Just breathe

I had been traveling for three hours before I realized it: I had forgotten my passport, I had no cash left, and I couldn't access my bank account. Sitting in the train station in Wilmington, Del., with a barely bought ticket to Princeton in hand and two heavy bags beside me, this was not what I needed. I had just survived one of the most stressful semesters of my Princeton experience, and I needed this Intersession trip to go smoothly. As if things weren't bad enough, a middle-aged businessman drenched in cologne sat beside me on the narrow wooden bench, and if he scooted his hand any closer to my leg, I was going to scream. On the verge of sleep-deprived tears, I lugged my bags up the stairs to the chilly platform and focused on my breathing. As I went through my mantra, I felt a familiar calm sweep over me. Suddenly the bags weren't so heavy, the platform so cold. The brisk winter breeze blew by seemingly in time with my breath. What followed was the same glow that I have felt ever since my first successful meditation. Bursting with this beautiful happiness, I called my parents and thanked them. Never before in my life had I been so grateful to have been raised Buddhist.

For my sister and me, being Buddhist in some ways translated into being "alone." We didn't belong to a youth group, and for as long as I can remember Sunday Sitting was held in my home. Some Sundays when we wanted to visit with friends or wanted to sleep in, we would tarry in arranging our Zen cushions, lighting the incense or awakening the bell. But despite our best dawdling, when a pressing concern didn't distract us, we would meditate as a family, followed by a story about Siddhartha's life and teachings. After this, we would put our Zen cushions away and go on with the rest of our day. Other than our annual week-long New Year's retreats to a Zen monastery, that was our practice. So we existed in our little bubble of Buddhism in the Westernized world.

Without a community to reinforce my beliefs, I struggled with my faith inside that bubble. Let us consider, for instance, my best-case scenario after death. While my Christian friends get to go to heaven, I will fade into nothingness. That is not something an 11-year-old wants to hear. This blissful "nothingness" and the first noble truth that "Life Is Suffering" did not seem too enticing. Despite my doubts, I could always find peace from a Dalai Lama quote: "There is no need for temples, no need for complicated philosophies. My brain and my heart are my temples; my philosophy is kindness." Here was my comfort.

Some people assume that meditation is the chief practice of Buddhism. But for me, meditation is a tool to free my mind of distractions so that I can find my true practice. When my mind is calm, I can shut out the distracting vices and find the virtues in people. As a child, I interpreted Nirvana as a place where one can be in tune with all the warm energy of the world. This is how my meditation factors into my Tibetan-Mahayana and Zen blend of Buddhism. The four noble truths and eightfold path lead me directly to this connection with others. It was relying on the compassion at the root of Buddhism that allowed me to find the inner peace I treasure very close to my heart.

At Princeton, maintaining that inner calm is a challenge. If you're interested in Buddhism, or meditation in any capacity, the Buddhist Student Group is a great place to begin. No previous experience is necessary, and it is a very open group. Personally, I do walking meditation between classes and let myself get carried away by little moments or images. I stop along my way to embrace friends or take a moment to let the beauty of the campus sink in. I return to the fast-paced, academically rigorous world of Princeton with a clearer mind and more appreciative heart. Life is a series of moments. Even if we accomplish our goals and find success, what do we truly have if we do not live in each moment? I make a conscious effort not to lose sight that the present moment is the most precious.

Even in a moment of extreme stress, like the one I experienced on that cold train platform, you can find the clarity within the present. That night in Delaware I found that on any journey, each step must be valued. So I leave you, reader, with some more words from the Dalai Lama: "Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible." Oh, and Princeton: Just breathe.

 Dominique Salerno is a sophomore from La Jolla, Calif. She can be reached at dsalerno@princeton.edu.