June 2012
We walked into the main Gompa at the temple like babies, waddling as we took our first steps. The only vestiges of our old life were patches of hair on our heads, soon to be shaved off in the ordination ritual. Our pristine new robes, bright saffron-gold and maroon, seemed to radiate with an energy of their own. Gold for wisdom and maroon for compassion and moral discipline—even the way the robes were worn carried significance. Every detail meant something. The robes were sewn while mantras (Buddhist prayers) were recited. The Chögu: the golden outer robe, made of cotton and worn by monks and nuns, especially during teachings. Nangshak: the inner robe, usually a simple maroon/gold garment worn underneath the Chögu. Sangati: a second maroon outer robe that can be used for warmth or as a blanket during meditation. A saffron/gold belt: a cord or sash used to secure the robes and symbolizing moral discipline. Every robe, from the plain shemdap to the ritual chogyu, has its meaning and functions, which are deeply rooted in Tibetan culture and spiritual life.[1]
I simplified my life when I became a Buddhist nun. I paid off all my bills, sold my townhouse, and gave away all my possessions. I prepared for the change for over a year and lived a life of moral discipline even before taking my formal vows. My friend Sandra took me into her house so I could simplify my life. I still had to work because nuns don’t get paid. Only the resident teachers at the various centers in the USA receive a small stipend of $300 a month; from that, they must pay for their own health insurance, food, and personal items. I was not a resident teacher; I was the center’s administrator, and there was no budget for me. We were a poor center, without support from the main temple yet. Donations covered our expenses for classes and special events.
My new name was Kelsang Deshe, with the last name first: Kelsang and Deshe meaning “Gone to Bliss.” I had to travel to England for my ordination, specifically to Ulverston in the Lake District. It is a beautiful area on the outskirts of Manchester, near the ocean and partly rural. Our main temple was Manjushri [2] (https://manjushri.org/), which stood next to the beautifully restored Priory. The complex includes a World Peace Café, a secondary Gompa “prayer room,” and living quarters. The grounds also include an Art Studio where statues are made and filled. Tharpa Books are produced and distributed internationally. Their headquarters are here as well.
It was our summer festival time. The ordination was to take place before the festival began, so I arrived a week early. These festivals draw thousands of Kadampas from around the world. My sleeping quarters were the outdoor marquee tents. I remember how surprised I was by the weather in England; it was cold, and I was not prepared. Fortunately, one of the older nuns took me under her wing and led me to the giveaway room, where I secured an overcoat to keep warm. I remember her telling me stories about the haunted hallways deep under the priory as she led me through. The place was pitch black, and just as we arrived, a door swung open, and all I could see were teeth! She laughed.
I had to sleep in my overcoat and hat; it was so cold. I made the mistake of choosing the cot closest to the marquee opening, and the heater there did not work. One night, while walking the distance to the bathrooms, a rat decided to trample across my feet. No excuse me! The rats ran free, and the couple of cats kept at the temple had bells around their collars, so the rats felt emboldened.
A good friend of mine was being ordained as well, and I remember him telling me he was starting to have panic attacks. He was in his mid-20s, and this was a big commitment to lifelong celibacy. I was nervous because I have a temper, and I was worried about whether I could keep up the nice-person act. If I see something being done that isn’t right, or people being lazy, I can’t help myself. At least I couldn’t at the time. I have grown considerably since then.
March 2014
We boarded a bus and headed to Washington, D.C., to protest the Dalai Lama’s discrimination against Dorje Shugden practitioners. This was all new to me. As a nun, I went to support my community and, in the streets, held a sign reading “Stop The Lies.” I had mixed feelings because I had the utmost respect for the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan community. It seemed surreal that any discrimination was occurring and that people were being denied basic health care and threatened in their own homes simply because of their religious beliefs. From then on, the seed of my disappointment began to grow. Even among Buddhists, there are religious hypocrites.
By 2018, I had had enough and decided to do the unthinkable and “disrobe.” At least I could live honestly, without wearing the robes while questioning so much. I glean the precious parts of each religion, the parts that resonate with me—love, compassion, wisdom, moral discipline, and, most of all, kindness. Hate or discrimination of any kind is not Buddhist; it is not Christian, and it is not Muslim.
GrowingOlderHopeWiser 
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