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Okay,
this time I won’t get depressed.” That’s what I told myself when a
literary agent emailed me saying, “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to
pass on this.” The agent was referring to a juvenile novel I’d been working on
since 1998. Over the previous two years, I’d had the story critiqued by
several professional writers and editors. Based on their comments, on
lots of chanting of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo
(Nichiren Buddhists pray by chanting), and
on my own ideas developed in large part from reading many juvenile novels and on learning from my own and other children, I’d revised the work more times than I can count. I
did so to make the story the best it could be.
Along with rejecting my novel, the agent added her name to the list of
people who critiqued it. She wrote nearly a full page of commentary
explaining what the story lacked.
I realized I had a great opportunity. I could use the agent’s advice to
revise my story and make it what I had been chanting for it to be—one
that earned the highest literary award in its category. While chanting,
I’d been promising myself to improve my novel however it needed to be
improved to qualify for the award.
The problem was I wasn’t sure I agreed with some of the agent’s
suggestions. “That’s okay,” I told myself. “I don’t want an
agent anyway.” This was true. I didn’t want an agent. I preferred to
work directly with a publisher because over the previous four years I had
gained a lot of experience in the book business as a result of publishing
and selling thousands of my own books and founding and running a small
press. I’d only sent the agent my novel because
I wanted to stay open to ways of getting a publisher for it. I’d been
chanting for the best publisher—one that really believed in my story,
saw its limitless potential and would put forth the effort to help it
achieve it.
I told myself I would not let the agent’s rejection push me into a deep
depression—my typical reaction when a big hope of mine seemingly falls
through. But two days later it happened anyway. I was depressed.
I knew that ever since I’d started practicing Nichiren
Buddhism 19 years earlier, my depressions were not as bleak as they
used to be. For one thing, once I started chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo
depression didn’t include thoughts of suicide. For another, while
depressed I could at least minimally function instead of just lying flat
on my back staring at the ceiling for days, weeks or months like I did
before I started chanting.
But while going through
my last big depression, I started thinking that just not being suicidal
and just being able to shuffle through a day wasn’t good enough. Being
depressed knocked the ability to chant right out of me and made me feel
like the living dead.
During the whole time that I experienced this last depression, my husband was chanting
quite a bit more than he had been. I felt fortunate that I could at least hear Nam-myoho-renge-kyo
even though I wasn’t the one chanting it.
My “minimal” functioning led my youngest daughter to complain,
“Mommy, all you do is sleep!” I knew this was a terrible
situation—having my husband’s and my three children (ages 7, 9, and
11) see me too weak to really live. But it took all of my energy just to
go through only the most necessary motions of daily life. I did the short
Buddhist prayer ritual (gongyo)
of reciting parts of the Lotus
Sutra morning and evening. I cooked. I worked on the two non-fiction
books I’m completing for a publisher. I helped kids with homework. I
visited members of my SGI-USA
Buddhist district. But whenever I possibly could, I slept—a lot—often
chanting in my mind or quietly to myself while I lay in bed.
I knew that if I
chanted Nam-myoho-renge-kyo
more I’d feel better and my depression would lift. But this thought led
me to another:
Next
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SIDEBAR
Depression, Therapy, &
Medication--My Buddhist View
by M.
LaVora Perry
According
to the National
Institutes of Mental Health, 20.9 million people in the United States suffer
from depression each year.* Since
first coming down with depression as a teen, and even after I began practicing
Nichiren Buddhism, at various times I've tried therapy and medication to treat it. My view is
that treating depression this way is a viable option if it works for an
individual. I also believe that anyone who is severely depressed or suicidal should seek
immediate treatment...But, what I really wanted was
to understand how to completely eradicate my karmic
tendency to be
afflicted with this condition. That goes deeper than a clinical
cure. I wanted to cure my life. (Click
here to
read more.)
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“Why do I have to
chant in order to not be depressed? Plenty of people don’t chant and
they don’t get depressed like I do.”
I didn’t want
chanting to be something I had to do because I was afraid I’d get
depressed if I didn’t do it. I didn’t want to live in fear of not
chanting. I didn’t want to live in fear at all.
And I knew other family
members and SGI-USA
members who suffered from depression. As a mother, I didn’t want to pass
the tendency towards depression onto my children. As a newly appointed
leader in my local Buddhist community, I wanted to be an example for members of winning through
chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo
for the happiness of one's self and others.
I wanted to rid my life—and the lives of the people closest to me—of
depression for good. I wanted to change karma—mine, my family’s, and
the Buddhist members in my care.
During this time, I got an urgent call from my mother who had driven to
Georgia
with my father as the two of them often do on church business. My father,
a Christian minister in his eighties, had fainted due to high blood
pressure. My mother asked me to fly down to
Georgia
and drive them back to their home in Cleveland because my father was too dizzy to drive. Over
the phone, my mother said to me, “I’m scared to death, LaVora.” In
the 59 years that she’d been married to my father, she’d never seen
him so vulnerable.
I was on a flight to Georgia
that evening. While on the plane, I read the November-December issue of Living
Buddhism magazine. Mystically, the issue featured the topic of
depression. Two parts of the issue piqued my interest. One was the statement by
Buddhist and mental health practitioner Kathy Olesky (sp?) that the negative thoughts that buzz in our heads while
we’re depressed are our
depression. The other was from an article by SGI-USA
Study Department
leader Shin Yatomi that was part of an ongoing series on Buddhism’s basic teachings
("Buddhism 101"). The article mentioned the Buddhist teaching that life
is suffering, which is one of the four
noble truths of Buddhism.
