by Mauri Reese-Francis
Oxnard, California
All my victories in faith—the easy and the hard-won—have taught me one thing: Chant and fight for what you want until it’s yours. Be it Mr. Right, or a career in law, or starting a family against all odds—I learned in the early years of my practice this tried-and-true formula for victory. And yet, for all that, I never did begin to grasp what Buddhism was truly for. Not until the winter of 2018, waking in the countryside on a homebound train.
I don’t know why I woke up—the train was moving gently. We were in the middle of nowhere on the returning leg of a cross-country trip. Seeing the stars fill my cabin window, I reached for my phone to take a photo and blinked. Flashing on the screen was a message: “EMERGENCY EVACUATION.” I knew it was meant for those back home in Agoura, California.
I called my daughter, Elan, who answered, groggy. She teased me for being an alarmist, but I wouldn’t have it. “Get Dessie, get the dogs and go.” Neither she nor my younger sister had received the alert.
I stayed on the phone while they wound through the mountains. They got turned around and were headed toward the fire.
“Go the backway,” I urged, directing them from there. They made their way to safety and spent the night in the car. Early the next morning, the SGI-USA Pacific Peace Center opened for evacuees, and they were embraced and fed handmade rice balls. Known today as the Woolsey fire, I remember it mostly as the one my daughter and sister survived.
Our train pulled into Los Angeles the following morning and I watched Art, who does not often cry, take Elan into his arms and break down in tears.
Those first few days were a blur. My other sister, Shelley, took us into her home in Santa Clarita, where we were promptly visited by several SGI leaders. One brought a copy of The Writings of Nichiren Daishonin and another turned me to its famous letter “Reply to Kyo’o.”
“Kyo’o’s misfortune will change into fortune,” (WND-1, 412) it reads. This women’s leader told me, “This is how you prove the power of the Gohonzon: by gaining a hundred times what you’ve lost.”
Frankly, we didn’t know what we’d lost. Ongoing containment, cleanup and hazard management meant we couldn’t return to our neighborhood for weeks, maybe months. We set up shop at Shelley’s—Art, Elan, myself and our two dogs (my son Anson was away at college). Hopefully, my home office was intact. Regardless, life kept moving, and work did, too.
About a week after the fire, I was expected, as usual, in a suit, in court, Monday through Friday, at 8:30 a.m. sharp. I woke early for gongyo, then returned to bed for work. Seated on its edge, I typed my emails on a computer set atop the nightstand. Then I’d head out in my getup—I can’t call it an outfit, really—of the clothes I’d managed to gather from relief sites around town.
Scattered as we were, it was at these sites that I’d usually see my neighbors. I’d find them waiting wearily in those long lines. We were all dressed the same, in other people’s clothes, but someone never failed to mistake me for a volunteer. “But, you’re so bright!” they’d say.
Those queues are hard on the morale, when you’re still processing the shock of losing so much. Still, I decided I had to be there, to cheer people up and share this Buddhism with as many people as I could.
Driving through our neighborhood in January 2019, for the first time since the fire, we passed pockets of normalcy—rows of brightly painted homes and poplars—only to round a bend to find a moonscape of charred beams, toppled bricks and burnt-out cars. Our home was leveled—everything, everything was gone.
We wanted to leave, we wanted to stay. We knew, of course, the risks. It wasn’t a matter of if but when another fire tore through these hills. But then we’d remember what had been and what could be again, and we couldn’t make up our minds: Rebuild, or move on? Rebuild or move on?
The whole of that year, we ping-ponged between Shelley’s home and so many inns and hotels I lost track, sometimes, of where we were and where we’d been. I’d wake at night thinking we were home, then remember ours was gone. And then I’d wonder where I was exactly—at Shelley’s in Santa Clarita? Or was it Santa Barbara, now—or Burbank? Or was it Laguna?
We were at Shelley’s when the pandemic hit, and the home, small as it had been for four people and two dogs, shrunk by half.
You’ll remember the stay-at-home advisories, the soaping down of produce, the uncertainty and the tension. There were days you could cut the tension with a knife and I just remember stepping outside for air, just for space, reminding myself of Sensei’s guidance that diamonds are made under pressure.
At some point in time, partly from stress, my back gave out. I crawled to bed, flung myself there, blinking and thought, Alright. That’s it. I’m getting a place and getting it ASAP.
This was April, with the May Commemorative Contribution campaign nearing fast. My training from my youth division days kicked into high gear.
From the bed, on an ice pack, I called the members, sharing my challenge, asking each what they wanted to transform through this campaign. Chant for what you want and fight for it until it’s yours. This tried and true formula in faith to strive in SGI activities and encourage others worked. We found a beach rental, a great in-between home, and the following year bought a beautiful one in Oxnard.
But we did more than that. Though it took years, we settled with our insurance and the utility company where the fire began, in November 2023, just before Sensei’s passing. We settled for far more than we could have sold the house and were able to report total victory to our mentor. Mystically, the lawyer we found was aware of the SGI and felt a deep connection to our movement. He told me he’d fight all-out for victory. The settlement allowed both Art and I to retire.
Earlier that year, in spring, I was appointed the women’s leader of Palisade’s District. Why this district? I’d wondered, and never quite shook the question, not until this January, when the Palisades caught fire.
Right away, I began visiting the evacuees wherever they’d gone. If they have kids, I bring something they can turn to for courage—You Can Do It! or The Victorious Teen.
For the parents, I bring The Writings of Nichiren Daishonin, and turn to his letter to the newborn Kyo’o and his famous promise, “Misfortune will change into fortune.” It’s true, every word. I’ve gained many times what I lost. But my true benefit has been my deepened faith in this promise—in my own strength to endure, persevere and win over even the harshest reality. With the Gohonzon, with Sensei and the SGI, I’ll transform all misfortune into fortune. Because that, after all, is what Buddhism is for.
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