaningful relationships.
The average Facebook user has 338 friends. The problem, though, isn’t the number of our relationships but the quality of our connections.
Our first challenge is to get better at knowing others. Buddhism teaches that each individual is a microcosm of the universe who holds vast riches of unique experiences, feelings and wisdom. When we actively seek to know more about those around us, we can develop meaningful relationships that strengthen our social fabric.
Ikeda Sensei writes: “The better you know others, the easier it is to converse with them. That’s why you must make a serious effort to get to know people. When you’ve done that, just converse sincerely with them in the way that comes naturally to you.”[7]
In the same vein, he defines dialogue as “the courageous willingness to know and be known by others. It is the painstaking and persistent effort to remove all obstacles that obscure our common humanity.”[8]
What are the person’s hobbies and interests? What is their family history? What are they struggling with now? Through engaging in the process to know another, not only can we change our assumptions about others but also develop authentic friendships.
Not everyone is so quick to open up to others, so it’s vital that we find the courage to be the one who can sincerely engage others, being willing to have honest conversations. The Daishonin says of this: “Even a stranger, if you open up your heart to him, may be willing to lay down his life for you.”[9] Developing such quality connection is vital to enriching our lives.
While there’s nothing wrong with connecting to a vast amount of people through social media, such networks alone do not satisfy our need for human interaction. And in creating meaningful relationships, we don’t have to be extroverts either. What is important is that we endeavor to develop the types of friendships where we can fully open our hearts. Sensei explains the Buddha’s thoughts on friendship:
When Shakyamuni’s disciple Ananda asks whether advancing together with good friends is half the Buddha way, Shakyamuni replies: “Ananda, this way of thinking is not correct. Having good friends and advancing together with them is not half the Buddha way but all the Buddha way.”[10]
How can we forge such bonds with others? It comes down to treasuring the person in front of us. When a member asked Sensei how he was able to do so, he replied:
There’s no secret to it at all. … I just give each encounter my all. I know that I may never see the person again, so I think about how I can connect deeply with them and pour my whole being into doing so. That earnest commitment manifests itself as wisdom and strength.[11]
When we act to emulate this spirit, we can take a step in forward in connecting more deeply with others and finding our footing where we are.
Challenge Two: Deepen bonds with friends in our Soka community.
Our SGI Buddhist community is distinct in that it provides a network where we bond over our shared commitment to spread the Buddhist ideals of equality, respect, peace and harmony. In short, we fight alongside one another to realize the greater good of kosen-rufu. By cultivating these bonds, rooted in propagating the Mystic Law, we form unbreakable ties that help us transcend our personal likes and dislikes, and transform our lives for the better.
Second Soka Gakkai President Josei Toda described our united efforts, saying:
When it comes to the matter of drinking this sake, you will instantly agree with each other and join in beautiful unity. That’s unity centered on a bottle of liquor. Again, suppose there is a large, delicious-looking cake. You’ll immediately and joyfully become unified in one mind: to eat it. But the sake or the cake will be quickly gone and with it your unity. …
Nothing can be achieved unless we carry out our activities with the realization that the Gohonzon is reverently positioned in the center of any activity, under any and all circumstances. Only when we engage in our activities with that realization can there be unity based on faith. Those in responsible positions must not forget this at any time or under any circumstance. True, liquor or cakes can bring about temporary unity, but when they are consumed that’s the end of their mission. On the other hand, the Gohonzon eternally entails the mission for kosen-rufu—the mission to dispel all kinds of misery from this earth.[12]
SGI discussion meetings provide opportunities to connect in our local communities with people who hail from all walks of life and yet share the same goal to create a world in which all people can lead happy and secure lives.
In discussing the depersonalization of society, Sensei writes that it’s difficult to develop ourselves fully without laying down roots:
Families knew their neighbors, and people freely borrowed from each other when the bean paste or soy sauce had run out and it was inconvenient to go shopping. The flood of urbanization and great modern mobility bring people together from all over the nation, to live for a period in homes and apartments that are virtually no more than places to sleep, and then perhaps to move on to another city or neighborhood where they are as much strangers as ever.
In other words, people today do not take root in any one place long enough to develop themselves as total persons. They perform as cogs in the wheel on the job and return at night to houses, not homes. It is difficult to estimate the depth of mental insecurity and irritation that life without community contacts engenders.[13]
Our united network of Bodhisattvas of the Earth is the impetus for creating communities based on deep-rooted human connections.
