RESOURCES

THE FIRST PRECEPT: REVERENCE FOR LIFE

by Thich Nhat Hanh (commentary from "For a Future to Be Possible")

"Aware of the suffering caused by the destruction of life, I undertake to cultivate compassion and learn ways to protect the lives of people, animals, plants, and minerals. I am determined not to kill, not to let others kill, and not to condone any act of killing in the world, in my thinking, and in my way of life."

Life is precious. It is everywhere, inside us and all around us; it has so many forms. The First Precept is born from the awareness that lives everywhere are being destroyed. We see the suffering caused by the destruction of life, and we undertake to cultivate compassion and use it as a source of energy for the protection of people,

animals, plants, and minerals. The First Precept is a precept of compassion, karuna -- the ability to remove suffering and transform it. When we see suffering, compassion is born in us.

It is important for us to stay in touch with the suffering of the world. We need to nourish that awareness through many means -- sounds, images, direct contact, visits, and so on -- in order to keep compassion alive in us. But we must be careful not to take in too much. Any remedy must be taken in the proper dosage. We need to stay in touch with suffering only to the extent that we will not forget, so that compassion will flow within us and be a source of energy for our actions. If we use anger at injustice as the source for our energy, we may do something harmful, something that we will later regret.

According to Buddhism, compassion is the only source of energy that is useful and safe. With compassion, your energy is born from insight; it is not blind energy. We humans are made entirely of non-human elements, such as plants, minerals, earth, clouds, and sunshine. For our practice to be deep and true, we must include the ecosystem. If the environment is destroyed, humans will be destroyed, too. Protecting human life is not possible without also protecting the lives of animals, plants, and minerals.

The Diamond Sutra teaches us that it is impossible to distinguish between sentient and non-sentient beings. This is one of many ancient Buddhist texts that teach deep ecology. Every Buddhist practitioner should be a protector of the environment. Minerals have their own lives, too. In Buddhist monasteries, we chant, "Both sentient and non- sentient beings will realize full enlightenment." The First Precept is the practice of protecting all lives, including the lives of minerals.

"I am determined not to kill, not to let others kill, and not to condone any act of killing in the world, in my thinking, and in my way of life."

We cannot support any act of killing; no killing can be justified. But not to kill is not enough. We must also learn ways to prevent others from killing. We cannot say, "I am not responsible. They did it. My hands are clean." If you were in Germany during the time of the Nazis, you could not say, "They did it. I did not." If, during the Gulf War, you did not say or do anything to try to stop the killing, you were not practicing this precept. Even if what you said or did failed to stop the war, what is important is that you tried, using your insight and compassion. It is not just by not killing with your body that you observe the First Precept. If in your thinking you allow the killing to go on, you also break this precept. We must be determined not to condone killing, even in our minds. According to the Buddha, the mind is the base of all actions. It is most

dangerous to kill in the mind. When you believe, for example, that yours is the only way for humankind and that everyone who follows another way is your enemy, millions of people could be killed because of that idea.

Thinking is at the base of everything. It is important for us to put an eye of awareness into each of our thoughts. Without a correct understanding of a situation or a person, our thoughts can be misleading and create confusion, despair, anger, or hatred. Our most important task is to develop correct insight. If we see deeply into the nature of

interbeing, that all things "inter-are," we will stop blaming, arguing, and killing, and we will become friends with everyone. To practice nonviolence, we must first of all learn ways to deal peacefully with ourselves. If we create true harmony within ourselves, we will know how to deal with family, friends, and associates.

When we protest against a war, for example, we may assume that we are a peaceful person, a representative of peace, but this might not be true. If we look deeply, we will observe that the roots of war are in the unmindful ways we have been living. We

have not sown enough seeds of peace and understanding in ourselves and others, therefore we are co-responsible: "Because I have been like this, they are like that." A more holistic approach is the way of "interbeing": "This is like this, because that is like that." This is the way of understanding and love.

With this insight, we can see clearly and help our government see clearly. Then we can go to a demonstration and say, "This war is unjust, destructive, and not worthy of our great nation." This is far more effective than angrily condemning others. Anger always accelerates the damage. All of us, even pacifists, have pain inside. We feel

angry and frustrated, and we need to find someone willing to listen to us who is capable of understanding our suffering. In Buddhist iconography, there is a bodhisattva named Avalokitesvara who has one thousand arms and one thousand hands, and has an eye in the palm of each hand. One thousand hands represent action, and the eye in each hand represents understanding.

