Taking Our Shoes off Before the Buddha

Despite being ostensibly a place of stillness and silence, a shrine room is a place of activity. We remove shoes, bow, arrange our bodies in a variety of postures, and recite words in different languages, all before we begin to delve inward. By the time we have entered a shrine room, we have engaged in a plethora of actions rooted in common strivings.

I find the removal of shoes to be a ritual that is deserving of more attention. It is one of those “that’s what you do” rituals that everyone attending a Buddhist center participates in. Like many other rituals (and it is a ritual if you consider the following elements), it has the potential to open the practitioner up.

At the most pragmatic and fundamentally mundane level, we leave shoes behind to avoid spreading dirt and keep the shrine room clean. This makes sense given how unappealing the space might be, or even how unhealthy the room could become, were we to drag in the dirt and mud from outside.

But cleanliness goes beyond the physical. In removing shoes, we are symbolically leaving behind the world where we pound the pavement looking for success, connection, and entertainment. Sneakers (or trainers) for the gym, leather brogues for work, heels for dating, boots made for walking—the kinds of shoes we wear can be determined by our occupation or financial constraints. They can also say much about the identity we seek to construct. To leave shoes aside at the entrance to a sacred space is to say that identity, that striving, is now on hold for a time. It is a great leveler for the banker, the social media influencer, the retiree, and the lithe yogi to shuck off their shoes. Whether they are the latest Tom Ford or Jimmy Choo designs, sweatshop-made trainers, budget knockoff Crocs, or flip-flops, we all have the same soft and vulnerable soles once the protection of shoes has been removed. Together, unencumbered, we consciously walk on the same floor in the direction of the Buddha. Hopefully the floor is free from nails or glass or worse. Taking off our shoes is a form of renunciation of self, if only for a time.

But why do people do this? Why are they making the effort to turn up and stop doing what they normally do out there in the world? There are common themes to why people come to a Buddhist center to meditate, but that commonality does not diminish the significance of the individual act. We may attend to begin a process of self-improvement or self-discovery. It may be that we wish to open to others more effectively or reduce our stress levels. Others come to seek profound wisdom or to belong to a welcoming community of like-minded individuals. Some make the effort to turn up to let go, to strive for something greater—the motivations for practice are as diverse as the individuals who attend and the shoes they choose to wear.

Taking off our shoes is a form of renunciation of self.

Knowing that everyone around you is striving is an important consideration when entering a shrine room. This is not a church hall or a yoga studio (though, of course, it might be both at different times); right now, it is a place to sit and shuffle closer toward one’s ideal, however one might envisage it. Through these actions of removing shoes and being quiet and still, we are setting up certain conditions not just for ourselves but for those around us. By being silent and still, we encourage others to do the same and thus reduce the distractions that plague meditators.

Our actions have consequences that go beyond ourselves. Essentially, when we arrive in a shrine room, we are enacting the very principle of karma—actions have consequences. How we behave, how we act in that space, impacts upon ourselves and others. Our actions either support the deep aspirations and values held by others or they work against them.

What might those values be? The other practitioners might value awareness, kindness, patience, and clarity. Perhaps they value stillness and silence, or even the aesthetics of the space in which they find themselves. It could be that, like yourself, they value persistence and perseverance.

But there is something else being enacted and embodied here. Barefoot, we approach the Buddha on the shrine as kings, queens, and farmers approached the Buddha millennia ago. The Buddha image sits at the end of the room, raised up to signify his importance in the lives of practitioners. The view of the Buddha is unimpeded as we sit in orderly rows, just as the first disciples did. We stand and sit so that all may see the figure of the Buddha. This is a kind of historical reenactment of the thousands of similar meetings the Buddha had in his lifetime. To enter a shrine room is to imaginatively place oneself in the position of devotees across time who put aside worldly concerns to learn from him.

As the early texts indicate, when people met the Buddha, they bowed out of respect and made the anjali mudra (palms together) as a way of beautifying the space, purifying their intent, and practicing generosity of spirit. Bowing before the Buddha in the shrine room continues that reenactment of what has been done for thousands of years. Considering this can move one out of a personal development model into a less limited and restricted mindset. You are among billions of individuals who have done this very same practice in innumerable shrine rooms across the centuries. One is indeed part of a continuity of practice dating back to the 5th or 6th century BCE.

When you come and sit before the Buddha and make your own efforts based on what matters most to you, you are also bringing with you whatever concerns you deeply. Whatever trials you are facing in your life, which you might consider your own unique flavor of suffering, are present with you as you bow and as you sit. It is worth considering that the shame, guilt, anger, pride, or despair you bring is not unique, and nor are you the first to bear it in attention in a shrine room. Take confidence in the knowledge that the very concept of a shrine room, regardless of its size, design, or aesthetic, offers the potential to contain and transform whatever you have brought with you.

♦

From Approaching Enlightenment: A Guidebook for Buddhist Ritual by Bodhidasa. ©2024 by Bodhidasa. Excerpted with permission from Windhorse Publications.