Week after week, month after month, SGI members gather to chant Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, study Buddhist concepts that elevate our lives and share personal stories, including victories and ongoing struggles, encouraging one another to continue fighting for our dreams and happiness. Sensei describes our wonderful Soka movement as a place to actualize lasting peace and happiness based on the principle of human revolution:
The realm of kosen-rufu is one of bright, lively dialogue and inspiring life-to-life encounters. It is pervaded by an enthusiastic spirit of good citizenship to create a better society. It is a community of human harmony spanning the globe, in which people of diverse cultural backgrounds come together as one big family, sharing each other’s joys and sufferings.[14]
Our Soka community provides a space for people of all backgrounds to come together, learn from one another’s experiences and make a shared determination to widely disseminate the Mystic Law in our communities to expand this network of heartfelt connections.
Challenge Three: Strengthen our personal connection to the Mystic Law and the mentors of Soka.
There are times when, despite our best efforts to connect with others or have others connect to us, we still feel lonely. That might be because we’re facing a difficulty that we believe no one can understand or we’re gripped with fear that in honestly sharing our struggles, we might lose the trust or respect of those around us.
Even amid such times, we can chant Nam-myoho-renge-kyo and tap the limitless wisdom, courage and compassion of the universe. In addition, by uniting our hearts with our mentor in faith, we can awaken to our unique mission to advance kosen-rufu; being filled with such purpose can help us dispel any feelings of loneliness and isolation.
After Nichiren Daishonin was exiled to Sado Island in 1271, many of his disciples abandoned their faith to the extent that “999 out of 1,000 people” in Kamakura no longer chanted. At age 49, he was sent alone to die on a remote island, describing his time in exile in this way:
In the yard around the hut the snow piled deeper and deeper. No one came to see me; my only visitor was the piercing wind. Great Concentration and Insight and the Lotus Sutra lay open before my eyes, and Nam-myoho-renge-kyo flowed from my lips. My evenings passed in discourse to the moon and stars on the fallacies of the various schools and the profound meaning of the Lotus Sutra. Thus, one year gave way to the next.[15]
Based on his towering life condition, even the snow, piercing wind, and moon and stars served as companions for Nichiren as he initiated the next stage of kosen-rufu from Sado Island.
Sensei, too, recollects his solitary battle amid a barrage of slander from the Nichiren Shoshu priesthood in the late 1970s. He writes in The New Human Revolution about the importance of seeking his mentor, Josei Toda, in his heart. Sensei, who appears in the novel as Shin’ichi Yamamoto, describes his thoughts during Mr. Toda’s April 1979 memorial:
As he chanted for his mentor during the memorial service, Shin’ichi envisioned Toda gazing at him. He could hear his mentor say: “Shin’ichi, I’m counting on you to achieve worldwide kosen-rufu! Have no fear! Boldly pursue the great path of your mission!”
Courage rose in his heart. He felt a surge of strength course through his being.
“I am Mr. Toda’s disciple! I am the heir of this heroic lion king who stood up alone for kosen-rufu! Whatever may happen, I will faithfully transmit Nichiren Buddhism and the Soka Gakkai spirit! I will fight to protect the members, the noble children of the Buddha!”[16]
At the time, Sensei stood up alone. With his mentor in his heart, he was emboldened to continue striving for kosen-rufu despite being backed into a corner.
In the same spirit as Nichiren and Sensei, SGI members are also “heroic lion kings” who are guaranteed profound personal victory when they strive to advance kosen-rufu without giving in, no matter the situation.
When we chant Nam-myoho-renge-kyo powerfully to the Gohonzon and unite our hearts with our mentor, we can dispel any feelings of loneliness and boldly advance toward our dreams, amid even the most painful trials.
We have one another.
Social isolation and loneliness can be debilitating. In a world where existential threats loom, the way we connect and feel connected to others is up to us. Ultimately, it comes down to not ideology or abstract ideals but heart-to-heart connections that buoy human society in difficult times.
This starts with each of us taking on these three challenges: to deepen connections in our environment, treasure our Soka community and strengthen our bond with the Mystic Law and our mentor. These may seem like common sense but actualizing them is a nearly lost art. As the level of genuine interest in others becomes increasingly rare, our friends who notice this unique quality in us will naturally want to learn more about our Buddhist philosophy.