When you understand a situation or a person, any action you do will help and will not cause more suffering. When you have an eye in your hand, you will know how to practice true nonviolence.

To practice nonviolence, first of all we have to practice it within ourselves. In each of us, there is a certain amount of violence and a certain amount of nonviolence. Depending on our state of being, our response to things will be more or less nonviolent.

Even if we take pride in being vegetarian, for example, we have to acknowledge that the water in which we boil our vegetables contains many tiny microorganisms. We cannot be completely nonviolent, but by being vegetarian, we are going in the direction of nonviolence. If we want to head north, we can use the North Star to guide us, but it is impossible to arrive at the North Star. Our effort is only to proceed in that direction.

Anyone can practice some nonviolence, even army generals. They may, for example, conduct their operations in ways that avoid killing innocent people. To help soldiers move in the nonviolent direction, we have to be in touch with them. If we divide reality into two camps -- the violent and the nonviolent -- and stand in one camp while attacking the other, the world will never have peace. We will always blame and condemn those we feel are responsible for wars and social injustice, without recognizing the degree of violence in ourselves. We must work on ourselves

and also work with those we condemn if we want to have a real impact.

It never helps to draw a line and dismiss some people as enemies, even those who act violently. We have to approach them with love in our hearts and do our best to help them move in a direction of nonviolence. If we work for peace out of anger, we will never succeed. Peace is not an end. It can never come about through non-peaceful means.

Most important is to become nonviolence, so that when a situation presents itself, we will not create more suffering. To practice nonviolence, we need gentleness, loving kindness, compassion, joy, and equanimity directed to our bodies, our feelings, and other people. With mindfulness -- the practice of peace -- we can begin by working to transform the wars in ourselves. There are techniques for doing this. Conscious breathing is one. Every time we feel upset, we can stop what we are doing, refrain from saying anything, and breathe in and out several times, aware of each in-breath and each out-breath. If we are still upset, we can go for walking meditation, mindful of each slow step and each breath we take. By cultivating peace within, we bring about peace in society. It depends on us. To practice peace in ourselves is to minimize the numbers of wars between this and that feeling, or this and that perception, and we can then have real peace with others as well, including the members of our own family.

I am often asked, "What if you are practicing nonviolence and someone breaks into your house and tries to kidnap your daughter or kill your husband? What should you do? Should you still act in a nonviolent way?" The answer depends on your state of being. If you are prepared, you may react calmly and intelligently, in the most nonviolent way possible. But to be ready to react with intelligence and nonviolence, you have to train yourself in advance. It may take ten years, or longer. If you wait until the time of crisis to ask the question, it will be too late. A this-or-that kind of answer would be superficial. At that crucial moment, even if you know that nonviolence is better than violence, if your understanding is only intellectual and not in your whole being, you will not act nonviolently. The fear and anger in you will prevent you from acting in the most nonviolent way.

We have to look deeply every day to practice this precept well. Every time we buy or consume something, we may be condoning some form of killing.

While practicing the protection of humans, animals, plants, and minerals, we know that we are protecting ourselves. We feel in permanent and loving touch with all species on Earth. We are protected by the mindfulness and the loving kindness of the Buddha and many generations of Sanghas who also practice this precept. This energy of loving kindness brings us the feeling of safety, health, and joy, and this becomes real the moment we make the decision to receive and practice the First Precept.

Feeling compassion is not enough. We have to learn to express it. That is why love must go together with  understanding. Understanding and insight show us how to act.

Our real enemy is forgetfulness. If we nourish mindfulness every day and water the seeds of peace in ourselves and those around us, we become alive, and we can help ourselves and others realize peace and compassion.

Life is so precious, yet in our daily lives we are usually carried away by our forgetfulness, anger, and worries, lost in the past, unable to touch life in the present moment. When we are truly alive, everything we do or touch is a miracle. To practice

mindfulness is to return to life in the present moment. The practice of the First Precept is a celebration of reverence for life. When we appreciate and honor the beauty of life, we will do everything in our power to protect all life.

