Our Dharma Inheritance

Intergenerational trauma taught Judy Yushin Nakatomi to suppress her true self. Now, she uses intergenerational wisdom to heal.

Judy Yushin Nakatomi

6 September 2024

Tule Lake Segregation Center, Newell, California. A kindergarten class at the Tule Lake Center on the playground. Photo: courtesy of the National Archives and Records Administration

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My early memories of my mother are of her acting as perpetual hostess: When unexpected guests came to our home, trays of green tea and delectable homemade treats magically appeared. Growing up as a Sansei, third generation Japanese American, I witnessed my mother care for our family and friends with an effortless smile. When I talk about her with my therapist, the two words I use most often are “stoic” and “sacrifice.” As a young girl, I knew something about this made me uncomfortable, but I didn’t have the words. Now, I realize that the root of my discomfort was seeing her in a form of submission, erasing her full self for the benefit of the family and collective. 

As a sensitive and introverted child, when there were arguments and raised voices in our home, I would cry, but tears weren’t tolerated. I learned gaman, to endure whatever is happening. Early conditioning led to a form of internalized oppression. I accepted that because I was an Asian girl, my needs weren’t seen, heard, or investigated. I learned to keep feelings closed and locked.

My parents were two of the 120,000+ people of Japanese descent who were incarcerated in American concentration camps during WWII. This overwhelming experience taught them it could be dangerous to show a full range of emotions, and to survive and cope they could not speak openly or honestly to the dominant culture. Seeing them model how not to rock-the-boat, I inherited ways to mute and bury my own feelings. Most of my parents’ generation didn’t have a chance to tend to the trauma of incarceration: how to cope with the deep wound and loss of constitutional rights, livelihood, and property. The fear of anti-Japanese violence and racism, the sorrow of family separation, and the anger of being scapegoated without due process were deep, neglected wounds. Some of us still carry the legacy of imprisonment in our bodies, a kind of untended trauma. 

I have also inherited the dharma and a legacy to preserve. I am a descendant of the three treasures: the buddha, dharma, and sangha. What will I to do with my inheritance and legacy, which my ancestors kept intact for centuries in Japan and for over 125 years in the United States? What will become of my inheritance of the dharma if I don’t act and live in a way where my health and vitality matter? How will I cherish this precious moment, life, and connection to all beings? 

 One day, toward the end of a phone call with a dear friend, I felt compelled to say, “Remember, your health and vitality matter.” I teared up as I spoke. I imagined we were together and placed my hands on my heart. I realized I needed those words, too. It was unlike me, radical even, to turn that sentiment toward my own physical, emotional, and spiritual health. It turns out the words were a dose of medicine I needed. 

The first precept, to abstain from killing, is really about cultivating reverence for life. It means to have reverence for our health and vitality. 

Self-care is about tending to and remembering the sangha also resides inside of us. The phone call nudged me to remember that I am a part of the mahasangha, the collective community. I often recite a mantra from childhood: “I am a link in Amida’s golden chain of love that stretches around the world.” We keep our link bright and strong by taking good care of ourselves.

It is not selfish to take care of our health and well-being. Early causes, conditions, and conditioning laid a foundation for me to override and erase my feelings growing up. Talking about mental health struggles are stigmatized, and even seem to elicit shame, disgrace, or dishonor in some AANHPI and non-AANHPI communities. At this stage in life, I want to shake up old notions and stigmas. We don’t have time to keep mental health locked away. The world needs us to be present, clear, open, strong, and wholehearted.

To remember my ancestors survived and maintained our Jodo Shinshu tradition while imprisoned at Tule Lake and Gila River concentration camps fills me with buoyancy and confidence. I have a butsudan, a handmade Buddhist altar from one of the camps. Made from scrap wood and painted with shoe polish, it adorns a place of honor in our home. The three treasures stayed intact because many families were stewards of tradition and ritual. We never lost or abandoned our inheritance.

