I found a tiny burr on my dress, the dress I wore for the Colorado mountain wedding in September. I pinched it off and casually threw it in the waste basket. I have thought about the burr a lot. I wish I had put it in the woods. It traveled so far. It did its job. It had a chance to do what it was created to do and I disrupted it. That burr stuck firmly, like an idea. It could have grown.

It made me think of an idea planted during a conversation with a wise friend, Todd. We were talking about the word “déjà vu.” Déjà vu is a French word that describes a very specific feeling. There isn’t a replacement; he pointed out. What if we decided we didn’t believe in French and refused to use the word? We laughed at the absurdity. Closed-minded and stubborn, we would lose the ability to talk about a common human experience. As a culture, we use this French word as our own. It enriches our ability to communicate our experiences. Being open-minded and curious enhances our lives. How many ideas and experiences do we stubbornly reject because of our established belief system? How do we know what we believe if we haven’t explored and confirmed what we don’t believe? I don’t believe in French? That’s silly.

I went to Sunday School in many protestant churches as my dad’s career kept us moving. “Why aren’t we Jewish if Jesus was a Jew?” I asked a speechless Sunday school teacher when I was very young. As a freshman in college, I enrolled in an upper level World Religion class. It met on Thursday evenings in a library. I loved and feared it. The material was way over my head, but I felt like I belonged there anyway, so I furiously sounded out and scribbled words like Daoism, Hinduism and Buddhism. I would circle back to these lessons decades later, but in 1981 the class simply destroyed my GPA.

I spent a decade as part of a Jewish family. I learned about the religion, and more importantly, I saw them forgive the atrocities fellow humans are capable of committing– an unforgettable example of love. Years later, I bowed to my former mother-in-law and had my children baptized in the Catholic church, where I cherished the ritual, incense, music, chanting and tradition of the Latin Mass. Once, I felt God as I listened to the Morman Tabernacle organ in Salt Lake City. I often see God in Nature.

In graduate school, I was wholly immersed in Daoism. Daoism is Nature-based, with room for a higher power, so it fits nicely with my belief system. Daoist theory explained everything and felt like home. I resisted exploring further. I was comfortable. Stagnation set in.

Time passed.

Feeling lonely and disconnected, I followed Buddhist Peter Coyote’s weekly Dharma talks on Zoom during Covid. In addition, a friend is an ordained Buddhist teacher. I have listened to Bob’s fascinating teachings for many years. He is patient, generous and kind with his knowledge and gave me a book. I had the book for a full year before I read it, but it piqued my interest when I finally did.

I sat with a dilemma. I had been curious for a long time. But “I like Daoism.” I found myself resisting. I realize now that sounds a lot like “I don’t believe in French.”

As the cold darkness of winter descends, I’ll be exploring Buddhism. The burr stuck and a seed was planted long ago.