We come to the Dharma through many doors. Some of us come seeking stress reduction or emotional healing, while others may be looking for greater clarity, connection, wisdom, and/or deeper insights into the purpose of our life.

We sit down on the cushion and find that even in silence our brilliant minds can fill the space with planning, rumination, anxiety and more. However, with diligent and consistent practice, we soon begin to notice some settling of the mind, a little space between the in breath and the out breath, a small gap between thoughts.

As the dust settles and the mind becomes more clear, our natural wisdom and clarity begin to emerge. We come to understand that by practicing mindfulness we can learn to stop, look deeply, and respond wisely to life, rather than automatically reacting in our conditioned ways. We develop equanimity so that the many ups and downs that occur with the unfolding of life are accepted with more ease, enabling us to eliminate so much self-created suffering. Yet, the small voice of "self" still remains in the background (or foreground!), continuing to create suffering by making it all about "me." 

The Buddha taught that just as a bird needs two wings to fly, the cultivation of an enlightened mind requires two wings: wisdom and compassion. If we neglect to nurture the compassionate heart, we may continue to be enmeshed in self, and our spiritual progress will be limited. 

Under Fred's guidance at FCM's spring retreat this past weekend -"I am Here for You: Living an Altruistic Life," retreatants had the opportunity to cultivate the wing of compassion through experiencing the essential Buddhist teachings and practices of altruism. During the retreat we practiced seeing all beings as interconnected and equal in wanting happiness and not wanting to suffer. We "stepped into others' shoes" to cultivate empathy, which - when combined with an aspiration to help all beings - supports boundless loving kindness and compassion. We generated loving kindness in our hearts for those we love, those we are indifferent to, those we have difficulty with, as well as for ourselves. And we performed the ancient "alchemical" practice of tonglen, taking in the suffering of another and breathing out whatever healing might be needed, realizing that this exchange does not increase our suffering but actually breaks up the self-cherishing in our hearts, creating joy and openness instead.

These wonderful practices can be found in many Buddhist writings. Students in the current Lojong Intensive will recognize the concepts of "Absolute Bodhicitta" and "Relative Bodhicitta," with clear instructions for cultivating, respectively, wisdom and compassion, both essential on the path of enlightenment. Texts by Shantideva and commentaries and instruction by the Dalai Lama, Matthieu Ricard, Sharon Salzberg and many others are readily available to help support our understanding and cultivation of the compassionate heart.

Through these practices of altruism, in being there for others instead of being there for the self-cherishing self, we discover the second "wing" needed for true transformation, and a pathway to true happiness and ease.

Submitted with metta,

Angie Parrish

With gratitude to Andrew Rock for this rich sharing. For more information, including how to join the Buddhist Climate Action Network, please contact Andrew at rock1@tampabay.rr.com.

This past week I joined a group of about thirty indigenous people and environmentalists on an eighty mile walk through the Everglades, along US Highway 41. While I knew it would be worthwhile to participate in this event as part of my climate action work, I did not realize in advance that this walk would also be deeply meaningful as a focused practice of mindfulness and intentional living.

The specific purpose of the Walk for Future Generations, organized by members of the indigenous people living in the Everglades, was to protest and try to stop the pending construction of the ROGG (River of Grass Greenway), a paved bicycle path through the Everglades that would further block the free flow of water and wildlife, and also destructive seismic testing for oil and gas exploration scheduled to begin soon in the Big Cypress Preserve.  More broadly, the event was intended to raise awareness of the plight of living beings in an increasingly damaged ecosystem, and to inspire the participants and others to devote ourselves to efforts to preserve and protect our planet as a viable home for future generations.

The leaders of the walk were Betty Osceola of the Panther Clan of the Micosukee tribe, and Bobby C. Billie, a council member and spiritual leader of the Micosukee Simanolee nation (who had never signed a treaty with the US government). I had met Betty in January when we were both lobbying in Tallahassee against pending pro-fracking legislation, and Betty gave a very powerful speech about the preservation of mother earth and the protection of our precious gift of clean water upon which the life of her people and all creatures depends. Bobby had come to the Interfaith Climate Action Conference held near Orlando later in January, speaking in a panel discussion with other faith leaders about what had led them to environmental activism.  He spoke with great dignity and power about the decline, in his long lifetime, of the land and water, of the woods and wetlands, of his people’s ability to grow crops and hunt and support themselves. He spoke of our collective exploitation of mother earth just to make money, to the point where the circle of life was broken and the land he grew up in was hardly recognizable any more.