Judy Yushin Nakatomi’s butsudan (Buddhist altar) was handmade at one of the internment camps where Japanese Americans were imprisoned during World War II. Photo courtesy of the author.

With the guidance of my somatic therapist, I am now in touch with more of my roots, reclaiming my heritage—the fuller origins of our interconnected story. With understanding, patience, and care, I make my way back to expressing more of my true self and original nature. 

To practice in stillness, to allow silence to be a friend, and to settle in the energy of mindfulness are boundless gifts. Meditation and trauma-informed practice help to keep me stable and resourced. I bow and greet the gift of the three treasures every morning.

I’m learning to keep in closer touch with my hara, my energetic force, the center that allows me to be present with sincerity and honesty. 

There’s much work to do in our world. I have a responsibility to stay fresh, vital in heart mind spirit. My health and vitality matters.

I offer gratitude and devotion to blood, land, and spirit ancestors who kept the practice and traditions alive, for the innumerable conditions to heal, for the ability to preserve and keep the three treasures verdant for descendants and generations to come, for the benefit of all beings.

intentionally vulnerable 2.0

The rain falls everywhere,

coming down on all four sides.

Its flow and saturation are measureless,

reaching to every area of the earth,

to the ravines and valleys of the mountains and streams,

to the remote and secluded places where grow

plants, bushes, medicinal herbs,

trees large and small,

a hundred grains, rice seedlings,

sugar cane, grape vines.

The rain moistens them all,

none fails to receive its full share.

—Lotus Sutra*

a sutra is a Buddhist text, it's touching to be reminded poetically that the rain falls everywhere... even to remote and secluded places, that even those at the margins receive a sense of fullness is such a poignant example of equanimity, of inclusivity, non-discrimination.   intentionally vulnerable continues through the words and wisdom of Ocean Vuong. 

dear friends, 

i've been longing to write about my deep respect and affinity toward Ocean Vuong, while uncertain of the "right" way, time, entry point to do so.  jumping in here, entering with all my heart, the location that guides me. a devotee of his craft without formal credentials or literary training, here is why my heart sings when i hear Ocean Vuong's words, read his poetry or listen to the way his voice shares boldly with open heart and hand. the energy of the ancestors awakens, shakes us unearthing/revealing a part that longs and loves to write, to sing, to emote. 

Ocean Vuong's presence in the field of art and literature lets the ancestors know, we are no longer in the background, backroom, backseat, backdoor in service of prioritizing others. we are in service that includes our wholeness, belonging where we belong, here and now.

 an invitation to explore the gifts of Ocean Vuong.

   The Dharma Rain of Ocean Vuong

On her deathbed, she said, “In my next life, I want to be a professor, like you.” It was the hardest thing to hear. She was literally hours away from dying. I think when you go through that and you realize so many of your folks wanted to do this, so many immigrants, the refugees that are displaced now in Ukraine, so many of them want to be writers and artists, but they’re gonna have to forego that. They’re gonna have to surrender that. And their children, if they’re lucky, might be able to do it. This very cyclical ecology of the writer’s life comes with so much sacrifice. And I just thought, I don’t care. I have to do everything here, ’cause who cares if it matters to anybody else, it has to mean something to me.  

                                                                                                         Ocean Vuong, The New Yorker April 10, 2022

             

             

 this quote means so much, to feel the words of deep understanding, recognition and love, allowing the feeling to wash over, reconstitute me, a feeling of someone who recognizes an experience, our experience of doing everything across generations  for others and this one thing, writing, the way it's expressed carries so much meaning.  "I have to do everything here, ’cause who cares if it matters to anybody else, it has to mean something to me."this quote encapsulates why i write and share~part meditation, part spaciousness for reflection, part dedication to the ancestors. a way to listen to earth's lessons  in/sigh'd of me, pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, to help see more, be more present, to see each other, to help so we don't feel so alone. 

writing is a solitary endeavor where we decide to take a leap to share what shapes us with another being.  and when the words reach some or many, may they help reduce, shift, relieve, soothe some suffering, some struggle. we can be in this together, we don't have to feel alone. 