Consider this story shared by Russian author Leo Tolstoy, in which an emperor wonders about three questions:
1) When is the best time to start a task, to know the right time for every action, so that I have no regrets?
2) What kind of person do I need most and to whom I should pay attention to?
3) What affairs or tasks are the most important?
The emperor makes it known throughout the land that he will richly reward anyone who can tell him the right answers to these questions. In the end, the emperor gains the answers from a sage who lives among the people. Sensei writes of this exchange:
This wise man replies that the most important time is now, this very moment; the most important person is the one in front of you right now; and the most important task is doing good to others, caring about others’ happiness.
This moment, this instant is important, not some unknown time in the future. Today, this very day, is what matters. We must put our entire beings into the present—for future victory is contained in this moment.
Likewise, we do not need to look for special people in some far-off place. People are not made important simply by virtue of their power, learning, fame or riches. The most important people are those in our immediate environment right now.[17]
Wherever we are, we can practice the “lost art” of sincerely greeting and connecting with the people in front of us. We can endeavor to consider the unique characteristics of those around us and make it possible for them to bring forth their full potential. This is the way to win the trust and respect of everyone around us. This is where friendship starts and loneliness ends.
From July 21 to 23, for the first time in four years, a European Student Division training course was held. The event was held at the Frankfurt Ikeda Peace Culture Centre in Germany, bringing together students from 18 countries across the continent. President Daisaku Ikeda sent a congratulatory message. The event featured faith experiences and an activity report from a youth who attended the Hiroshima G7 Youth Summit in Japan in April 2023.
byMelanie Santiago Denver
When I was 13, my friend introduced me and our other friend to Nichiren Buddhism. A district discussion meeting was being held just down the street, so we walked together, my two best friends and I.
I remember sitting on the floor with everyone, talking, laughing. Right away we were welcomed so warmly. We chanted, and I liked the way it felt. These are my people, I decided. Right away I said I wanted to begin my Buddhist practice.
We stuck around after the meeting, sitting around a dining table, talking. I had a dining table at home, but no one ever sat there together.
“What’s going on?” the district women’s leader asked. I unloaded my unfiltered feelings toward my mom. She listened and listened. Then said something that made me squirm. “Try chanting for her happiness.”
In a way, I had an odd sort of fortune. She was so hands-off, my mom, so uninterested in her children’s lives, that she signed the application for me to receive the Gohonzon without batting an eye. We almost never spoke, so it was a big deal when, after a visit from my district leaders, she asked me to walk her through what it was I was getting into. Racking my brains for the most appropriate explanation, I said, “It’s like… Buddhist church!” When she blinked, I blurted, “I really like these people, and think this will be good for me!” I held my breath. She shrugged, then floored me with, “They really are nice people.”
At that point, I’d been chanting a few months—not for her happiness; that was too great a leap—but to hate her less. I’d glimpsed my mother’s humanity.
Taking her shrug as a green light, I threw myself into SGI activities: discussions, chanting sessions, studies, taiko drums. If there was something going on and someone to take me, I was going! Doing all this truly opened up my life, which previously had been open to no one beyond my two best friends. I began to see that people didn’t mind me being around—actually they seemed to like me quite a bit.
I have to say, most of Ikeda Sensei’s guidance about parents and their children didn’t land with me—the poem “Ode to Mothers” was particularly unrelatable. But around the time I first accepted leadership, when I was 16, I encountered guidance that shifted my perspective dramatically.
“For both better and worse, life tendencies at the deepest level are often passed from parent to child. The important thing is to transform negative, harmful tendencies into positive, constructive ones that can draw out our inherent goodness without limit” (The Teachings for Victory, vol. 4, p. 23). Slowly, my prayer for my mother shifted from a grudging wish for her happiness to a proactive one. My life was my own, and I didn’t need to spend it choked by anger and vitriol.
As I’d thrown myself into SGI activities, I threw myself into school. Soon I was packing up, readying to leave for my first year of college, 90 minutes away. We were sitting at our dining table, my mom and I, talking about this and that, when she said, suddenly, “I’ll make sure to visit you once a week.” She meant it. We’d improved our relationship beyond what I’d ever imagined.
