By Kelly Branan

Good morning, everyone.

I’m glad you’re here.

I want to start with a question that has probably followed every one of us around at some point in our lives.

What is the meaning of life?

It’s one of those questions that usually doesn’t show up when everything is going well. It comes late at night. After someone dies. After we’ve lost a job. When a big change occurs.

Or sometimes when everything is actually going fine, and we suddenly realize we’re not sure why we’re doing any of it.

I don’t know if you’ve ever done this, but I’ve found myself staring up at the stars asking that question.

“What’s the point of all this?”

And it’s funny. You ask the question into the vastness of the universe… and the universe doesn’t answer. It simply gives you the silence to hear yourself ask it again.

“What is the meaning of life?”

It’s almost like shouting into a canyon. The canyon doesn’t explain anything. It simply echoes your own voice back to you.

Maybe that’s frustrating. Or maybe, that’s the teaching.

Because I’ve begun to wonder if we’re asking the wrong question. Instead of asking,

“What is the meaning of life?”

Maybe we should first ask,

“Why do I want to know?”

Dissecting the Bird

One of my favorite songs by John Craigie is called “Dissect the Bird”. Imagine someone who wants to know why a bird sings. They catch the bird. They carefully dissect it. They examine every feather, every muscle, every organ. When they’re finished, they know far more about the bird than they did before.

But one thing is missing. The song.

In trying to understand it completely, they’ve destroyed the very thing they wanted to experience. I wonder if we sometimes do the same thing with life. We analyze it. We categorize it. We ask, “What’s the meaning? What’s the purpose? What’s the answer?” And somewhere along the way, we stop listening to the song.

Buddhism isn’t anti-intellectual. The Buddha encouraged investigation. He asked us not to accept teachings blindly. But eventually, investigation reaches its limit. At some point, life asks us not simply to understand it, but to live it.

Pure Land Buddhism reminds us that Amida’s compassion isn’t something we solve. It’s something we receive. Maybe the meaning of life isn’t hidden inside life like a secret tucked away somewhere. Maybe the meaning is found in hearing the song while it’s still singing.

Comfort in Knowing

Growing up in the LDS faith there was a certain comfort In being certain that I had the right answers. I liked feeling like I had it all figured out. Maybe some of you are like that too. There’s something comforting about believing we’ve solved the mystery.

But Buddhism has never been terribly interested in giving us comfortable answers. Instead, it invites us to become comfortable with mystery. Can we actually find peace, without having the answer? That’s a much harder practice.

I remember when I first started studying Buddhism, I thought if I read enough books, listened to enough teachers, and meditated enough, eventually I’d understand everything. I’d finally crack the code. Then one day I realized, I’ve just become someone who owns more Buddhist books. The mystery hadn’t disappeared. In fact, it had gotten bigger. And strangely, that felt freeing.

Shinran said, “As for me, I simply accept and entrust myself to what my revered teacher told me.”1 I don’t hear resignation in those words. I hear relief. The relief of someone who finally stopped trying to control the uncontrollable. Someone who realized that wisdom isn’t having every answer. Wisdom might be trusting life even when the answers don’t come.

Mañana Mañana

One of the things I’ve noticed about myself is how often my happiness depends on some future version of me. I’ll be happy, when I lose twenty pounds. When I retire. When I finish this project. When my finances look better. When I become, well…more enlightened. Maybe you’ve noticed something similar.

The problem is, every time I arrive somewhere, my mind simply shifts to the next destination. It’s like trying to reach the horizon. It keeps moving. The Buddha had a word for this: Attachment.

Not because goals are bad. But because we quietly convince ourselves that life starts later: After this happens. After I become that. After I finally arrive.

Pure Land gently whispers something different. What if this, right here, is already your life? Not the dress rehearsal. Not preparation. Not a waiting room. This. This conversation. This breath. This ordinary Sunday morning. This is it. And somehow, that is enough.

We’re also attached to who we think we are. “I’m successful.” “I’m a failure.” “I’m intelligent.” “I’m spiritual.” I’m not sure any of those identities survive very long. Life has a way of changing them overnight. Health changes. Relationships change. Even our personalities evolve. Everything shifts.

As Professor Alfred Bloom often reminds us, Shinran’s path begins with the realization of our limitations rather than confidence in our own abilities.2

When I first read that, I thought, “Well…that’s not very inspiring.” But over time I’ve come to love it. Because if my worth depends on being extraordinary, I’m going to spend my whole life exhausted. If Amida embraces me exactly as I am, I can finally stop trying to be someone that I am not.

Putting The Light in Enlightenment

People sometimes ask, “So…is enlightenment the goal?” Maybe.

But what do we mean by enlightenment?

Sometimes we imagine enlightenment as becoming someone who never gets angry. Never gets anxious. Never gets stuck in traffic. Never loses patience. I don’t think that’s awakening.