a part of being is to live a dream my parents and ancestors didn't have access to. what were some of their gifts? i know they wanted to do more, express more as Isei and Nisei first and second generation immigrants, they were making a new life under harsh, sometimes hostile conditions. i have a way to express us.  i am because of them. i want them to know through my actions and expression, through words and images~this life is because of them. 

a few years ago i was gratefully introduced to Ocean Vuong's writing through his books, Night Sky with Exit Wounds, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous and more recently, Time is a Mother.

images and a felt sense of water, rain, moisture, were ever present after reading and listening . could it be because he's in an Asian body, a heritage Buddhist practitioner like me?  maybe. nevertheless, rain is an apt metaphor for the way my senses awaken.  dharma is known as truth or ultimate reality.  dharma rain permeates the skin and parched earth, hydrates dry land, nourishes life. like a gentle mist showering bare skin or a late spring cloudburst clamoring on the rooftop overflowing rain gutters, Ocean Vuong's writing is like both gentle mist and  cloudburst calling us to wake up, wake up, wake up! his poems and novels impel us to dispel, transform notions and limited perceptions.  after the rain, there's often a pause, a shift of our internal weather too, a stillness when a simple breath, an  i n h a l e,  e x p a n d s  chest and lungs to a new e x h a l e   and a  s p a c i o u s , clear, wider view. 

poetry is an art form that is helping me to stay grounded with all that is going on locally and globally- dozens of wars, conflict, polarization. poets like Basho, Issa, Thich Nhat Hanh continued to write and create through difficult historic times. they were creating, processing, recovering while living and working through great loss sometimes in solitude, sometimes in community.  i imagine poetry helped them to stay stable and upright enough to continue to create and share their great works. 

in a time and space where we are both captivated and held captive by mass media, i have felt swathed and soothed by poetry. this form offers a kind of breathing room to pause in the middle of things, from the wars, catastrophic intentional starvation, genocide, species extinction, the undeniable impact of our footprints on our shared home planet. i need a poetry pause regularly. 

as intentionally vulnerable continues on this interdependence day, i'd be remiss not to say that Ocean Vuong is much of the light that inspired this theme to awaken.  Ocean Vuong points unapologetically that vulnerability is a human condition, ever present,   normal, misguidedly seen as weakness. and as a culture we shame the vulnerable. Ocean Vuong invites us to stand up at the table and collaborate with our vulnerability as a strength for an artist and human being. being vulnerable is how we interconnect with each other as compassionate companions. yes, "vulnerability is power." the more we  express it, the more we can be accepting, forgiving, welcoming of each other as writers, artists, human beings. 

paying homage to the dharma rain of Ocean Vuong. may he continue to create and teach for a long time, may we continue to create,  serve in a good way to alleviate some suffering in another being. 

a vow to wake up with openness for the benefit of all, to realize liberation excluding nobody, and to look with the eyes of impermanence as we are endlessly connected. 

Beings are numberless, i vow to free them

Delusions are inexhaustible, i vow to transform them

Reality is boundless, i vow to perceive it

The awakened way is unsurpassable, i vow to embody it. 

~Upaya Zen Center

Ocean Vuong 

Poetry readings: 

 a poetry reading of the fall of Saigon read by Ocean Vuong: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZiVvQvvIPY4

8:46-13:40

 another poem, his raison d'etre for being a poet or ikigai in Japanese, the inner purpose of life: Threshold

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZiVvQvvIPY4

5:00-8:40

An acceptance speech:

 "you don't have anything to prove. we are already so proud of you."

watch and listen: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zPQiuL26jgg

*dharma, in one sense is the truth of nonduality- that we don't exist as a single entity, separate from the cosmos. in another sense it points to a teaching of ultimate reality. dharma rain opens the pores for liberation and true freedom to be possible.

