The third generation
Some writing for Southern Dharma
Every grandchild in my family had a similar experience growing up.
At one point or another, we would wake in the basement of our grandparent’s house before the world arose around us. We’d wonder if we were alone in our consciousness, or if anyone else was “up yet.”
We’d tiptoe the carpeted stairs up to the kitchen. Our small bare feet would let out muffled slaps on the hardwood. Our mouthy breath would catch, suddenly, when we looked into the silent library and see our grandfather, Ben Bridgers, sitting on his zafu and zabuton in the center of the room.
It was a solemn thing, serious, we thought. Adults told us to be quiet when he sat like this. “Meditating” was the word. But with no one else awake—was he awake?—we couldn’t help our curiosity.
We’d attempt silence as we pitter-pattered over to look at his face. It was still. His eyes were closed. But his balding head shone up toward the ceiling, his back was straight. His torso moved back and forth lightly as his breath rocked in and out of his chest.
Inevitably, we’d shuffle over beside him. We’d sit on the bare rug, the zabuton like a throne beside us. We’d fold our legs into a neat criss-cross-applesauce position, copy his hands as they rested in his lap, and squeeze our eyes shut.
We’d bore of this quickly, as you might imagine. After less than a minute, we’d squint and turn our heads to check if he was peeking, or if he really was just sitting there.
Ben Bridgers, or “Da” as I knew him, was my first introduction to Buddhism and Zen practice. He entered the path of Buddhism in the 70s, drawn to the practice of meditation by his love of silence. His practice gave him a sense of himself that he’d never found any other way.
He had meaningful spiritual partners throughout his life. He had his “Buddha Buddies” of Jackson County, his community of meditators that together explored dharma teachings. And then he had his community found at Southern Dharma.
Throughout my childhood, I heard of the Southern Dharma Retreat Center. The retreats he attended there deepened his experiences and increasingly opened his already wide heart.
Through his connection with SDRC, his family all became connected with the place.
My grandmother attended silent retreats alongside him. At one point she tried to speak to him in the privacy of their room—he lightly hushed her with a finger to his lips. “But no one can hear!” she said aloud. He smiled, silent.
His three children all attended retreats at different points. Each of them was challenged by the experience and benefited. Though she couldn’t attend as often, my mother, Bennett Bridgers, spoke as highly of SDRC as her father did.
New Year’s Vipassana in January was my first time stepping onto the grounds of SDRC.
After hearing so much about the place, my connection to the land and the practice was heartfelt. I’d just returned from a year of living and practicing in Thailand and was eager to have a silent touchstone for my practice during this life transition back to the mountains from which I was born and raised.
You can’t anticipate what may arise and what might resolve itself during a retreat. One day that was particularly challenging for me, I remember sitting in the meditation hall near sunset. It had been a long, wet, winter day. When the bell rang, I opened my eyes to streaks of pure sky between broken open clouds. I stepped into the fresh wet sunlight and walked toward the practice community houses.
Mist across the mountains sank from the mountainsides into the valley below. Coursing like a river, slowly the swirls of silver and gold drooped into the bottomlands. All mist straggled in the sunlight shed away into blue. Everything was soft and dewy, yet clear and penetrating.
As the clear, pale, yellow winter sun sank, I averted my eyes. I focused on the golden caps of mist and the fine black lace of winter branches on the horizon.
Sitting in Southern Dharma’s land, surrounded by mountains, I felt keenly connected to my grandfather and his love for this place. I felt my mother, too. I felt their love and joy for my presence there like the shimmering light of the setting sun. Having lost them both, they affirm me still. In my spiritual practice, they are my omnipresent guides and cheerleaders. They brought me to Southern Dharma. And Southern Dharma brought me them.
Since its founding, SDRC has had a resonating influence in my family. I am so grateful to be the third generation of the Southern Dharma sangha, and I hope there will be many more to come.
This writing will also be included in Southern Dharma’s website blog and newsletter in the future. If you’d like to see what retreats they offer and learn more about SDRC, here is their website and calendar for 2023 retreats.