On a humid summer morning I woke up as dawn broke, put on a loose brown hoodie and some old jeans, and walked out of my house about four blocks to a small lake near my house. I walked to the West end of the lake towards a medium size tree that might have been a weeping willow. I sat under that tree, leaving only to use the restroom or to walk home to eat some rice and then return until the sun set for nearly a month straight. Legs crossed, one hand touching the earth, one hand open to the universe, I sat. In sunshine, in rain, in thunderstorms, in wind, I sat. At first it was difficult, my thoughts racing, a continuous cycle of events replaying in my mind at warp speed like the flashback we assume happen before you die. At first I noticed the sound of the wind in the trees, the ducks and geese in the lake, dogs barking, and children playing. The moist earth under me, branches and things fallen from the trees poking into my legs, the occasional insect walking along my back. Some days I was overwhelmed, and tears streamed down my face as I sat silently under the tree. But as the days went by my mind slowed. The past became a memory, each day falling a little further into the recesses of my mind. The noises and sensations around me became a soundtrack, they combined with the ebb and flow of my breath and the beating of my heart to create a constant rhythm. As days became weeks I changed. The emptiness became me, and I became everything. I became the splashing water, I became the children’s laughter, I became the fighting squirrels and the howling wind. And at that moment – when there was no more “I” to call me – I got up, and walked home. I returned to the world a new person, transformed by the emptiness and union I had found.
A rare butterfly in a nature preserve in Costa Rica. Taken by Mike Burns in 2012.
Before chronicling the path and positive effects of my “enlightenment” as it were, and the way to achieve it in one’s own life (without necessarily sitting under a tree for a month,) it’s critical to understand the story leading up to that life changing month. To understand the past is to understand the future, and it’s with that mindset that I am going to tell the story of my life that led to this crucial moment. I will admit that this is not supposed to be a brief historical narrative, it’s not researched, it may be off and some facts might be understated or exaggerated, it is more in the vein of a memoir than an autobiography. But this is how I remember it – how I remember my broken self, and how it was that I was broken – and how it was that I fixed myself, a point that is crucial. I did this. And you can too.
I was born the result of two vastly incompatible halves.
My mother’s side of the family was well off. I remember riding horses in Wyoming, seeing dolphins in Virginia, staying on a plantation in the Florida Keys, and a lot of cold winters around a fireplace while the adults skied in places like Vail and Lake George. One year we spent New Year’s Eve in Vienna. My maternal grandparents moved when I was in my teens, so I never experience their original home as an adult, but I remember it distinctly through my childhood eyes. A huge red brick fortress in the woods of upstate New York. I remember playing with my brother in the backyard, which was so large we saw it as an unexplored jungle. If you found your way through the woods behind their house you would end up at a huge playground, which in retrospect must have been attached to a school. As a child, my mother’s family was always very kind to me, except for a comment about my weight from my grandmother that I would never forget. They were staunchly conservative, Republican and Catholic. I remember hearing about how awful Bill Clinton was, how evil Ellen “the degenerate” was, and suffering through Rush Limbaugh whenever I was in the car. At the time I believed them about the world, even if pretty early on I knew at least in part that it meant I had to suppress my feelings towards men – feelings they made very clear were sinful, evil and unacceptable. They were very politically connected, my grandfather ran for senate or something, and both he and my grandmother worked for the state. My uncle (by marriage) was even more politically connected – I remember at my aunt’s funeral meeting Chuck Colson and Rick Santorum, who I would later realize is a despicable man. My mother’s side of the family was also deeply religious. We had a family priest, my parents were always doing some sort of religious event, and I remember meeting Mother Theresa, who I recall I commented “looked like Yoda” after she hugged me and my brother. We saw the pope in his ridiculous pope mobile, at the time something I was very excited about, only to later realize how much hate he spewed, especially towards my people. In a nutshell, my mother’s half of the family can be summarized as such: Republican, Catholic, wealthy, political and engaged.
My father’s side was in many ways the opposite – and in retrospect I wish I had appreciated them more, especially my paternal grandmother. They were quintessential middle class. They lived in a moderately sized blue house in the midst of farms outside Syracuse. They had Christmas lights up all year round, and my grandmother adored Christmas. She would bake countless boxes of cookies, and hang cards and decorations dating back to when my father was a child. My grandfather, a tall stoic and strict man, would play Santa Claus at the mall. I’ll be honest, I don’t remember what either of them did for a living. They weren’t the sort of people for whom that was the meaning of their lives. I remember my grandfather painting, and I remember laying on my grandmother’s chest watching old musicals with her before she died. I can still remember the way she smelled, the way she ran her hands over my head. It breaks my heart that she didn’t live to see me as an adult because I think she would have supported me when things got rough. My father’s family just wanted to “be.” Something my mother hated and always reminded me of. They didn’t want more, they didn’t have ambition they just wanted to be. And while perhaps they lack a certain ambition, they certainly seemed more content with their lives. They were however much less influential in my life because my mother and her ideals were the dominant focus in my early life, and we spent a disproportionate amount of time with her family.