intentionally vulnerable

all paintings by Mayumi Oda 💛

When American scientists split the atom, something terrible happened to us as humans, We violated the integrity of nature and invaded God’s domain. When an atomic bomb drops, it wipes out everything that anyone can care about. It destroys, men, women, children, and animals. It poisons soil, sky, rivers, and oceans for generations. It demolished buildings, homes, and even entire cities, and tears at the flesh of our hearts, minds and souls. The violence has affected and infected us ever since the Manhattan Project during World War II unleashed these gods of war and their deadly by-products, such as plutonium. Gaining the power of the gods, we left a lethal legacy to our children and descendants.*                                                             ~Mayumi Oda

 The buzz around the film, Oppenheimer leaves a bitter, ill-at-ease feeling in my mouth and stomach. A celebration of a film lauded as a “brilliant, impressive achievement” feels disingenuous, incomplete. 

I experience painful, bitter memories when I see or hear the names Manhattan Project, Little Boy, or Enola Gay. 

It’s strange to laud the creation and creator of the atomic bomb. I was educated in public school and conditioned to disassociate the connection between the development of the atomic bomb and the destruction of People, Land, literal disappearance of Animals, Plants, Minerals. Sometimes only their shadows remained burned into the earth. Two hundred thousand people were annihilated from two bombs. Simultaneously, my grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles were considered enemies of the state and incarcerated, living on desolate land behind barbed wire, soldiers pointing their weapons at them from guard towers, toward my people. 

pilgrimage to Hiroshima 2015

Hiroshima Peace Memorial 

Mayumi Oda

The opening words by Mayumi Oda resound in a place deep in my heart. I know we are related through spirit and land;  “When American scientists split the atom something terrible happened to us as humans, …the violence has affected and infected us.” Something terrible did happen. 

Mayumi Oda (b. 1941) is an artist activist, born in Japan. She experienced the aftermath of the atomic bomb and became an activist engaged in social action for nuclear nonproliferation through painting and Buddhist practice.

We are still living with a desire for power over, of retaliation, retribution, domination. Mayumi Oda's art depicts fierce compassion and a desire to nurture, preserve life and our planet for future generations. She declares that patriarchal power “requires secrecy and control of information.”Oda’s power through art is a living meditation of freedom, space, vitality, openness, protection, blessing, abundance, and  reciprocity.  https://mayumioda.net/

 We continue not only to develop and sell weapons of mass destruction and live with the toxicity for many generations for our plant, animal and human descendants. The disaster at Fukushima Daichi nuclear plant in 2011 released radiative toxins in the water, air, ocean, earth impacting sentient beings, seen and unseen, born and yet to be born. We are not separate. 

 We think we are separate. We are not separate from the innocent killed in Gaza, hostages held, hospitals targeted and destroyed, intentional starvation of sentient beings, death and displacement of people in Ukraine, Myanmar, Democratic Republic of Congo and much more suffering.  

As a child when I learned about the atomic bombs dropped and detonated I was ill-equipped to understand the full weight of destruction.  I felt it in my body, in the stomach aches of my young self, the pain of being called an enemy.  When teachers and adults glossed over the atomic bomb with names like “little boy” and “fat man” they parroted the line,“it ended the war” without a pause or discussion of the hundreds of thousands of deaths, cancer, congenital disorders. I felt the tension in my body

 Today there are advances in neuroscience, genetics and psychology to name and begin to understand trauma across generations. Untended trauma made it feel almost impossible to talk about incarceration in school, at home, with classmates.  I remember being crystal clear as a young kid; my people were locked up in concentration camps.

I recognize that the conditions of war reverberate somatically in my how my family relates to being descendants of those incarcerated during WWII (Tule Lake and Gila River) while having ancestors and living relatives in Hiroshima and near Nagasaki.   As a child I didn’t have a place for the confusion, disbelief that people destroy other people, that so-called leaders allow and order annihilation. This is partly why untended grief, sadness, rage shows up now.  

How will children and young ones today process their confusion and disbelief? 

