Tara Empowerment in the MDC {Part 2}

 

By Nicole Daedone

See part 1 here

The voice was speaking through me.

Every lesson learned at the Metropolitan Detention Center—don’t take it personally, focus only on being of benefit, relaxed joy is the way—was called into service. Carina’s ADD kicked in, her leg twitched. Cardi and Janiya laughed uncomfortably in the back. It felt like a school for wayward girls. I kept my focus on the script and on Green Tara herself.

A page of prayers, and they settled into their seats. Then came the test and proof: what I knew to be beautiful, what I had to bring forward in spite of my fear that the women, who had initially thought Tibetan Buddhism was witchcraft, would find it weird.

But then, like ice melting, the room shifted.

The women became a blur of warm, rich light. This was the phase transition. It was no longer a script I was delivering to an audience. It was like a dream that arises all at once, where I was all of it: the audience, the script, the woman in the special borrowed uniform at the table earnestly reading. We were transported, as one, to an experience of seamless shimmering light. For a moment I laughed to myself—my lama had played me; tricked me into a dreamscape and drew me in with my own heart.

And it was like watching a hologram being dialed in. The physical, dense form of each woman began to radiate. That evening after the ceremony, Morgan would lift her shirt to show us all the blue lotus tattooed on her breastbone. We kept moving through each portion—in English, then in Diamond’s soft, soft Spanish. Rach moved through the room offering her version of flower petals to throw: Minute Maid uncooked rice.

“Toss the flower petals and say with me: ‘May I hold the sacred power of Tara.'”

“And may I be held by it. Que pueda sostener el poder sagrado de Tara y que ser sostenida por él.”

And with all things inspired, hopeful, expectant—as if at a great wedding—they threw their rice into the center of the room. Offerings to the enlightened beings filling it.

We sat silently for a moment. Silence so strong no one could speak or move. From there, words carried a light until we reached the end.

And once the empowerment finished, I was grateful to skip the usual spiritual humility contest some Buddhist practitioners try to take on after such a meaningful ceremony. Instead, it was a party. These women laughed. They peacocked. Janiya yelled, “I’m enlightened but I ain’t no saint!”

Sweet Princess Agnes was in her glory. We never know how she knows what she knows, but somehow she knew to bake torma—the offering cakes that are traditional for these ceremonies—constructed from the available ingredients from the morning’s breakfast, some banana, frosting from powdered creamer, a heart shaped out of Skittles, red powder juice, and a whole box of Teddy Grahams reserved for the most special occasions. The many great Taras delighted in the offering.

—

Afterwards, I made my call to my lama on his pilgrimage in Nepal.

I told several of the women what I was up to, and they gathered nearby. Grace, the new woman who came in detoxing and let Rach and me see her through that process, reaching out when needed, bringing her soup with an involuntary cry “Mom, help me,” Emunah; Maureen; Janiya; Sunshine; Diamond.

After the usual recording—This is a call from a federal prison—and the always-odd recording of my own voice saying “Nicole Daedone,” he pressed five, and the sound of his voice came through, all things sunshine, radiating into the dorm. The women, in perfect response, yelled out from around me:

“Thank you, Lama!”

And Janiya, of course, so proud of being in the “in” crowd, what’s called the sangha, yelled, “From Maitreya Sangha MDC!” and did a little dance. I’m sure he felt it all the way across the globe, like a wave reaching the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. 

I made sure to pass on Sunshine’s message: “That was dope! I’m empowered!”

Funny, not funny: the phone disconnected after two minutes on with my lama. I suspect because the power was greater than normal lines could carry. That’s okay. The message was received.

—

Back in the dorm, I could hear the various women talking to each other about the empowerment.

“I feel empowered.” “I feel so much peace.” “Wow, I’m relaxed.” The usual background of true crime or SVU on the televisions had become the lighthearted songs of Disney movies. Cardi came up to me to say, “Beyoncé talks about empowerment. She should try that!”

I was prepping rice for lunch at the bunks when I looked up to see Emunah humming down the aisle, a huge grin on her face. “I called my father after the empowerment,” she started. “He was so excited, wanted to hear every last detail. 15 minutes for a call really isn’t enough time,” she laughed. “Anyway, he was so excited he had to go to a meeting, so I said I’d call him back in an hour. We just got off the phone.”