It did however create an inescapable dynamic between my parents. My father had to work for what we had, he didn’t come from money the way that my mother had. He worked constantly but for my mother even a house two blocks from the beach wasn’t enough. She would never be satisfied. The talks I had with him focused on a mentality similar to that of Benjamin Franklin. Discipline in attaining frugality and cleanliness. Though I think in his own life he practiced some of the ideas of Carnegie, whose “How to Win Friends and Influence People” I remember seeing on the shelf – sort of following a set of established behaviors to control people’s perception of him, such as smiling to win people over. He was involved with Amway, a direct-selling business that has been accused many times of being a pyramid scam, and during his involvement he had a great deal of self-help type books. I remember him very specifically giving me “Rich Dad, Poor Dad” to read and talking with me about it. He was always very practical, more intent on imparting pragmatic financial advice than the lofty religious and political agendas of my mother. That said, because he was always working and because of the strength of my mother’s convictions, he sort of played second fiddle to her.
They believed in corporal punishment. The norm was me and my brother would do something “bad,” she would tell us we would be punished when my father came home, and usually he would come home, she would tell him what we did, and he’d hit us, usually with a belt, sometime with his hand. As an adult I still don’t understand how someone can beat their children, but I try to look back with understanding that they were young parents and didn’t really know what they were doing. I think they were just frustrated and didn’t know what to do. And aside from this and the attempted indoctrination, they provided a very good and comfortable childhood, even though we moved a lot for my father’s jobs. Since we moved so much, we would shift between being homeschooled, which ended up being rather lonely since the other “homeschoolers” we tried to socialize with were crazy even by my mother’s standard, and being in school, which was fine until about middle school.
An orphan sits alone on a tree trunk in a small village outside Accra, Ghana. Taken by Mike Burns in 2007.
These factors should provide some backdrop to understanding the twelve year old me. Deeply religious and convicted about the certainty of Roman Catholicism, accustomed to a relatively high standard of living, and with a clear goal that was supported by my family – to become a priest and lawyer and fight for God’s will by combating the evils of the world (like abortion.) I read constantly, and spent a great deal of time in religious organizations. I was an altar boy and a leader in a state youth group. I traveled with our parish priest to Washington D.C. for the March for Life, and travelled on my own to Atlanta and the northeast for “Legion of Christ” related events. I visited their prep schools and seminaries. But there was another me developing as well, and the next decade of my family’s lives would change our world.
My time in middle school was a nightmare, and the confidence and leadership I exhibited in a religious setting was absent entirely. In sixth grade I was relentless picked on. I was overweight, had buck teeth and a bowl haircut, was a complete nerd, and was shy. I was harassed every day, shoved against lockers and called “faggot.” I would come home every day from school crying and wishing I was dead. I experienced similar bullying in extracurricular activities, so in response I always acted out, either verbally or with violence. I got kicked off nearly every sports team for fighting, and was forcibly removed from Junior Life Guards after I left a boy who called me faggot bleeding the sand. I couldn’t tell my parents why this violent and seemingly anti-social behavior was happening because it was better that they saw me as a “quitter” than a “sodomite.” Not to mention that my mother had my sister around this time, despite the inevitability of her separation from my father, and it was a complicated and serious pregnancy that almost resulted in her death and the premature birth of my sister. In seventh and eighth grade things got progressively better, as I formed friendships with the other “different kids” and the nastiest of the upperclassmen moved on. All the while I ignored what was developing inside myself, thinking that I could suppress and control who I was.
The reason bullying hurt me so much was because as much as I denied it – I knew it was true. I knew, deep down inside, even then, that I was a “faggot.” But I honestly believed that with Jesus on my side and with enough prayer and will power I could change those feelings and be a normal person. I knew that I couldn’t be gay and also be the person that my family expected me to be.
