A poet confronts inherited violence and addiction on the path to recovery and enlightenment

Before Brandon Dean Lamson can be ordained as a Soto Zen priest, he must sew his robes by hand. As he works, he reckons with what he has inherited: his uncle’s violent death, his father’s alcoholism and authority as a judge, his family’s ideas about manhood, and his own struggles with depression, addiction, anger, sexuality, and shame.

To Robe the Burning World follows Lamson from the suicidal crisis that led him to begin Zen practice to his ordination years later. He writes openly about his childhood, teaching in prisons, twelve-step recovery, psychotherapy, relationships, and the anger passed down through the men in his family. Zen does not erase his past. It asks him to face it without turning away.

Two robes run through the book. One is the black judicial robe worn by Lamson’s father. The other is the Buddhist robe Lamson sews with red thread as he prepares to take vows. The first carries the weight of judgment and family power. The second becomes an expression of his vow to live for the benefit of all beings.

In letters to his teacher and reflections on the writings of Eihei Dogen, Lamson asks what it means to leave home, follow the precepts, and enter a religious lineage. He also examines trauma, patriarchy, and community within American Zen. These questions extend beyond the meditation hall to political division and public violence.

Poems are interwoven with the prose, returning to its images and scenes from another angle. Their relationship echoes many Buddhist sutras, in which verse and prose work together to deepen a teaching. Here, poetry gives Lamson another way to approach memories and emotions that resist a simple explanation.

Intimate and direct, To Robe the Burning World is not a story about leaving the past behind. It is about learning to meet it with honesty and care. Lamson presents ordination not as an ending, but as a commitment to remain awake, accountable, and present in a burning world.