The buzz around the film, Oppenheimer irritates me and wakes up something that's been asleep. I've been asleep as part of a culture unskilled  to talk about hard things without causing more harm.  Through writing and direct action, I am choosing not to ignore, deny, push away, bypass the hard truths. We are really adept at glossing over traumatic experiences, dusting ourselves off, negating, whitewashing terror. I want to get better at recovering, healing and thriving. I want to continue to learn and grow to be more skillful to help children, young and old hearts struggling to process.

We rarely linger long enough, become solid enough, still enough to metabolize grief, loss, to fully recover and heal. I believe we miss an opportunity to wake up when something terrible is happening. We can learn ways to be more skillful with awareness of what's happening inside and all around us. I continue to share ways that mindfulness has helped to settle in stillness, to metabolize feelings and strong emotions through resiliency tools and toys to process and rejuvenate. 

When something terrible happens, I believe something happens to our cells where spirit resides.  Our ancestors knew how to process loss, death, grief through rituals, drumming, prayer, chanting, fire ceremony, and incense offerings.  Mother Earth knows how to process and rejuvenate. 

I’m here to reclaim my culture and to encourage us to reclaim our cultures that have been dormant, not lost. 

I feel a well of deep medicine by retracing and bringing back my indigenous traditions as a part of recovering and healing.

From there I have the capacity to look more deeply, take responsibility to learn more truths of my heritage, ancestors, that have been hidden, denied, forgotten. I can see we were oppressors. I can see we are victims and persecutors in the long lineage of time. I am unlearning the ways I have been conditioned to bypass war, colonization, imperialism. 

Dogen, by Kazuaki Tanahashi

When Eihei Dogen, poet, philosopher monk was asked what he brought back after three years of deep spiritual training bringing Zen from China to Japan, he responded, a tender heart.*

 I embrace the practice of honing my heart to be more attuned, more tender to the world. I haven’t yet had three years to go into deep spiritual training. I do have this life, perhaps many lifetimes to cultivate a tender heart. 

Plum Village, France

In a world that sometimes feels hostile to tenderness, I’ll continue to ponder, contemplate, write what I’m seeing, feeling, unearthing, as a tender earthling.  Thich Nhat Hanh says, every feeling is a child, what a beautiful phrase to see the child in our feelings, to remember to tend to our feelings. To tend in such a way to begin healing. 

 I'm taking care and working through the strong feelings.  Surprisingly, a film helped me to recover a sense of solidity and solidarity with humanity and reminded me of our intricate web of interconnection.  intentionally vulnerable will continue, until then, please take good care of your tender heart. 

*One Hand Clapping Zen Stories For All Ages, introduction

* Sarasvati's Gift Autobiography of Mayumi Oda, Artist Activist and Modern Buddhist Revolutionary

A song and vibration for you~Jeremy Dutcher - Skicinuwihkuk (Filmed at Union Sound Company Tkaronto)

it's a rainy morning and this song has touched a place inside, Jeremy Dutcher, if you haven't heard of him, prepare to smile, cry or simply enjoy.  

grief has many faces

hand etched Tibetan prayers
Solukhumbu, Nepal 

Buddhist sutras etched on stone, impacted by the earthquake in Nepal,  2015

 

all that is dear to me and everyone i love are of the nature to change. 

there is no way to escape being separated from them. 

    ~Subjects for Contemplation, Upajjhatthana Sutta, one of the the five remembrances

Shinto Shrine, Miyajima Island, Japan

 a friend gifted me a jizo statue. a trio of us, BIPOC* women, meet with our commitment to work with resiliency tools and toys to metabolize trauma related to race.

