If Ignorance Is Bliss, Then Bliss is Preconception

To quote my Drill Sergeant, “To assume anything is to assume you are wrong.” Preconceptions are nothing more than an assumption of reality. We form ideas about what we have never experienced through a myriad of good and bad representations. We assume we have an understanding of cultures, religions, politics, and ideas that we have never looked into or had first-hand experience with. Preconceptions act as a framework for our unknown but are rarely in line with reality. Although preconceptions are not always inaccurate they are inherently dangerous. Preconceptions can be the driving force behind intolerance, fear, and injustice. Only through challenging ourselves to face our preconceptions of an idea and compare them to reality can we avoid such pitfalls. I suffer from preconceptions and recently had a chance to correct one of my assumptions; by visiting the Shambhala Center of Austin. Some of my expectations about Buddhism were indeed accurate; however, the majority of my preconception was shattered upon the rock of reality. I harbored these preconceived notions of Buddhism regarding their traditions, acceptance of outsiders, and even who a Buddhist was as a person. All of my ideas of this religion and culture were addressed and corrected in a single, massive, and enlightening experience.
As I drove to Shambhala center I ran through my idea of what I was expecting to see upon arrival. I had envisioned this secluded and hand built temple, removed from the tumult of city life. What I found when I arrived at this mid-city address was a modest house that had been converted to serve it’s purpose. My mental image of well kept gardens and color was not let down however. As I parked in the stone parking lot I was greeted by a large angular archway that was the quintessential landmark of an Asian temple. As I passed under the gates simplistic beauty I was surrounded by the meticulous nature of a Buddhist garden. At that moment I was certain that my preconceptions could not be that inaccurate. The small Buddhas resting in their shaded retreats beckoned you to come forth and share in the tranquility they had found. Paths flowed through the gardens like a pebble river guided by the skilled hand of a monk, the monk who was nowhere to be found.
Dressed in flowing, carefully folded, vibrant orange robes the Buddhist monks I was expecting to find and be welcomed by were not in attendance. As I reached the door of center I was not greeted by a small statured, well-built, short haired monk I was expecting, but rather an elderly white woman in wool socks and purple pajamas with short white hair and a wide smile. She insisted I not call her ma’am and invited me inside. As I stood in the common room of the Shambhala center I was astounded at the elaborate decoration. The walls were painted a warm taupe tone, a color that was one hundred and eighty degrees from the stark white I was expecting. On every wall you could see large, detailed, elaborate murals done in silk and paint. I had prepared myself to walk in to a large room sparsely furnished with unfinished floors and simple but functional furniture. I was not prepared to walk into a room with polished bamboo floors blanketed in soft and rich toned oriental rugs. Large couches and wing back chairs welcomed you with overstuffed arms to sit and enjoy the company. The large, singular, dark, room I had in my mind was traded for the bright, comfortable, and multi roomed meditation center that housed Austin’s Shambhala. As I began to imbibe the stiff drink that was reality, the elderly, white haired Buddhist, that could easily have been my grandmother, told me the director would like to talk to me. As I followed the Caucasian Texan towards a door in the corner of the common room I prepared myself for what I knew would be an experience that would prove my preconceptions wrong.
Passing the large glass wall that separated the common room from the meditation room I saw inside not a group of small, short haired, asian men, but instead a group of people that were a wonderful example of the demographic of the United States. Every color, age, and shape were present; all of them contently meditating in front of a breath taking shrine of the Buddha. The shoes stacked beside the meditation room door were not rope sandals, but rather a random assortment of flip flops, dress shoes, hiking boots, and a pair of converse all stars. We approached the door to the room in which I was to meet the director and I still faintly held on to the idea that the small orange robed guru I was expecting to meet would be on the other side. As my guide opened the door, my last preconception faded away like smoke on the wind. I was greeted by a firm and welcoming handshake from a young thirties, white, curly haired man clad in khakis and a light blue linen shirt. We walked to the back of the room together and he offered me a comfortable wing back chair as he took the matching post across from me. He smiled widely and asked how he could help. For the next two hours I talked with high Buddhist who could be just as easily mistaken as a high school English teacher. Expecting the secrets of Buddhism and information I was seeking would be given only cryptically, I began the conversation by explaining the purpose of my visit and the topic of my paper. I spent the rest of the conversation attempting to keep up with the eager and excited director of the center. As I attempted to log and keep in order the information that was being given to me I felt as though I was drinking through a fire hose. Every question I asked was met with fervor and detailed explanation. My assumption that I was be greeted cordially but as someone that didn’t understand was not even qualified to stand in the same room with the welcoming I received. Where I expected simple I was given ornate, where I expected one culture I was given several, where I expected old, wise and cryptic I received young, eager, and understanding.
“To assume anything is to assume you are wrong” my Drill Sergeant told me. The wisdom found in those words is simple yet invaluable. The preconceptions I held about just this one situation were wrong on almost every account. Had I not been challenged to explore this preconception I would still hold these false ideas about an amazing culture. Being open to the idea that our preconceptions may be wrong would allow the door to be opened to tolerance, understanding and unity.