During the 10-hour drive from
Georgia
to
Cleveland, I was still depressed. But I carried on a conversation with my parents
anyway. I was glad that in some small way I could repay them for all they
have done for me—their youngest daughter. A part of me held onto feeling
like my accomplishments paled in comparison to those of my sister and
brothers. Inwardly, I determined that my parents would live to see me
become truly happy and successful in the deepest sense and that I would
lead them and all of my family to enlightenment.
Once back home, I still couldn’t chant a lot, but when I chanted, I did
so intensely. Then a few days later, it hit me: Everything I’d been
thinking, studying and chanting about fell into place. I realized that I
got depressed because I didn’t “get” the Buddhist truth that life is
suffering.
I saw that whenever I felt normal—that is, not depressed—I actually chanted to
experience obstacles so I could prove the power of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo
(that is, the limitless potential of my life and all others' lives) by challenging and overcoming them.
I knew I did this.
Yet when an obstacle (suffering) actually popped up and appeared to block
me from achieving some big goal of mine, I’d always get blown off
course. I’d waste days or weeks recuperating and pulling up out of a
deep funk when I could have been chanting and moving my life forward. I
didn’t want to go through another year pocked with these kind of
episodes.
My light bulb flicked on when I saw exactly what I needed to chant
for—strength. I needed to be strong enough to face whatever happened in
life. I felt empowered because I knew from my previous experience that
chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo
leads to answered prayers. So I knew
that if I chanted for strength I would become strong. And if I was strong,
I could face and overcome anything.
My depression instantly
vanished and I was able to chant powerfully and at length again. While chanting, I experienced the
"boundless joy of the Law" (of my life) that Nichiren wrote of
saying:
“Suffer
what there is to suffer, enjoy what there is to enjoy. Regard both suffering and joy as facts of life, and continue chanting
Nam-myoho-renge-kyo,
no matter what happens. How could this be anything other than the
boundless joy of the Law?” –Nichiren,
“Happiness
in this World,” The Writiings
of Nichiren Daishonin,
Vol 1, p. 681
I chanted and imagined a
solid, unbreakable core of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo
running down the center of me—my inner strength. I still chant this way
today. Next
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I then reread the agent’s comments about my manuscript. Even though
I’d been chanting for years to win a top literary award, I realized I
had been afraid that I wasn’t a good enough writer to write as well as I
needed to in order to make the changes the agent had outlined in her
critique.
In other words, I
didn’t think I could write well enough to win the award. According to
the article I’d read in Living
Buddhism, this
thought—“I’m not good enough”—was itself the depression I had
just overcome.
In essence, "I'm not good enough" was the lie that poisoned my
thinking process and thereby my life. This lie said I was not who I truly
am--a Buddha--a
person awakened to her own limitless power, courage, compassion, wisdom, happiness, and that of all others.
So while chanting, I made a new determination to win the literary award. I
pictured my book with the shiny, gold award emblem stamped on its cover as I had
done many times before. I refused to give into “I’m not good
enough.” I refused to give up on my dream. While chanting, I told myself
in no uncertain terms, "I am a Buddha."
I also chanted to bring out the points in my novel that the agent
suggested. I knew that if I followed her advice my story would be much
stronger and better.
The work I did on my
inner self and the work I put into my story over the years—up to and
including using the agent’s golden advice to rewrite it—resulted in
the perfect publisher accepting my novel. Just as I originally chanted
for, my publisher sees my novel’s full potential and is wholly committed
to working with me to help it achieve it. The publisher’s staff is
exceptionally humanistic and the company is founded on Buddhist values.
My novel is about an African-American Buddhist girl living in an urban
community who faces her inner weaknesses as well as challenges in her
daily life. The editor from the publishing company told me
the staff believes my novel will appeal to all kinds of readers—both
Buddhists and non-Buddhists. He said the company’s marketing director
uncharacteristically teared up once he got to the end of the story. Also,
based on a detailed marketing proposal that I prepared and submitted to
them, the publisher agreed to my request to pay me an advance that’s three
times what the company originally offered me.
I wrote a sincere note of thanks to the agent for her advice and told her
what happened. She in turn asked me to please submit one of the new novels
I’m working to her when it’s ready.
In addition, my father asked me for a copy of my story to read. My parents
have always been supportive of me and all of their five children, but I
can’t recall my father ever spontaneously asking to read something I
wrote before.
While all this was going on, I had recently accepted titled leadership
responsibility in my local Buddhist organization. This is a great benefit
for me because I’m learning so much as I work and grow with energetic,
insightful, and warm members. I am determined to continue to challenge my
weaknesses, to chant each day for the health and happiness of all the
members in my care, and for that of every person in the SGI-USA,
the world, and all beings throughout the universe. My goal is to inspire others to reach
for and attain their deepest dreams by doing so myself. FortuneChildBooks.com
M.
LaVora Perry lives
in Northern Ohio with her husband and three children. Her pre-teen/teen novel, Taneesha Never Disparaging, will be
released Fall 2008 by Wisdom
Publications. She may
be reached by email here.
For links to order the
Living Buddhism magazine issue featuring depression that Ms. Perry's
references in her article, Nichiren's writings
on karma and illness, and information on depression from the National
Institutes of Mental Health, click
here.
For more articles by M. LaVora Perry and others on Buddhism, depression
writing, and other topics, navigate from this site's home
page or click on the "site map" and "search" links located
on that page.
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