Jana Drakka: Zen Priest in the Tenderloin
In a city hell-bent on gentrification and unwaveringly cutting services that benefit those with the greatest need, a Buddhist priest, Jana Drakka, devotes her life to single-handedly leading harm reduction groups and providing memorial services for homeless people, whose options for where to turn for help continue to diminish at an alarming rate. Drakka’s black priest’s uniform and charming Scottish accent might be the only things that distinguish her from the folks she works with—her glasses are missing one of the arms, her tenuous housing situation and practically nonexistent income place her on the verge of finding herself homeless, yet again. However, her eyes and incessant giggling radiate an energy that can only be described as joyful. I visit the “Street Zendo,” one of the tiny havens where Drakka holds her countless groups. Located deep in the heart of the Tenderloin, inside the Faithful Fools Ministry, homeless and low-income folks quietly meditate on black cushions in the tiny place of respite, where tolerance and compassion prevail over the chaos that often pervades the streets outside. In the back room of the building, Jana Drakka, holds a practice discussion with a man named Billy Jean.
Just under a year ago, Billy Jean lived in Kentucky, and decided to relocate to San Francisco after reading an article about a Zen Buddhist priest serving the neediest people of San Francisco. That priest, Jana Drakka, extends her services to people with drug addictions, people living with HIV, and homeless people; she even runs a support group for Tenderloin Housing Clinic case managers. Moreover, her dedication to these folks continues even after their lives end: she has performed, and continues to conduct, hundreds of funeral services for those who might otherwise leave the Earth unacknowledged, without a formal farewell. In moving to San Francisco, Billy Jean hoped to encounter the spirit of compassion he read about in the article about Drakka. Billy did not seek out Drakka out upon arriving; instead, he found himself struggling to survive in the city’s often merciless streets, where he ultimately found temporary housing in an SRO. Drakka, however, randomly found him, when she came to his SRO, offering the residents one of the many harm reduction/meditation groups that initially drew Billy to the city. Billy describes his initial encounter with Drakka as “an act of fate, because her story is one of the reasons I came to San Francisco.”
Her story, and Drakka herself, do not unfold from a traditional mold. Growing up a lesbian in Scotland, she was beaten, stoned, and attacked as a result of her sexual identity. Perhaps her experience of ostracism instilled in her the ability to relate to and ultimately transform the lives of other marginalized folks. Her dedication to service began at age 16, when she organized summer retreats and play schemes for those who would not ordinarily have relief from poverty. Her own path, however, was never too much easier than that of those she continues to serve. Throughout her early years, Drakka, now 56, experienced homelessness, struggled with addiction to cigarettes, and used drugs. Called to a higher path, she initially pursued spiritual training in the Church of Scotland, but ultimately found herself drawn towards Daoism and Buddhism. In 1989, she moved to the United States, where she took monastic vows and ultimately became a Senior Zen Buddhist Priest.
In her new role as priest, Drakka quickly started doing outreach and leading harm reduction groups for people suffering from addiction. When asked about the work, she described it in her charming Scottish accent as, “A wee bit controversial because we accept that people do drugs and drink. The model is considering a powerful way to work with people if they are addicted. This has never been and never will be a drug-free society. In order to work with everyone, you have to find a way to work with everyone who is addicted. However, that is all of us. Addicted. Consider: What do you use to keep the world away? What do you use to cope? Do you use donuts, bad relationships, TV? We all use something. The techniques of harm reduction are reducing the harm of anything you do to yourself. You see, if punishing the self or being punished via the legal system worked, we would have a drug- and alcohol-free society. What works is looking at what you are using to keep yourself away from now. For, in this moment, there is no stress.”
The success of Drakka’s efforts is evident in the high demand for her services, which she offers, regardless of financial compensation (of which she is in desperate need). Currently, Drakka is marginally housed, and unable to afford the surgery to fix her failing eyes, much less buy new glasses. Jana lives on next to nothing, yet radiates happiness when discussing her work and the inspiration she draws from those she serves.
Lately, as shelters and public services to homeless folks continue to be reduced, the need for Drakka to perform memorial services arises up to four times a week. To the services, she brings flowers, charcoal, and an incense bowl that was given to her by a homeless friend. “I try to get the people to do most of the memorial. It’s for them and about them. The people will offer the incense, and it is the most moving part. I explain to them to bow, take a pinch of incense, and have a silent moment. When the people come up, my heart is with these folks. I am no different. I feel a connection of love in the middle of all the suffering and not having enough to eat. When they stand there with their hands clasped it is the most deeply moving experience, ever. If I had to do only one thing in my whole life it would be memorials. It’s really important everyone gets a good send-off, no matter how poor.”
In the past week, Drakka performed three memorials, the first of which had no attendees with the exception of her and two case managers. The second memorial was a suicide. The third, a memorial for a victim of domestic violence that tragically resulted in murder. When asked about the memorial of the murder victim, tears openly flowed from Drakka’s eyes. At the service she read a poem by Rumi, and the final lines of the poem brought forth particularly strong emotions for Drakka. The lines read, “Now the words are over and the pain they bring is gone. Now you have gone to rest in the arms of the Beloved.” Drakka described her response to reading the poem: “I found it hard to finish reading the poem. The hardest was the last part because I knew the arms she had been resting in were the arms of her murderer… It’s so wrong to treat people like they are lesser just because of money, mental health, and addiction. And yet, that is why Zen is so perfect for this, because you are perfect just the way you are.”
Back in the zendo, the bell rings, signaling the end of meditation, and the beginning of chanting; this echoes through the building in sharp juxtaposition to the sirens and cacophony of sounds from the street. Billy Jean leaves, inspired about training to take the traditional Buddhist vows. After our talk, Jana also leaves the building, headed to her next group, which she will hold in a little public garden South of Market.
Learn more about Drakka’s work at http://www.janadrakka.com
MeganMercurio