Before I sit down to meditate, I bow down three times and say these words:
I take refuge in the Buddha
I take refuge in the Dhamma
I take refuge in the Sangha
Often I say these sentences in Pali, the language that the Buddha spoke:
Buddham saranam gacchami
Dhammam saranam gacchami
Sangham saranam gacchami
My first meditation retreat was in India where I learned these phrases. When I say them in Pali, the words often sink deeper into my being.
Sometimes, when I am exhausted, I simply say Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha slowly each time that I bow down.
What refuge means
One translation of the phrases is:
To the Buddha I go for refuge
To the Dhamma I go for refuge
To the Sangha I go for refuge
Because I have had deep immersions in many spiritual traditions, these three phrases go beyond just Buddhism.
When I take “refuge in the Buddha,” I think of all those teachers—male, female, and non-human—who have inspired me, whose images give me strength: Jesus, Mother Theresa, St. Francis, Rumi, my various meditation teachers, trees, whales, and so much more. And I smile.
When I take “refuge in the Dhamma,” I think of all the teachings that I have been learned from: Buddhist, Hindu, Catholic, Jewish, Native American, and so much more.
When I take “refuge in the Sangha,” I think of all the communities that aspire to the universal principles of honesty, kindness, generosity, and more. Sometimes I see an image of dropping a stone in a pond, and I feel the concentric circles rippling outward: the people in the meditation center that I co-founded, the Buddhist monastery 40 minutes from my house, the communities in Brattleboro and Alstead, the meditation center where I have done many retreats, the Catholic community where one of my sisters has lived for 40 years, the Mormon community that my other sister has been so deeply connected to for more than 40 years, and so much more.
Just before I retired, I was fairly anxious about feeling alone. I am by nature somewhat shy and introverted, and most of my friends were still working and had busy lives. One day I decided to make a ‘family tree’ on a large sheet of paper of all the people with whom I felt some connection. Within 15 minutes that tree had many branches and close to 100 people. This connects to a line in an article about refuge: “in the most fundamental way, taking refuge in the Sangha means to remind ourselves that we are not alone.” Yes!
Refuge has two powerful aspects.
On the one hand, refuge can mean sanctuary, rest, respite, sustenance, and retreat. I think of all the retreats I have attended and how those retreats gave me the space and the time to deepen my understanding of the teachings and of my self.
Refuge also means support. I often recall people who have found the strength to meet adversity, teachings that have helped those people, and knowing that I am not alone.
Sometimes I think of the extreme abuse my mother faced in her childhood. Yet she persevered, and she was always there for me and my siblings. She volunteered in many ways throughout her life, and she sewed her last baby blanket for children in a local homeless shelter less than two weeks before she died from colon cancer. I think of Victor Frankl and his stories of courage in the concentration camps. I think of my friends in Nepal, where I was a Peace Corps Volunteer, and how they meet adversity with so much grace. And so much more.
When we don’t feel strong
Pema Chodron speaks about this aspect in Welcoming the Unwelcome. Some years ago she wrot to her students asking in what they took refuge when things got tough. What they wrote included things like Netflix, overeating, and other distractions. One of her responses was to say the refuge phrases in those instances, for example, I take refuge in this bowl of ice cream, I take refuge in this Netflix show!
I find this to be a wonderful practice for several reasons.
When I do this, I often laugh—at myself and with myself. I know that physiologically laughter results in the production of chemicals that are calming and soothing.
It is also a great practice because sometimes I even decide not to have the ice cream or to turn off the TV. When I do this, it’s not because I am shoulding myself; it’s because I remember the other refuges.
Finally, it’s a great practice because it breaks that dualistic construction of good and bad, practice and not-practice, times when I am strong and when I am weak.
I offer these reflections about refuge with this hope that it might provide strength to others, both during everyday times and during challenging times.