introduction

I grew up a curious child in a mixed Czech-Vietnamese household in the small town of Brno, Czechia. I was a loner and spent most of my time with my nose in an encyclopedia, mind in a story, or surfing the early waves of the internet. I first meditated when I was about ten years old because I wanted to learn shape-shifting magic.

Why?

     Well,

                                   I am trans. And that’s what brought me to the dharma.

      [The term trans, in short, describes a person whose gender is/was perceived differently from inside and outside. In my case, some doctor I’ll never know said I was a boy when I was born, and I was too small to argue.]

 Luckily, that’s not the case anymore.

     However, my youth was a living hell that only I could see. I suffered and couldn’t tell anyone. I was afraid that if anyone knew, they’d either abandon me or hurt me. I was very lonely. Often, I would look at others and wonder if they’re also in such intense pain all the time. I looked forward to falling asleep every day to get at least a short break from my pain. As I grew up, I did all I could to escape my pain. At first, it was TV and video games, later drugs and alcohol. Luckily, I found out early that this didn’t work, and instead did my best to live a good life. I focused on my relationships, school, and my passions. I did really well, but deep down, I felt continuously worse.

     Things shifted in autumn 2016 when I accidentally overdosed on MDMA. It was still warm outside, and I was with friends, trying things out. We were dancing and talking through the night. I was enjoying myself, and since everyone was doing it, I decided to try something new. At first, it was great. I felt relaxed and warm. Everything seemed magical. But then I took one pill too many. All of the nice feelings I had started getting nicer and nicer until they became too nice. At some point, I felt like my emotions would burst out of my chest. Luckily, it didn’t last long, and with the help of my friends, I managed to get through it.

      The problem came in the morning.

I lost the ability to suppress my emotions.

     The carefully built dam inside my heart cracked. And as it leaked, I was forced for the first time in my life to face my suffering. It was too intense to ignore or run away. I was experiencing 10 out of 10 emotional pain without a break. A few days later, I became sick. But this time

instead of trying to avoid

     or fix my pain

I chose to stay

and get curious.

      As I was lying in bed, I patiently looked into my experience. I wanted to understand my pain. I watched a cascade of thoughts and emotions pouring through my mind.

One after another.

Then pause.

Then again.

      There was, however, one thought that kept coming back. One that has been coming back since I was a child, no matter how hard I tried to push it down. I guess it’s time.

I gave up

and called a trans-specialized therapist.

end of introduction

path to Tergar 

What followed were months and years of therapy,  going from one doctor to another and slowly coming to terms with who I was.  I knew I needed to find some ground for all the changes to come. After all, I was preparing to lose my name, status, relationships, body, and so much more.

This “I” that I built my life around was a lie, and I was about to tear it apart and finally
discover who I was underneath the masks. And meditation was one of the grounds I chose to
root into.

I was always curious about spirituality and tried a variety of things, but I needed
something deeper and more stable. Inspired by my Vietnamese heritage, I started reading
books by Thích Nhất Hạnh and very slowly eased into Buddhist meditation.

At first, I actually committed to only a single breath a day.

 Interestingly, now being in Tergar, even though I was learning to focus on an object, be it breath or walking, my mind’s always been more inclined towards open awareness. I remember one session sitting on my then-partner’s bed, looking at a candle flame, and thinking to myself
— why focus on anything?

Isn’t it enough that I am not lost?

Then just resting,

not distracted,

not focusing.

Then, in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, I found my way into Tibetan Buddhism and
Tergar.

     It was the summer of 2021, during one of the off-lockdown seasons, and Mingyur Rinpoche was teaching about compassion in modern life through YouTube. I just came out of retreat and was visiting my cousin for his son’s birthday party. It was busy there, the air filled with laughter, the smell of beer and smoke.

     I found myself a cozy corner on a lounger near the car entrance on the side of the house.

Close enough to smell the BBQ but far enough to have some space.

I comfortably sat down and popped my earpods in.

     I didn’t know what to expect, but in the first few moments of the teaching, I was hooked. Rinpoche’s blend of wit and humor captured me. There was a sense of ease and light-heartedness that I never experienced before, qualities I lacked. I loved every minute of the teaching. It was very well-structured, accessible, and surprisingly fun. I followed down the rabbit hole and enrolled in the new transmission.

     Once I was in Tergar, things flowed organically. I went through Joy of Living levels 1, 2, and 3; after that, the Meditation Teacher Program, Path of Liberation, and now the Tergar Institute.

With each step on the path, I gained more balance.

[Balance]

 isn’t a static state.

It’s a dance.

A series of subtle movements

to meet the shifts

in the around.

     Like when your

and another’s

paths cross,

you almost crash,

smile back and enjoy the little dance.

Then you move on.

      Tergar gave me a deep sense of hopefulness and direction. One that I couldn’t have imagined ten years ago as I was beginning my transition. What I received from Tergar is like a

thread

     keeping me company.

     “I got you.”

     Like I am no longer alone,

           a warm hand on my back.

 “Let’s meet this together, shall we?”

“Hello self-hatred.”

“Oh, hi transphobia!”

“Welcome.”

     Sometimes not, but hey,

it’s a practice.

     Tergar gave me the ground I was seeking. One that now holds more than just me, allows me to invite others into my practice.

 Like when I cook for a friend whose family is being bombed,

bring Vietnamese medicine from my mom to a friend struggling with chronic stress,

take a teenage flatmate to a concert to ease her anxiety about a homeless person who

decided that our flat

is now theirs.

     But also when I lose myself in another think hole after being misgendered,

spend three hours on YouTube “purging” after a sweet but demanding social gathering,

and instead of beating myself down, I say

“Let’s try again.”

     My dharma lies at the intersection of transness, mixed ethnic heritage, and disability.

My practice is the bridge between activism, community care, and art.

    I’d never have walked this far on the path without the intersection of my identities.

And I wouldn’t have survived without my practice.

     I owe Tergar my life, literally and figuratively. I am deeply grateful for the support and guidance. And I hope I can return at least some of the kindness back and pay the rest forward.

end of path to Tergar