by Ray Guida
Columbus, Ohio
For as long as I can remember, I’ve known I was different. Exactly how took time to grasp, but I long suspected myself to be queer. The possibility of this becoming known, however, was a source of fear.
By college, I’d begun to seek beyond the faith I knew, something to help me lift myself out of depression, to help me understand who I was. To the world, I presented a serious, driven persona, all the fiercer for its frailty; it was all that hid the fear I felt inside.
It was not until the pandemic struck, living at home in my late 20s, that I reached a breaking point. I could no longer pretend, living beneath a mask, for other people.
Five years earlier, I’d encountered the SGI, a community unlike any I’d ever had. From the standpoint of the SGI, actual happiness was attainable. Though sporadic, my Buddhist practice gave me the courage to do what I would have been unable to otherwise: come out to my family and to the world. Neither was prepared. When I told my family, they asked me to leave.
There’s no one for whom job hunting was easy during the pandemic, but it proved truly painful for me, presenting as I was for the first time as a trans man. Each work interview tried my resolve. Though overqualified and highly professional, I was told time and again I was not what was wanted.
Amid the pandemic and having lost touch with family, the sense of overwhelming isolation and uncertainty drew me close to one friend in particular. We began dating in early 2020 and moved in together soon after. Despite our shaky work situations, I felt, in relationship, that I was moving forward in a good direction. A stable job promised as much, and, having secured one in 2021, we moved together to Columbus, Ohio, in early 2022.
The work was good, but our home life grew tenser by the day. I found myself swayed completely by the situation, hurt again and again. In February 2023, we ended things. From the pain arose an important realization: it was time I solidified my Buddhist practice.
I began to have what I can only call dialogues with the Gohonzon, with my Buddha nature. What was the meaning of this suffering? Of my growing debt? Of the resentment I felt for someone I’d loved?
Diving deeply into Buddhist study, I was struck by a particular character in the Buddhist canon. The Lotus Sutra recounts the life of Bodhisattva Never Disparaging, who declared to every person he met, even those who attacked or disparaged him: “All of you will become Buddhas!”
I resented the people who’d done me wrong, but this was hurting no one more than me. Somehow, I understood that it was not enough to chant for myself alone—to relieve this pain, I had to chant for others. I began with a broad prayer; when it came to my ex, I shied away, unable even to consider her name without crying.
Slowly, from my ongoing dialogues with the Gohonzon, compassion welled forth. People who hurt others are suffering themselves, I realized. When my mind turned to my ex, I had a second realization: She must be suffering. Though painful, I began to chant in earnest for her happiness.
In August, I received from her an email apologizing for the way things ended. She mentioned also that she’d started chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo and was interested in learning more. I fought a momentary urge to ignore the email and move on.
I was beset with problems at the time. Cornered, it was all the more plain that my Buddhist practice was what was keeping me afloat. I wrote back, agreed to lunch and met her with a copy of Living Buddhism tucked underarm.
In October, my finances unchanged, I reached out to my young men’s leader and told him I’d be filing for bankruptcy. He did not try to dissuade me but asked only, “Are you following ‘the strategy of Ray’” (relying on my mind) “or are you following ‘the strategy of the Lotus Sutra’” (trusting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo to bring forth unfathomable courage and wisdom)?
Early the following month, November, I lost my job and sole source of income. Just a few days later, we received the news of Ikeda Sensei’s passing. I took everything to the Gohonzon. By the time we held Sensei’s memorial, a determined flame was burning brightly in my heart. I made a vow to Sensei: I will no longer allow myself to continue to suffer. I will show actual proof of the power of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo.
All this time, I’d felt I was doing everything possible to build a good life. So far from it, I found myself wondering often, What am I doing wrong? But with Sensei’s passing, it was time I stood up as a disciple and advance kosen-rufu. No more strategizing, no more wallowing. I would win without fail.
The following day, my former employer approved a generous severance package. And just weeks later, I landed a consulting gig—a windfall.
This January, I was asked to take on chapter young men’s leadership. The idea of not only presenting as a young man but leading as one gave rise to waves of self-doubt. Was I “man enough,” I wondered, to earn the respect and trust of young men?
With every Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, my confidence grew. Beneath the fear, I found an eagerness to uplift others, something, I found, I was absolutely capable of doing. Chanting, studying and doing Soka Group shifts with these young men was awakening me to the greatness of my life. As I witnessed each one challenge and overcome their self-imposed limitations, I grasped deeply the greatness of Buddhism and the meaning of my mentor’s words: “Faith is—to fear nothing” (The Sun of Youth, p. 72).
I began to chant and study together with my ex. We read the Living Buddhism, and I helped her connect to a local district. She began to experience for herself actual proof of the practice—profound transformations and breakthroughs—and to discuss these with her friends. I, too, was stunned by her transformation. It emboldened me to give my all to SGI activities. With my eyes set on our upcoming March Youth Peace Festival, I met with one youth after another, encouraging them to challenge some perceived limitation and invite their friends to do the same.
Of his time working as a young man under second Soka Gakkai President Josei Toda, Sensei says: “Whenever I reached an impasse, I would chant Nam-myoho-renge-kyo to break through. … And in the end, I triumphed over all adversity” (Learning from the Writings: The Hope-filled Teachings of Nichiren Daishonin, p. 144).
The day of the festival, my chapter more than doubled its goal, gathering 60 youth! Everyone left beaming.
I’ve since greatly improved my work situation and credit score, secured a beautiful two-bedroom apartment just eight minutes from the Buddhist center and have gained the greatest friendships, in which there is the deepest mutual trust and respect.
When my ex received the Gohonzon this November, I felt a joy I could not have imagined feeling for her when we broke up. I’m deeply honored to call myself a Bodhisattva of the Earth and disciple of Sensei. Whatever challenges lie ahead, by using the strategy of Lotus Sutra, I will turn each into an opportunity for human revolution and absolute happiness.
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