High school was a dramatic clash of social acceptance and personal and familial conflict. In the past few years I had slimmed down, my teeth fixed by braces and headgear at night, and a renewed focus on looking better. My high school was incredible. The opposite of my previous school, I was accepted and had friends, I wasn’t bullied, I had great relationships with the teachers, and the school itself was a bastion of tolerance. I had gone from a school where pushing me down in the hallway and calling me names went unpunished to a school with a huge “coming out wall” for adventurous students to publicly post their coming out for the other students to go and write encouraging words on. It was here that I was exposed to the transcendentalism of Emerson and Thoreau for the first time. Emerson’s suggestion that “nothing can bring you peace but yourself” resonated strongly with me. This renewed focus on acceptance and self-reliance caused me a great deal of internal conflict. My friends knew that I was attracted to men, but it wasn’t something that I was fully alright with yet myself. I remember seeing gay students in my high school who were dating walking down the hall holding hands without anyone batting an eyelash and being shocked. We had two openly gay teachers. This was such a shock to my system – coming from a familial background where that was entirely unacceptable and a social background where I was constantly berated with bullying over the fact that I seemed gay even if I denied it at the time to myself and others. Meanwhile at home things were rapidly declining.
My parent’s relationship rapidly declined after my sister was born, my younger brother was falling in with a bad crowd and getting involved in criminal activity, and my aunt, who we all loved dearly and was a hero who had been formative in my life, died in a firestorm of controversy with regard to my uncle’s affair around her death. Adding to this mess was that I was beginning to accept who I was, something my mother couldn’t handle on top of the whirlwind of chaos around her. I remember trying to tell her. We were driving to the mall after school one day, just her and I. My sister must have been at home with my brother. I told her I wanted to tell her something, and told her that I thought I was gay. She started laughing and said “what about Jennifer Lopez? You love her!” and thought I was kidding. But that brief moment broke me down. Later on they saw a chat history on the computer where I talked about my homosexuality with a friend from school. They printed it out and left it on the dining room table. When I came home my father told me if it was true he’d throw me off a bridge. My mother wouldn’t even talk about it.
There was just too much going on and I had to escape, despite the fact that at my high school I was beginning to see some light at the end of the tunnel regarding acceptance as being gay. I thought if I ran away and started college early at a small excessively conservative liberal arts college in Virginia, I could be who my family wanted to be and push myself back onto the path that they wanted for me. So I did. I ran away. But going to that college had the exact opposite of the effect of what I intended – and the world crumbled around me.
My time at Christendom was the worst experience in my life. After the first few week, the more I learned about Catholicism, the more it unraveled, the more gaps appeared in its logic. The treatment of women appalled me, as they were encouraged to be Catholic baby factories, and families around the area had significantly more children than they could afford to provide for. The people there and the ideology they professed was in complete denial of the reality of human existence. Losing my faith, I felt like the bridge had been pulled out from under me. That which I had believed so strongly for my entire life became a persuasion to which I had been gullible. I was lost. And I turned to alcohol. To say I would drink excessively is an understatement. I used all of the money my parents sent me for necessities on alcohol. I would keep a bottle of whiskey under my pillow, drink first thing in the morning, go to class, drink some at lunch, go to class, and then after go and drink the point of being sick at parties down by the Shenandoah river – every day. I barely ate and barely slept. I lost weight and smoked cigarettes constantly. I was lost, and in letters sent back and forth with my mother, she expressed complete disappointment in my losing the faith and provided no support for the crisis I was going through – although in her defense, I don’t think she could have based on the maelstrom around her.
A relationship with a male friend became more than that, providing a slight reprieve from the misery, but coming from the same background as I had when he eventually came to the understanding that our relationship wasn’t normal for straight men – he was devastated and couldn’t handle what we were, and by the end of the semester he was so shaken by the idea that he loved another man that he couldn’t handle it. Whereas I had learned to accept it when I was in high school, only denying it because of my religious beliefs, he hadn’t had that experience. When I lost those beliefs I lost the inhibition and decided to be who I was. But my first experience with being who I was, my first relationship with a man, ended with him being too traumatized and guilty to even talk to me without breaking down. And so another rug was pulled out from under me. I was alone, hopeless, futureless and in despair. I tried half-heartedly to end my own life, but was too intoxicated to even do that right. I called home and told them I wouldn’t come back after Winter Break. My mother was furious, but complacent. I left that place and never looked back.
Back at home I sunk into a severe depression. I wouldn’t eat and wouldn’t move from my bed. I told my parents I wanted to see a psychologist desperately because I was broken and needed help. My mother told me I could talk to the local priest, which I obviously refused. For three months I did nothing. I sat in my bed and cried, lost and alone. My brother was arrested when police came for him in the middle of the night, starting a chain of events that would eventually end up with him in prison for nearly five years. I felt as though my parents barely noticed my depression, though I can understand how with the situation with my brother. As I slowly became more functional, I remember a newspaper article about how inexpensive it was to live in Thailand, and had seen the movie “The Beach” which showed the geographical beauty of the country. I made a new plan to run away again, this time to Thailand. I would go there and teach English and live on the beach, free from the mess here. I tried to learn everything about Thailand that I could, and in doing so stumbled upon Buddhism. I was immediately drawn to its premise that life is suffering, and that through right living one could be free of such suffering. Its honesty and pragmatism was appealing after my time with Catholicism. The Buddha claimed his teachings were like a raft to use to get to an island. You don’t carry around the raft after you reach your destination. Additionally I saw the suggestion of multiple lives via reincarnation as a new escape mechanism – even if it didn’t require dying to physically come back again, my old life could “die” and I could be reborn again. When I studied the life of Siddhartha Gautama, I learned that he finally broke through by sitting under the Bodhi tree. So I found my Bodhi tree.