Then there was my father, my mom’s ex-husband, whom I’d never met. Growing up, I’d wonder about him, but was told by my mom that he was not someone I’d ever want to meet. But in college, I became more curious. One day, I decided to search for him online and found him quite easily. I reached out to a relative of mine to verify and was shaken by the response: Yes, he was indeed my mom’s ex-husband, but no, he was not my father.
When I put the question to my mom, she dodged it, and I felt a familiar anger reawaken. Why had she hidden the truth? Had I deluded myself, simply imagining the progress we’d made? In the meantime, a DNA test verified that her ex-husband was not my father. As to who was—all available leads were dead ends. A couple of years passed, and I gave up and focused on my studies.
In 2021, I visited Mississippi to spend Christmas with my mom and nephews. For presents, they wanted DNA tests; they’d taken an interest in family trees. I got one for each of them, the same one I’d gotten myself a couple years earlier, then forgot about it. But when, in the spring of 2022, they visited me in Denver, they asked me to connect with them over the DNA app. I hadn’t opened it in years. When I did, I saw I had a message.
“I don’t think I know who your dad is, I know I know,” it read.
According to the app, it was from my cousin on my dad’s side. Soon, she called me. Did I want to speak with my father? “Yes,” I said, and she put him on FaceTime.
Melanie and her father, Aris, in Hyattsville, Md., September 2022. Photo courtesy of Melanie Santiago.
The resemblance was undeniable. We tripped over each other to point it out.
“Our chins—”
“Your nose—”
“Your eyes!”
Never in my life had it occurred to me that my father, whoever he was, would be overjoyed to meet me. Soon, I visited his side of the family and found I had a cousin named after me—they’d been eagerly waiting to meet me for years.
At the beginning of this year, I summoned the courage to tell my mom I’d met my real dad. I wasn’t angry with her—I had the wisdom to guess that hurt had led her to hide the truth. I didn’t need to pry. But I was a little scared, and said as much.
“It’s all right, go ahead,” she said, so I did. She didn’t deny or evade or anything. “Your life is your life,” she said. And that was that.
Years ago, I had a realization: I wanted to take my mother to Paris. All her life, my mother has never left the country. And all her life, she’s wanted to see the City of Love. Growing up, the Eiffel Tower was everywhere in our house—on sweaters, lampshades, posters and towels. I bought us both tickets for the end of this March, then worked like crazy toward our March youth meeting.
Melanie and her mother, Elaine, in Paris, March 2023. Photo courtesy of Melanie Santiago.
My Buddhist practice saved my life. Knowing that uplifting even one youth would make a difference in this world peace movement, I met with one after another. Many opened up and participated for the first time since the pandemic. After, I took my mom to Paris. Of course, arriving at the Eiffel Tower, she was giddy with excitement. I took pictures of her laughing, beaming. I’m living a dream, I thought. My life is mine, whatever I want it to be; poetic and beautiful.
On July 13, Ambassador of Rwanda to Japan Rwamucyo Ernest met with Soka Gakkai President Minoru Harada at the Soka Gakkai Headquarters. With women accounting for more than 60 percent of the Rwandan parliament, the two discussed the leading role the country is playing in the promotion of gender equality and women’s empowerment. Ambassador Rwamucyo emphasized the importance of education for social transformation and commented on the contribution of Soka education to global peace and harmony.
byLela Shepley-Gamble St. Louis, Mo.
I had a lot of what they call cognitive dissonance. At 37, I was one of the youngest female senior vice presidents at my Wall Street banking firm. Making lots of money, living in a New York flat overlooking the Hudson, traveling the world on the company dime, I was, according to my friends, a wild success. And yet something was missing, and that something was an answer to an existential question: What am I doing here? And not just “here” at the firm, but “here” on this planet. There were lots of causes and charitable organizations I believed in, and having the means, I’d given money to many of them but never was convinced I was making a dent.
In 1987, I was invited to the 20-year reunion of a summer camp I’d attended every year from ages 12–17 in southeastern Ontario, Canada. Memories came flooding back, of canoeing through pristine wilderness, camping under stars by cook fires, loons calling wildly in the night. Algonquin Park was about as far from city life as I could get, and I figured the trip would do me good.
Lela (right) in London, England, 1977. Photo Courtesy of Lela Shepley-Gamble.
