Family

Buddhist teachings on family life
  • Tricycle Community 24 comments

    After the Monastery Paid Member

    Left to right: Bhikshus Heng Yo and Heng Ju in the rain, on their "three steps, one bow" pilgrimage for world peace, which lasted from October 16, 1973 to August 17, 1974. They continued regardless of weather, traveling 1,150 miles from San Francisco up the Pacifc Coast to Marblemount, Washington.  Introduction by Jeanette (Jetti) Testu More »
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    Yehuda Ben-Yehuda’s Famous Spinach Pie Paid Member

    The thing that has helped me most in this lifetime, aside from being born, is meeting a lineage holder of great wisdom traditions. But the being born part is pretty essential, and to be born means entering a lineage also: the bloodline. More »
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    Tommy's Corner Paid Member

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    The Dismay of Motherhood Paid Member

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    The Hidden Lamp Paid Member

    For most of the last 2,500 years, women have had to struggle mightily in order to practice Buddhism. In ancient China, Japan, and other Asian cultures, women were generally not allowed to ordain without the permission of male family members. They were kept home to be householders, slaves, laundresses, cooks, wives, and rearers of children. A few, determined to practice, even scarred their faces so they could enter a monastery without disturbing the monks with their beauty.  As a result, contemporary Buddhists all over the world practice in traditions where historical women’s voices are rare, and many of the teachings and practices have come down to us from a male point of view. This is certainly true in most of the familiar Zen stories and koans, like those in the famous Chinese koan collections: the Blue Cliff Record, The Gateless Barrier, and the Book of Serenity.  More »
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    A Life Too Long Paid Member

    On an autumn day in 2007, while I was visiting from northern California, my mother made a request I dreaded and longed to fulfill. She’d just poured me a cup of tea from her Japanese teapot; beyond the kitchen window, two cardinals splashed in her birdbath in the weak Connecticut sunlight. Her white hair was gathered at the nape of her neck, and her voice was low. She put a hand on my arm. “Please help me get your father’s pacemaker turned off,” she said. I met her eyes, and my heart knocked.  More »