Jizo on the windowsill

 jizo aka kshitigarbha, is a garden bodhisattva/awakened being of children and travelers, she protects unborn babies and children who have died before their parents, protecting them as guardians of their parents. jizo arrived after roe v. wade was overturned in 2022. we were shaken. we were angry. this unprecedented, historic event shook open old fields of grief. we shared and processed our emotions of loss and trauma. we shared together through practices of somatic abolitionism* developed and honed over nearly three years of practice and study regularly together. these are specific energy resources in all our bodies developed by Resmaa Menakem.  

it's taken a long time to fully embrace the healing facets of jizo, to recognize grief has many faces, many moon cycles to process and feel the power of letting grief surface, ebb and flow like the tide. 

here is a piece to honor and grieve my little ones, potential little beings i still hold dear and love, to respect the healing origin of jizo in Japan, homeland to respected ancestors and teachers. 

this is also a time to warn i'll be sharing about loss including abortion and miscarriage. 

 

Ancestral rituals to heal kokoro~heart mind essence

photo image of Lotusland botanic garden, California

i hold this beautiful black, heavily weighted iron jizo in my hand to honor and name those not meant to be that were once a part of me, their energy never fully mourned. 

 

privately, many decades ago, i experienced an abortion. a few years ago i was ready to confide to a circle of close friends a secret i held tightly for decades.  it turned out it was not the right time or circle. i thought there was an opening to show up more honestly and was met with silence. it felt like a sign to find another way to share and admit a deep loss where i could trust and be witnessed to tell my story. surprisingly, little awakenings has become one such place. 

privately, many decades ago i also experienced a miscarriage. i was 18 weeks pregnant with much anticipation welling up inside as my body&mind seemed to change and grow each day. my partner and i were to have our first baby. i hadn't given this monumental loss the space it deserved to fully grieve.  the process of finding out i was no longer pregnant in a routine exam by my capable ob/gyn was shocking. part of what added to the abrupt loss was a felt sense of detachment from the doctor. my physical needs were met with good medical care and luckily ample health insurance.  very few seemed to want to talk about "what to expect" when you've experienced a miscarriage, even the word miscarriage still holds a kind of cool, nebulous distance.  today, i mourn and mark two moments that deserve pause, spaciousness and stillness to honor and grieve, to accept the causes and conditions of significant life-changing loss. 

Buddhapada, iconic footprint of the Buddha, Obama, Nagasaki, Japan

jizo has been a balm for me, looking at her, holding her, knowing that countless people grieve, i am not separate from the those who have experienced heavy loss. some continue to call in jizo, adorn her with handmade hats and clothes. temples in Japan are often lined with jizo statues along pathways and on altars. 

Jizo's align the pathway, Japan

collectively, this spring, some friends held a grief circle to remember and cherish transitions.  a small group of us who met ten years ago through end-of-life training, we gathered in our home where we stood under stars and night sky. we convened around a fire ceremony grieving transitions and passings of loved ones. we released relationships shifting and changing, mourned the loss of Black and Brown lives to police violence and anti-Black, anti-Indigenous, anti-Asian, anti-Immigrant, anti-LGBTQIA+ violence while acknowledging our Earth in her transition of laboring with the climate crisis. we offered images, names, personal memories into the fire. 

all that is dear to us and everyone we love are of the nature to change. there is no way to escape being separated from them. 

we took care of the many faces of grief through ceremony. 

please pause and perhaps listen-Quietude R. Carlos Nakai

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GKZEBv2K93o

collectively, our community gathers each summer to dance in a circle,  Bon Dori, a Buddhist Japanese ritual folk dance to remember those who have transitioned and become ancestors. this year i'll dance with the energy of jizo at Bon Dori. traditional taiko drums and shakuhachi, bamboo flutes will help guide our ancestors back home. we will be surrounded by family, ancestors, and descendants.  

Bon Odori

Bon Odori Senshin Temple, Los Angeles

 remembering all who have passed and transitioned 

inviting us to take good care of ourselves and each other. grief might be ebbing and flowing to those known or not known yet. hoping you have rituals to help heal, recover, and replenish kokoro and community to hold you tenderly. 

morning flower offering, Nepal

*BIPOC-Black Indigenous People of Color, people of the global majority

*Somatic Abolitionism, "an individual and communal effort to free our bodies-and our country-from their long enslavement to white body supremacy and racialized trauma." ://www.resmaa.com/movement