Last Wednesday afternoon I drove down to the base camp for the walk at Trail Lakes Campground, in Ochopee on Highway 41, south of Alligator Alley. The walkers had not yet returned from the fifteen mile stretch of road they were walking that day, but by the time my tent was pitched they arrived in two big vans and a couple of pick-ups, hot, tired and hungry. After washing up and resting, and eating a simple dinner prepared by volunteers who’d stayed in camp, everyone gathered around for a fire circle. The evening had turned damp and a bit chilly, mosquitoes were out in force, and we were happy to sit on logs and camp chairs in the warmth and light of the large fire the men had made.

I was expecting a relaxed evening of story-telling and chatting around the fire, perhaps with some drumming or songs.  But it quickly became clear that the Fire Circle was a very purposeful and important part of every day, as Bobby Billie and Betty Osceola led us through what in the Florida Community of Mindfulness we would call deep sharing/ deep listening practice. Bobby Billie, very much the spiritual leader of the indigenous people present and of all who had gathered to support them and the life of the Everglades, began with a short talk, and then asked each of us to speak of what we had seen that day, what had spoken to us, and what it meant to us. We went around the circle, as a full moon rose through the pine trees, each person taking the time to look deeply and speak seriously, the rest of us listening in silence, with no chatting or cross-talk. That day the walkers had gone through a recently burned area, the result of a planned fire by the Park Service, and people were deeply affected by the death and destruction they had seen and felt: dead birds and snakes by the roadside, scorched trees and grass, the hot and jagged earth under their feet. Those of us who hadn’t walked that day also shared, speaking of what we had seen and of why we had come. If people started to ramble as they spoke, Bobby or Betty Osceola would remind us of the instructions and tell us to keep focused on our purpose.

The next morning, before we began our walk, Bobby smudged each of us with smoke from a mixture of herbs he had made in a seashell, and then had us form a circle, holding hands as Bobby reminded us of our purpose. He told us that everything we did and everything we thought had meaning and should not be taken lightly. Then Betty Osceola had us line up in double file, behind our two flag bearers  - one holding a pole with the banner of the Council of the Original Miccosukee Simanolee Nation of Aboriginal Peoples, the other holding a long staff bearing a dozen eagle feathers. She told us that we were a “we,” not a “me,” and that we needed to take care of one another. She told us to walk in silence, maintaining our order and dignity, alert to everything around us, and to remember that we were here to give support to the life and the nature all around us, supporting us.

The day was overcast but still hot and humid as we walked along the verge of US 41, a two lane road running east-west through the Glades. In the early morning the birdlife was active and the roadside vegetation rustled in the breeze, with occasional gaps in the bushes and low trees that revealed small lakes and waterways. At times we could hear the pervasive sound of airboat motors revving up nearby and occasionally see them moving deeper into the Glades. For me it was a brand new experience in an unfamiliar ecosystem, walking with people I didn’t know; yet it also seemed very familiar, a new kind of outdoor walking meditation. We walked silently and alertly, attentive to the movement of our feet on the earth, to our breathing and our bodies, to the plants and sky and wind and water. We walked as one organism, our steps and our intention in harmony with one another and with all that was around us. Our minds were in the present. Even though we were walking to sustain the life and health of future generations, that intention required our focus right now. And if we lost focus, our leaders brought us back in no uncertain terms. After a few miles Betty Osceola stopped us and addressed the group: “Y’all aren’t paying attention,” she said. “The plants and animals are trying to help us. They’ve been sending you energy to help you walk, but you aren’t paying attention to them, you aren’t getting it. Focus on where you are, on what’s happening.  Give some energy back to everything that’s around you. We’re here to help them. Remember your purpose!”

