Jan Willis - Dreaming Me: Black, Baptist, and Buddhist — One Womans Spiritual Journey

Jan Williss new book does what seems almost impossible: It breathes new life into the old question of race and faith. A black woman brought up in the Baptist South builds new bridges, stone by stone, to an Ivy League education in the North and to the Buddhism of Tibetan refugees. In a poetic language of considerable force and grace, Willis takes the reader into unexpected landscapes both in space and in her own mind. We emerge enriched and inspired by the will to truth and the courage to believe that is the heart of Dreaming Me.

Hailed by Time magazine as one of the top innovators in religion for the new millennium, Willis delivers a gripping, intimate account of her spiritual journey that will move anyone who is compelled by the examined life. She could be the first African-American Buddhist feminist guru to be embraced by reading groups across America.

Intensely felthighly personalthe heart of her story is the account of her transforming encounter with Buddhism, which enabled her to overcome racism and practice the loving-kindness that Christianity demands. A moving story that aims to reconcile the experiences of faith and racism.

Destined for the same shelf as Anne Lamotts Traveling Mercies and Kathleen Norriss The Cloister Walk and Amazing Grace, this is a powerful memoir of a Baptist Buddhist who writes with courage, compassion, and forgiveness.

Fascinatinga powerful and moving personal memoir.

Wisdom Publications, Inc.

199 Elm Street

Somerville MA 02144 USA

www.wisdompubs.org

2008 Jan Willis

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system or technologies now known or later developed, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Willis, Janice Dean.

Dreaming me : Black, Baptist, and Buddhist: one womans spiritual journey / Jan Willis.

p. cm.

ISBN 0-86171-548-9 (pbk. : alk. paper)

1. Willis, Janice Dean. 2. African American BuddhistsUnited StatesBiography. 3. Buddhist womenUnited StatesBiography. 4. Baptist womenUnited StatesBiography. 5. Scholars, BuddhistUnited StatesBiography. 6. Spiritual biographyUnited States. I. Title.

BQ996.I44A3 2008

294.3092dc22

[B]

2008022858

12 11 10 09 08

5 4 3 2 1

Cover design by Emily Mahon. Interior design by Dede Cummings. Set in Minion, 11.5/16 pt.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

When it began, I had just walked up the long wooden steps at the back of my grandmothers house and entered the kitchen. In the darkened room, directly across from me, I saw the table and the broad back of my brother-in-law, James. My sister, San, was standing at one end of the table. She glanced at me as she reached into the cupboard and slowly brought down what appeared to be a chocolate cake. I thought she was going to feed me. I sensed that I had come here to eat; to be nourished in some way. But instead, she set the cake down in front of James, and it disappeared behind his massive back. It was not for me. I was deeply hurt; soulfully wounded. I determined to leave. I would go back to our house. This was not the only place to get food. I would eat somehow. I would not beg!

Just then, a dark and wispy shadow moved close to me. When it spoke, I heard my mothers voice whisper threateningly into my ear: You know its dangerous out there! I immediately felt panicked. My knees buckled, and my body developed a cold sweat. I sensed, too, that outside was fraught with dangers. Still, in frightened defiance, I turned and leaned out the door.

Next, I stood in a dry and very dusty place. The air that waffled and shimmered there parched my throat. The dust was hot and powdery under my feet. There were cages and wire coops all around me, some standing vacant and open. I noticed one to my right and cautiously turned to look inside it. Suddenly something fast-moving and snake-like sprang out. It leapt just in front of me, and I recoiled in terror as it came to rest with a thud on the powdery ground. I sensed eyes on me, but saw that the other cages were all empty.

I turned away and found myself slumped down just outside the railings of a large corral. My head was touching one of its aged wooden slats. Inside there was a lion. He prowled the corral alone, circling in the heat, head down, his massive paws making the hot dust fly upward. His mouth was bloody. I was frozen in fear. I could neither run nor take my eyes off the beast. He was a magnificent creature: solid, firm, massive, powerful. In spite of the dust, his coat shimmered and gleamed. As he stalked the perimeter, ravenous and near to me, it seemed that I could smell his awesomeness. In spite of my fear, I wanted to touch him.

The scene shifted and I was inside what appeared to be a barn. There were animal stalls here and hay underfoot. Another lion prowled anxiously, this time even closer. I gasped and turned my head away.

Then I was running. Running down a long dusty red-dirt road. I was running for my life. My only thought was, All the cages are open! I knew the lions were after me. I didnt know how many, but I knew they were following close behind me. I ran and ran, out of breath, panting through the hot air. I saw no one, no one to go to for help.

Finally I ran up to a town that looked like it was out of a Western movie. I scrambled up some stairs. A cowboy sat leaning against a building, his stirruped boots propped up against a railing. I screamed to him, Please! Help me! Theyre after me! But the man only rearranged his hat more securely over his eyes and leaned back again. I raced along the raised wooden walkway until I heard voices and turned through a set of swinging doors.

I found myself inside a bar. The place was packed and seemed somehow familiarlike an old New Orleans Cajun club I had once been in. I heard the raucous sounds of zydeco blaring. My fear redoubled since I felt again like an intruder, a stranger, out of place. Still, I needed to find someone who would help me. Trembling, I was buffeted along from one sweaty body to the next. Desperate to get away from the lions, I pushed farther and farther in. Somehow, I moved through two long dark rooms, until I found myself in a back room, opened to the sky, with a few tables, and people scattered about and along a long bar.