by Joseph Aguilar
Leavenworth, Kansas
They called us up by our respective faiths in pairs—Christians and Muslims, Hindus and Jews, Buddhists and Catholics. This last brought me to my feet and I stood and watched the crowd flow into a long queue for Mass and wrestled silently with myself. The “Buddhist” table required no wait—a single soldier bent over its sign-in sheet. When I tell my friends this story, I thought, stepping behind him, they’ll say I chose convenience. They’d be teasing, of course—they’d know this was far from convenient for me.
Just before leaving for college, I quietly left the church—an internal migration made without a word to my parents, who I continued to join in the pews at Mass, in song and in prayer. A series of terrible self-realizations had come earlier that year, chief among them that my relationship with my faith, myself and the world was governed by the fear—the sheer terror—of judgment.
My parents, meanwhile, were going through a bitter divorce, my grandfather was dying slowly of Alzheimer’s, and my friends suffered every kind of horror—from sexual assault to suicides, from mental illness to poverty. In short, no one seemed happy, and I felt a desperate anger at a religious world that had failed to offer meaningful hope to the ones I loved. Yet I remained convinced that a teaching did exist that addressed the roots of human suffering. This was at the forefront of my mind when I entered college, and remained there when I entered the working world as an EMT, exposing myself to a new scale of human suffering. I was 23, feeling lost as ever, when a family friend suggested I join the military, where I could get some money, muscle and training. About as good an idea as any, I thought, and enlisted as a licensed practical nurse. On Jan. 2nd, 2019, I flew out to Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. It was here, of all places, that I found what I’d been looking for.
The sergeant led me to the foyer of a church that opened, not onto the anticipated rows of bald, robed men in meditation, but the fierce, rhythmic sound of what I’d later learn was daimoku—the chanting of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. Actually, I was terrified and wanted to leave.
Opening the material laid in my seat, I chuckled despite myself at the audacious claim: “Even evil people … can attain Buddhahood,” (The Opening of the Eyes: SGI President Ikeda’s Lecture Series, p. 78). Reading on, it became clear that this faith’s fundamental belief was in the absolute equality of all people. I looked up and keyed in on the rest of the meeting. After, I stepped out in a daze, as though shaken from a long sleep.
Making these meetings became my top priority and I began to experiment with chanting. With no pressing needs of my own, I reserved my prayers for friends and family. This changed when I read this from Ikeda Sensei: “Claiming to care only about the happiness of others is hypocritical. Real ‘joy’ lies in both ourselves and others becoming happy together” (The Wisdom for Creating Happiness and Peace, part 1, revised edition, p. 228). “Hypocritical” chafed, but I took it to heart and, upon reflection, found there was one thing I wanted badly, which I’d only ever pretended to have. I began to chant for confidence.
For a month I chanted morning and evening, studied the World Tribune, attended every meeting and … felt completely unchanged. Just when I began to doubt the practice, however, something happened that opened my personal floodgates of insecurity: my cousin introduced me to her friend—a young man she said reminded her of me.
This friendship developed into something more, revealing a deeply repressed bisexual and nonbinary identity that I realized I’d desperately suppressed my entire life. Chanting, the shame and guilt I’d so long carried began to dissolve, gradually replaced with newfound strength. As I studied the SGI-USA publications, I engrained a new system of morality and ethics, one based on respect for life. Each day, I developed a greater sense of courage and freedom.
And yet, I hesitated.
Leaving the church, I’d insulted my family. Becoming Buddhist, I feared, would betray them completely.
As I struggled with this, I asked myself two questions: What do we, as Buddhists, believe? That all people are Buddhas. What do Buddhas do? Fight for the happiness of all people. I decided to dedicate my life to this endeavor to help all people attain happiness.
Sharing the practice wasn’t easy. I was still quiet by nature and frankly no one seemed to care. I started reading The New Human Revolution, described as a “textbook” for kosen-rufu. This is how I developed a bond with Sensei, who throughout the book exemplifies what it means to put the practice first and never give up.
I learned that everyone who encounters the practice is guaranteed enlightenment, even if they violently oppose it. Grasping this, I began to speak as much as I could with friends, family and even strangers about Buddhism. I threw myself into every SGI activity, even if I didn’t understand it at first. I chanted abundantly and studied vigorously. With time, friends and family gave it a try, and not a single person who did walked away with nothing. Some transformed bad work situations, some started their own businesses, and others came into thousands of dollars. Much like the parable of the medicinal herbs, benefits began raining down on me and everyone around. Even when things seemed like they were going wrong, they were going right.
For example, I was fired three times, and each time, the first thing I did was chant. In less than a week I found myself newly employed with better pay. In May of 2023, I was offered my current job as a classroom nurse, working with children with fragile health—exceptionally fulfilling work.
These days, I can confidently say that my life is nothing but benefit. After hours of daimoku, study, and activities, I can also say I don’t regret a single minute of it. I am determined to carry out my practice to the very end, together with Sensei and the SGI, for the sake of world peace and happiness. As the Daishonin declares: “Let the gods forsake me. Let all persecutions assail me. Still I will give my life for the sake of the law. This is my vow, and I will never forsake it” (“The Opening of the Eyes,” The Writings of Nichiren Daishonin, vol. 1, p. 280).
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