In the late morning we came to the Big Cypress Preserve Headquarters for the U.S. National Park Service, where we held a press conference and delivered petitions with thousands of signatures urging the halting of plans for the ROGG and for oil and gas operations. We rested on the grass in front of the building, airing our feet, sipping water and eating granola bars while listening to speeches by leaders of the Florida Sierra Club, by the co-founder of the Stone Crab Alliance from Naples, by a biologist and author from Stuart on the East Coast, and by the indigenous people: Bobby Billie, Betty Osceola, and walkers from the Seminole tribe (though not from the official tribal leadership, the “businesspeople”). I was particularly struck by the speech by Karen Dwyer of the Stone Crab Alliance, as she described in detail the destructive and disruptive effect seismic testing for oil & gas would have on the area, with an extensive spider-web of roads cleared for big trucks and heavy equipment, and powerful explosions and vibrations that would significantly impact all wildlife throughout a wide area.

After lunch nearby at the Big Cypress Visitor Center we reformed our column, and went back into mindful silence – Betty told us to take out our imaginary keys and lock our mouths: “Take your key, lock it, and throw the key away” she’d tell us every time we re-started after a rest stop - and the walk continued. Our banners, the brightly colored shirts of the Indians, and our column of walkers all drew the curious attention of passing motorists, many of whom would honk or wave in support. We might hold up a hand in reply, but we didn’t engage them, maintaining our silence and our focus.

Most of the afternoon we walked through grassy wetlands, seeing wading birds and the occasional airboat, but no gators or any other animals. Once Bobby stopped us to point out an island of trees where he used to play as a kid, no longer accessible on foot due to blockage of water by roads and canals. Another time he had us pick fresh young leaves from a bay tree by the side of the road, telling us that we should keep the leaves with us and smell them for energy when we felt tired.

It rained off and on through the afternoon, which cooled things down a little. After a rest stop at an intersection, we turned south, headed for the town of Everglades City, where Betty planned to deliver another signed petition to the City Council, asking them to rescind their support for the ROGG. As we neared the town she reminded us to walk in silence, with purpose and power. The rain began to come down really hard as we marched down the main street through Everglades City, in tight double file, banners in front, heads down in the pouring rain, eyes on the feet of the walker in front of us. We were soaked and tired but we wanted to end the day strong and make a good impression. The townspeople came to their porches and doorways to watch us go by, and when we finally got to the municipal park by the gulf, several supporters were there to greet us. The rain stopped, and we rested, drank water and munched on snacks in the covered pavilion while some of us gave short speeches about what the Everglades means to them and why they were doing this.

That night, back in camp around the Fire Circle, Bobby Billie spoke of how his people had been in the Everglades for many generations, of how in his lifetime Mother Earth  had been attacked and weakened, how the woods were mostly gone and the water no longer fit to drink, the deer and fish no longer abundant, and the crops weakened and not as nourishing. If our grandchildren and great grandchildren and unborn generations a thousand years from now are to survive, we will have to do a much better job of protecting and preserving our Mother Earth.

Bobby asked us to reflect on our personal commitments, on how each of us intended to help leave a world in which future generations could survive. As we went slowly around the circle, each person spoke with great sincerity and conviction. For some of the younger ones, it was about what they would do with their lives, about right livelihood. For some it was tactical: how to get better media coverage, how to grow this movement, how to influence or replace political leaders, how to break the stranglehold of money and big corporations, how to promote renewable energy instead of fossil fuels. For some it was about inner work as well: living simply, healing our own habits of greed, anger and lack of awareness. There were about thirty of us, and when we had gone around the entire circle Bobby spoke again, telling us he heard much more unity and clarity tonight than the night before, more purpose. Then he had us take out the bay leaves from our pockets, and to remind ourselves, silently, of the specific commitments we were making, as one by one we threw our bay leaves into the fire.

Many of us hadn’t kept our bay leaves with us – they’d been crumpled up & thrown away during the walk, or left in wet clothes when we changed, or mislaid. Bobby Billie asked if we remembered what he’d said when he told us to pick the leaves. Someone said: “You told us to keep the leaves with us.” “Yes,” Bobby said, “and that didn’t mean keep them for a while,” or keep them until you change your clothes. It means keep them with you.” Bobby wasn’t angry or impatient, but he was very firm and clear. He told us that when the indigenous people spoke, it was with a purpose, not just to hear themselves talk. And when his people listened, they listened carefully, also with purpose, so that they could learn something about their world and about their way of life, something that would help them know how to live, how to care for another, and how to teach future generations to live. Again, I was struck by the power and clarity of Bobby’s teaching. (I had been one of those who crumpled up their bay leaf and tossed it aside along the way.) I was reminded of one of the core goals of our Buddhist practice: learning to be fully awake and to make our actions of body, speech and mind purposeful, so that they may serve our goals of understanding and compassion.  Here was a spiritual leader of Florida’s indigenous people, teaching much the same values and practices: listen, watch, speak and act with alertness and purpose. Take life seriously, respect yourself and one another, care for your community, be grateful for the world around you and let your energy nourish Mother Earth as she nourishes us.