I think awakening is much simpler, and much harder.

It’s experiencing reality clearly. Really experiencing impermanence. Really understanding that this “self” I’ve spent decades protecting isn’t nearly as fixed as I thought. Really understanding that none of us exists independently.

Everything I call “me” came from somewhere else. My language. My ideas. This body. This breath. The food I ate this morning. The people who raised me. The people who challenged me. The people sitting in this room. Thich Nhat Hanh called this interbeing.

Shin Buddhism simply reminds us that we are embraced within immeasurable compassion long before we ever realize it.

Standing Up for Yourself

Near the end of his life, the Buddha told his disciples, “Be islands unto yourselves; be your own refuge, with no other refuge.”3

I love that.

Because eventually, our teacher won’t be there. Our parents won’t be there. Our favorite book won’t be enough. Something inside has to awaken.

There’s a Zen story where a monk asks, “What if I meet the Buddha on the road?” The answer is shocking. “Kill him.” Not literally, of course. It means don’t cling to anyone else’s enlightenment. Not even the Buddha’s. No one can wake up for you. The Buddha points. But you have to look.

Chasing the Butterfly

Here’s another thing I’ve learned, Enlightenment is a terrible thing to chase. The more you pursue, the faster it slips away. It’s like trying to catch a butterfly. Or trying to force yourself to fall asleep. The effort itself gets in the way. I think awakening is less about collecting something, and more about removing what blocks us.

We sit. We breathe. We notice. We suffer. We notice again. Little by little we begin seeing patterns.

“Oh… that’s attachment.”

“Oh… there’s my ego again.”

“Oh… there’s fear pretending to be certainty.”

And eventually, sometimes when we’re no longer trying so hard, something settles. Not because we earned it. Because we stopped resisting.

Awakening lands gently. Like a bird that trusts an open hand. This reminds me of hearing Namu Amida Butsu. Not as magic words. Not as something we say to become worthy. But as a response. As gratitude. As finally hearing Amida say, “You don’t have to become someone else before you belong.” Come exactly as you are.

Angulimala

One of my favorite Buddhist stories is about Angulimala. He was born with the name Ahimsaka (meaning “the harmless one”) and went to a famous school in Taxila. Jealous classmates lied to his teacher, claiming Ahimsaka did wrong. Angry and deceived, the teacher demanded a payment of 1,000 human fingers as the final offering to complete his education. In reality, the teacher had hoped that Ahimsaka would be killed in the attempt. 

And so, Ahimsaka began attacking travelers in the forest and collected their fingers as a necklace, earning the name Angulimala (“garland of fingers”). Angulimala had killed 999 people and needed just one more finger to reach 1,000 when he saw the Buddha. He ran as fast as he could toward the Buddha, but no matter how fast he ran, he could not catch up to the walking Buddha.

Angulimala yelled at the Buddha to stop. The Buddha calmly said, “I have stopped. You have not.”4

That single sentence changed everything. These words woke up Angulimala’s conscience. He dropped his weapons, bowed to the Buddha, and asked to become a monk.

Is this not a lesson for us? To drop our weapons, our tools for survival, and to stop pursuing enlightenment, and let it embrace us where we are.

The Meaning of Life

So, what is the meaning of life? I still don’t know. And strangely, that doesn’t bother me the way it used to.

Maybe life isn’t a puzzle waiting to be solved. Maybe it’s simply a gift waiting to be received. Perhaps it isn’t something we can dissect or define or fully explain.

Perhaps the meaning of life is more like birdsong. You don’t understand it by pulling it apart. You understand it by standing still, listening, and allowing yourself to be changed by it.

That, to me, is what Namu Amida Butsu has become. Not the answer to life’s mystery, but the willingness to hear its song. And that is enough.

And so to quote John Craigie from his song Dissect the Bird,

The universe is not against you, it went through a lot

Just to give you a chance, it must’ve wanted you

Pretty bad

No pressure though, no pressure though

The universe went through a lot but no pressure, bro

You don’t gotta be perfect, you don’t gotta be a saint

Just don’t waste it, this was not a mistake

[and then the chorus]

Oh, you’re doing it wrong, dissecting the bird

Tryna find the song

It’s a miracle that you’re here at all

Thank you.

Namu Amida Butsu

REFERENCES

1. Shinran. (1996). Tannishō: A primer (T. Unno, Trans.). Buddhist Study Center Press. (Original work written c. 13th century)
2. Bloom, A. (1968). The life of Shinran Shonin: The journey to self-acceptance. Numen, 15(1), 1–62.
3. Shinran. (2003). The collected works of Shinran (Vol. 1). Jōdo Shinshū Hongwanji-ha.
4. Walshe, M. (Trans.). (1995). The long discourses of the Buddha: A translation of the Dīgha Nikāya. Wisdom Publications.