Then she started to laugh. Emunah has that kind of laugh that’s contagious, effervescent. You can’t help but feel joy when you hear it.

“When I called after the empowerment, he was in an Uber heading to that meeting. He was so focused on our conversation that he ended up leaving something in the Uber. When I called just now, he was talking to the Uber driver, who was coming back to return his stuff. Turns out the Uber driver was from Nepal! He was telling him about the empowerment.”

“Oh my god,” I laughed at how karma seems to take on a magnetic quality in these special moments.

“‘First time it’s happened in a prison,'” she repeated in her father’s accent. “‘My daughter is there! She is learning to meditate! Almost all of the women attended. The lama made it special for the women.'” She laughed again. “I kept saying, “Abba! Abba!” trying to get his attention, but he was just talking to the Uber driver about the empowerment. I told him I’d call later so he could finish the conversation.” We all laughed. “It was a special day,” she said, turning toward me. “Thank you.”

I put my hands together in prayer position and bowed to her. “Thank you,” I responded, “for letting us feel the love between you and your father.”

“Okay, call you later,” she joked, making a phone gesture with her hand as she headed back to her bunk.

“Another die-happy moment,” Rach said, heading off to the microwave to make our rice.

We were sitting at the table eating rice and chicken when Diamond walked over and asked to sit down. “Of course,” I invited.

“OMG, I just talked to my family,” she started. She’d told them everything about the empowerment. They were so proud. Her sister had jumped in first, “Yo, Dad is really something,” her mom laughing in the background. Her dad was proud as anything: during the empowerment, he had gathered all the Buddhas from around the house, including the big one by his bed and the water fountain, and built an altar on the dining room table with the sun coming down on it.

He’d been so proud he FaceTimed the whole family. Her sister jumped back in: “I didn’t know what it was at first.” Her dad shouted into the phone: “But then I explained it!” Her mom added details, the water fountain he’d brought as well. “Well, I had to make my own altar in celebration of the empowerment,” he reasoned.

Diamond paused. “It was a big deal for my dad. For me too.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “It was a significant moment for all of us.”

—

We kept our regular meditation time after the women had lunch.

Ramona, in her rapid-fire Spanish, speaking to me as she always does, even without an interpreter, as if I actually know Spanish, broke protocol and started saying something. Whether she was on protocol or off, it turned on Miriam’s water works. She erupted.

“She said she doesn’t want to use a pseudonym,” Miriam translated between tears. “She wants the world to know she was here. She is proud.”

I turned to Ramona, stunned. For Belcy in particular, there were implications. Leaving a cartel, there are repercussions. MDC is, for many women, as much protection as it is punishment.

Then Miriam made her own declaration. “I feel the same way. Use my name. But make sure it’s with my husband’s name and not ex-husband’s name!” she laughed.

From around the room came others, each woman unbidden, their names said proudly.

In Tibetan Buddhism there is a term—lha gyi nal jor—where the practice is to live with the divine pride of the deity, until it emanates from your cells. It takes lifetimes. Decades. But apparently my lama was right. These women are specially endowed.

Or so it would seem if you were to witness Belcy Gomez claiming her birthright in the first empowerment in a prison that we know of in the history of the world.

 

 

Photo: Pixabay

Editor: Dana Gornall

 

Nicole Daedone is a teacher, author, and spiritual practitioner with three decades of Zen practice and five years of deep study in Tibetan Buddhism. She is the founder of Orgasmic Meditation, a contemplative practice she developed and taught for over twenty years through OneTaste, exploring the intersection of sexuality, attention, and awakening. She is also the founder of Unconditional Freedom, a 501(c)(3) organization built on the belief that human flourishing is not a luxury—serving 250,000+ incarcerated participants, 140,000+ restaurant-quality meals to anyone who walks through the door, and giving a permanent home to the work of incarcerated artists. She is the author of Jailbirds in Flight: Everything You’ve Wanted to Know About Enlightenment in Prison but Were Afraid to Ask, written entirely during her incarceration at New York City’s Metropolitan Detention Center, where she remains today. Over the past year she has led a thriving meditation community inside MDC—culminating in what is believed to be the first Tibetan Buddhist empowerment ever given in a federal prison.

 

Did you like this post? You may also like:

To Be Seen By The Sacred: The Weight and Wisdom in Thai Tattoo Magick

Writings from Prison: Tearing Down Walls of Expectation.

 

Comments

comments