-Jaewooen Jang, MAPREP student from South Korea

Before coming to Nepal, I often dreamed of living as a full-time practitioner. Whenever I imagined that life, I carried a certain standard in my mind. What one eats, where one sleeps, who one lives with, and what one wears—I believed that these four things should not matter for a practitioner, regardless of circumstances. I first heard this from my lama, and for a long time, I sincerely aspired to live that way. So, I thought that once I arrived in Nepal, even if life was uncomfortable, I would be able to endure it simply by determination. Looking back now, that belief was both an ideal of practice and, at the same time, an illusion. 

Reality was very different. In the place where I stayed during my first semester, the allergies that I thought had almost been cured in Korea returned severely. When my body could no longer endure, my mind began to collapse as well. I started moving from place to place, searching for an environment that would not trigger my allergies. In the end, I moved seven times within a year. This was not merely a problem of housing. Through these repeated disruptions, I was forced to face situations I had never wanted, and again and again I was confronted with the question of what kind of person I wished to be. In my ideal image of myself, I wanted to remain a good person. Like a lojong(mind-training) practitioner, I wanted to choose what benefited others, even if it meant personal loss. But reality was not a beautiful namtar(life story of the teachers). Physical limitations, and emotional capacity, financial limitations—both my own conditions and the surrounding environment did not align with the ideal life of a practitioner I had imagined. 

It was then that I deeply realized that the body, too, has its own karma. With a body accustomed to cleanliness and comfort, it may be admirable to wish to live like Milarepa, enduring every hardship in dusty, unsanitary conditions. But that was not my reality. 

My body existed within habits and conditions formed over a long period of time, and forcing ideals upon it while ignoring those conditions was not practice, but something close to violence. In the end, considering the outer, inner, secret (and maybe also innermost) circumstances, I had to learn how to make realistic choices which are in accordance with the realities of mine. 

I had similar experience with my experience with vegetarianism. Seven years ago, I began practicing vegetarianism as a form of Buddhist practice without sufficient understanding. I pushed myself very strictly with determination, without knowing how to nourish my body or sustain my health. The result was not good. My body gradually weakened, and after a year, I gave up. Even after returning to eating meat, I carried a constant sense of guilt. When I resumed eating meat abruptly while my body was already weakened, various physical reactions surfaced all at once, and I had to spend a long time visiting hospitals to stabilize my condition. Looking back, I realize how dictator I was toward my body. “I have decided to practice vegetarianism, so you must follow.” When things did not go well, I judged myself, criticized myself, and suppressed myself. The more I did this, the deeper my suffering became. 

At some point, I finally understood something essential. What matters is not vegetarianism itself, but the state of mind from which the action arises. The root of vegetarianism is non-violence. Yet while speaking of non-violence, I had failed to apply it to my own body. Now, I practice vegetarianism differently. I no longer aim for perfection. I give my body enough time, create supportive conditions step by step, and slowly search for what truly suits me. I do not practice vegetarianism to boast about eating no meat at all. I practice it because the act itself is rooted on non-violence, reminds me of that intention, and keeps pointing toward the possibility of a world in which we can live together with other beings. If someone wishes to become vegetarian, I hope they allow themselves at least five or ten years, moving at their own pace, studying, experimenting, and giving both body and mind enough time to change together. This is the way of non-violence I have learned. 

Rather than remaining trapped in an illusion of what a practitioner should be, I felt it was essential to open my eyes to my actual conditions and acknowledge them honestly. Holding ideals while respecting one’s limitations and circumstances may itself be a practice of respecting karma, cause and effect, and a training in acceptance. I wished to share a real story of a full-time practitioner to-be, how to respect imperfect conditions without losing direction. I am learning how to practice within reality. I hope that this reflection may offer even a small help to someone like me.