What I awakened to was something entirely new for me, and I think for many Americans.
Me, riding an elephant through the ruins of Ayuthaya. Taken by a local Thai in 2010.
It’s not about earning points with a distant god so you get the “good ending” like Judeo-Christianity. It doesn’t require following a dogmatic set of rules documented in an antiquated and heavily bigoted book. It doesn’t involve the judgment or discarding of others.
It’s a modern interpretation of one of the oldest belief systems in the world – Buddhism. It borrows some of the discipline and notion of virtues that Benjamin Franklin proposes (most notably sincerity, justice and moderation), and it combines this with the self-reliance of Emerson, especially knowing your worth.
And it can and will change your life as it has changed mine.
The values that I live by, my philosophy of life, is called Angikara, the Sanskrit word for “acceptance.” Angikara is a more concrete formation of what was became known to me as I sat under that tree. It is not divine or supernatural, but rather the truth about reality that becomes known to us if we free ourselves of distraction. By understanding it proactively you can use it in your life to find peace, happiness and satisfaction.
I live by five principles.
Karma – when one acts with compassion, honesty, and understanding, they will see these repaid in their own life, not by the reciprocal actions of others, but by understanding and accepting all that they cannot change, and changing what they can. When one acts with insincerity, selfishness and bigotry, they will see this repaid in their own life by being unable to accept that which they cannot change, and being unable to change that which they could change.
Reincarnation – We live many lives, even in the context of our one biological life time. By our actions and inactions we are born and reborn, with right action we are reborn into a more satisfactory life and with negative action we are reborn into a less satisfactory life.
Self- reliance – We are responsible for our own perceived well-being, success and satisfaction. No one else. If we are unhappy, it is our own fault. If we are happy, it is our own fault. That said, self-reliance is difficult to achieve, and the practices of Angikara help to achieve it.
Unity – We are all one. We are every living thing on this planet. When we hurt others we are hurting ourselves. As such, for us to be truly happy, we have a responsibility to ensure the well-being of all other life on this planet. Not for the sake of nobility, but for our own preservation. Unity requires action. We cannot sit by idly as others, being that we are one, are hurt, discriminated against, or taken advantage of.
Moderation – The only way to eliminate our insatiability is to be moderate in all things. If we starve ourselves, our craving becomes stronger. If we over indulge we become unaware of our desire and should be unable to indulge, suffer.
As a final note, I would like to share the core idea of Angikara and how it has affected my own life.
The core idea, in a sentence, is this: By accepting one’s self and our unity with all other living things, freeing one’s self from desires and attachments, and by acting with discipline, compassion and solidarity with all living things, one can transcend the chains of dissatisfaction that are part of the human condition. It is not easy, but it is rewarding.
Temple of the Golden Buddha in Bangkok, Thailand. Taken by Mike Burns in 2009.
Returning to my own story and how this has affected me – on my eighteenth birthday, maybe a month after finding this path, I was kicked out of my parent’s house. I had no money, no car, no job, and all of my belongings in garbage bags. I had stopped drinking entirely, stopped eating meat, and decided to live an honest life – true to myself and others. I was kicked out for having a statue of Buddha, although I believe the real reason has to do with my homosexuality. While my life since then has had its up and downs, I have been honestly happy since that last day under the tree. I sleep well at night, knowing that I am satisfied with my life. Since that day on the curb at eighteen, I have traveled to Africa to provide relief and sex education, to Thailand to experience their culture and learn more about Buddhism, to Costa Rica to explore this beautiful planet. I’ve had a variety of jobs, the most satisfactory of which was teaching English to new Americans, and currently hold a position I genuinely love with the country’s largest tech retailer. I will be finishing my undergraduate degree in May and moving on to pursuing a philosophy doctorate in the fall, so that I can teach college philosophy and write more books to share the path to happiness that I have found with others. While my political involvement has been mostly limited to LGBT equality marches and protests, I hope to run for office later in life to make a difference for the largest amount of people that I can. I live with my wonderful boyfriend and our beautiful puppies, and I am happy. It’s my hope that I can devote my life to helping others find happiness as well – and Angikara is the start.