Bonds formed during adolescence are strong. Among those I had the pleasure to reconnect with was Rob Gamble, whom I’d dated my last summer at Algonquin. I discovered he now lived on the lake as its resident handyman, in a cabin without running water, electricity or road access. A simple, honest life he’d built, but I couldn’t help but notice that he drank too much and was looking rough. I left feeling concerned for him but also resolved to return to Algonquin, kicking myself for having removed such a place from my life. The following summer, I vacationed there, and Rob, making his rounds, came by. I could tell right away he’d stopped drinking. He was bright and grounded. We sat down for tea.
“Rob,” I ventured, “what’s different?”
“Buddhism,” he said.
Apparently, soon after the Algonquin reunion, while making his rounds, he’d knocked on the cabin door of a resident Buddhist. As at the reunion, he’d been keeping up a steady drinking habit, battling depression and stress, which had robbed him of sleep. He didn’t look good and the Buddhist at the door said so. He replied that he felt the way he looked.
“Well then you come inside and chant Nam-myoho-renge-kyo,” she told him. His first benefit came swiftly—while chanting, he fell asleep for the first time in days.
Speaking with him now over tea, he asked if I’d like to come to a meeting. I looked him over once more. The change was indeed real. “All right,” I said.
What I heard at that first meeting fell on my ears like water on parched earth. I learned that everybody has a Buddha nature—wisdom, courage, compassion, vitality—available at all times, waiting to be tapped. Then! I heard about the law of “cause and effect”: The energy we put out is the energy we get back. And then! The concept of “the oneness of life and its environment”: A rejuvenation of the human spirit is linked precisely with the rejuvenation of communities, societies and the natural world.
It’s about people, I realized. Real meaning and change are found in the rejuvenation of people.
When I came back to New York, I looked up my local SGI center and connected right away. When Rob found out I’d begun practicing Buddhism on my own, he was flabbergasted. He drove to Manhattan to visit in November 1989, then again in December. I visited him in January, he proposed in February, and we were married in April. When I moved to Algonquin, friends thought I’d lost my mind. But the decision was based on daimoku and, honestly, was the easiest I’d ever made.
In 1994, I gave birth to my son, Ethan. As he neared elementary school age, I began having discussions with two other Buddhist mothers about the possibility of starting a Montessori elementary school. We all had young children and were drawn to parallels we saw between the educational philosophies of Tsunesaburo Makiguchi and Maria Montessori, which both stress the happiness and self-motivation of the child. Within just six months, we opened the doors of Muskoka Montessori, of which I was the principal for 13 years.
When Rob was diagnosed with aggressive prostate cancer in 2007, he was told he’d need to have his prostate removed or most likely die within a year. But ultimately, Rob decided not to have the operation. We went on a remarkable journey together, chanting to manifest health and happiness. Interestingly, Rob outlived his doctor’s prognosis by nine years, for most of which he enjoyed a high quality of life. In 2017, a full 10 years after the diagnosis, the cancer took his life.
I was his caregiver in his final year. Neither of us was afraid; we both knew we’d be seeing each other in a future lifetime. I was with him when he died; it was peaceful and easy.
One morning a year later, I woke up, sat straight up in bed and cried out, “I have to go back to St. Louis!” The feeling was so strong that there was no denying it. I made preparations to move back to my hometown.
At the end of September 2018, I drove across the U.S. border and have been happily situated in St. Louis ever since. The SGI community here welcomed me like family.
I must say, I know many women my age who don’t seem to know what to do with themselves. But me, I’m happy in St. Louis working for kosen-rufu!
This Buddhism, this community, has been for me and for so many in my life like water for parched earth. In the SGI I have seen what happens to people when their spirits are rejuvenated: They rejuvenate the lives of those around them. Before I pass through death’s door, I want to share this Buddhism, this Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, joyfully with as many as possible.
Q: What advice would you give the youth?
Lela Shepley-Gamble: Simple! Keep chanting! We’re a people’s movement, so you’ll run up against people who will annoy the heck out of you. Read Ikeda Sensei’s guidance, it’s powerful. Read Nichiren Daishonin’s letters, they’re beautiful. You’ll look on others—even those who push your buttons—with fresh eyes and a gentle heart. Chant about those people, and it will prove your greatest benefit.
