It’s 2005, and I finally gather enough courage to step into a local Tibetan Buddhist meditation center for the first time. After four years of reading Buddhist books and attempting to practice meditation to make my extreme social anxiety go away, entering into an unfamiliar environment feels courageous. 

Following a warm welcome and initial meditation instruction, I walk into a beautiful meditation hall. Chanting begins, and I’m immediately uncomfortable with the bowing and supplications seemingly directed at large photos on a shrine of men I’ve never met. After speaking with fellow practitioners over several years as both a friend and meditation instructor, I realize my initial unease with the teacher’s role in Buddhism was not unique. 

Guidance on the Path to Freedom

Early on, one of the most inspiring aspects of Shakyamuni Buddha’s life for me was his personal aspiration to be free of suffering, an aspiration born of his own agency and commitment to “figure things out.” This completely human story and experience ultimately lead to the realization that each of us is inherently pure and fundamentally awake. If everything we need is already present, do we really need a teacher? What about the bowing and imposing photos?

It’s a complicated question to answer. When reflecting upon my own path, I would say, “Maybe not, but most certainly, yes.” However, what is often problematic is knowing what type of relationship one should have with a teacher to best progress along the path. 

Despite my initial reactions in the meditation center, I ultimately stayed and practiced diligently for 13 years. Throughout that time, I often found myself mimicking fellow students’ relationships with my teacher. Rather than feeling appreciation for the teachings and working to realize the teacher’s instructions, the devotion I saw being played out by others became a distraction on the path. It led to going through the motions, feeling disingenuous in my practice, and forcing something that wasn’t there — utterly antithetical to teachings based on authentic inquiry.

In this month’s teaching from Mingyur Rinpoche, he kindly lays out three traditional ways of looking for a teacher. This is not only helpful on a practical level but also helps avoid the pitfalls I faced early on.

Bee, Flowers, and Nectar Style

Especially as we start out on our path, we should enjoy taking the time to “buzz around” and explore the many beautiful teachings (the nectar) offered by so many wonderful Buddhist teachers (the flowers). Is the experience good? Is it helpful? How do the teachings land in our applied experience? Ultimately, are we finding the teachings nourishing? If so, learn these good teachings well, meditate, and apply them in everyday life to help yourself and others.

Shepherd Style

For some, and perhaps after we’ve “flown around” a bit, we may seek more guidance. Where do we begin? Not that you would want to rely completely on researching quality teachers via search engines, but it’s a good place to start. I also recommend getting to know a teacher’s students and hearing about their experiences and perspectives. Rinpoche has also wisely suggested several guidelines for evaluating a good “shepherd” for our path.

Spontaneous Style

Finally, there can be a moment, often after one has practiced well and has a good understanding of foundational Buddhist teachings, when you receive a nature of mind teaching that strikes you like a lightning bolt — jolting you into experiencing your true nature. However brief this recognition may be, with appreciation and longing to connect more, you continue receiving teachings from this particular teacher.

Reflecting Our Buddha Nature

What Rinpoche so expertly points out is that relating to a teacher comes in many different forms and can change over time. No matter the style, Buddhism emphasizes each individual’s unique path and encourages the development of one’s own wisdom through authentic lived experiences. We can trust our ability to know what’s helpful and what’s not.

Eventually, particular causes and conditions arose in my previous Buddhist community that provided enough space for me to pause and contemplate whether continuing to learn with my teacher at the time was still of benefit. 

Now, almost 20 years after my first experience in a shrine room, I have a home shrine of my own with photos of two amazing teachers upon it. However, this time, these teachers I know well. Every day, when I sit down to practice their instructions, I often imagine myself radiating a warm, glowing light of appreciation shining upon their images. They are both mirrors, reflecting the same buddha nature, indivisible.

October 2024