Rohatso is supposedly when the Buddha had his ah-ha! moment in the shade of the bodhi tree. I noted the passing of the holiday with a belly full of bar-b-que. Then again, I am a heretic. A fact I not only readily admit to, but sometimes all but brag about.
It was ten years ago to the day I took my refuge vows, the Buddhist equivalent of baptism someone once told me. My sangha was a lovely British woman who looked Sinead O'Conner in saffron robes. It was fantastic. Even and especially when she broke it down in Sanskrit. I found myself getting both theologically and linguistically erect when that happened.
I started calling myself a Buddhist when I was twenty-two, just before my daughter was born, but didn't take the vows for another seven years. That Rohatso, Jezebel asked me what it was like to be a real Buddhist. With a shrug, I told her it wasn't any different than the prior seven years. That night I went out drinking with some punk-rock friends.
Being a heretic, I've never been under any obligation to be a good Buddhist...