The next morning after breakfast we loaded into the vans and drove to our starting point for the day, the sixth and last day of the Walk for Future Generations. Once again, Bobby bathed each of us in smoke from his shell, and then we formed a circle as we focused on our intention for the day.  Then Betty Osceola formed us up in double file behind the flag bearers, told each pair of walkers to look after one another and those around us, and to “take your key, lock it and throw the key away,” and we headed west on Highway 41. I enjoyed the relative cool of the morning, the many different kinds of birds flying or wading or sitting on the electric lines, the breeze blowing off the Everglades, the open vistas along this section of the road as we walked through grassland interwoven with lakes, rivulets and swampland. 

Betty stopped us to point out a red flag about 150 feet out from the road, marking the DOT’s right of way for the ROGG. She helped us to see all the trees and grasses and habitat that would be destroyed in the construction process, and told us how every roadbed across the Everglades is a dam, keeping the water from its natural flow from north to south. She also told us that many thought the ROGG was the first step in a plan to widen US 41 into a four lane highway, like Alligator Alley (US Highway 75), causing huge destruction and disruption, and opening up the southern Everglades and coastal areas of the Ten Thousand Islands to large scale residential development. That was why the right of way was 150 feet from the existing road, and was one reason why her people were adamant that the ROGG must be stopped.

We walked on, as the heat became intense and we began to sweat through our clothes. Mostly we walked looking down at the feet of the person in front of us and the ground ahead, stepping carefully to avoid the rocks and broken glass and trash strewn all along the roadside. Betty and the leaders at the front would hold up one finger in the air to indicate we should form single file when we crossed a narrow bridge and the verge narrowed, and then hold up two fingers when we could reform our double line. We sped up for the many bridge crossings, but mostly we walked slowly, at the pace of the slowest of the group. The walk leaders were always very patient: if anyone stopped to re-tie a shoelace, adjust a pack, or for no apparent reason at all, we would all stop. No one was left behind, even for a few seconds, and I began to see that this, too, was a value the indigenous people were teaching us: we stay together and we care for one another, especially the oldest, youngest or the infirm. “We” not “me.”

A young couple with a baby were with us today, walking a few rows in front of me. The little fellow was maybe a year old, with happy bright eyes, almost always smiling, carried on his young father’s shoulder, playing with his dad or engaged by the walker behind him, interested in everything. Our group of perhaps 25 walkers included a wide range of ages. On this last day more of the Micosukee had turned out, including a family with a big muscular father who walked next to Betty as a walk leader, his teenage boys and young daughter, and some young women in beautiful traditional dress. My walking partner Diane was from Miami, and we had other folks from the east coast, as well as from Naples to the west, and several who lived in the Everglades. There were folks visiting Florida, a young white rasta dude with a Latin accent and boundless energy, teenage girls and middle aged men and graybeards like me. Many had sore feet and blisters, and some were visibly limping. Some, like Betty Osceola, walked in double pairs of thick socks and no shoes, with a walking stick to lean on, and a few walked barefoot to spare their blisters, hobbling quickly over the rocky areas and careful not to step on glass or in ants nests.

As the day wore on it became a bit overcast, and even breezy, which was a real blessing – Mother Earth helping us to help her – but still very hot. We were encouraged not to guzzle our water, and to think about our purpose and to be aware of the life and beauty around us rather than our aches and pains and tiredness. Betty said that you get what you think about, so don’t think about being hot and tired - another similarity to our training as Buddhist practitioners: your thinking makes your world. After one of our brief stops, she told us to keep our formation tight and avoid gaps; breaks in the line make room for “the bad creator” to get in and cause harm.

We took a long break mid-morning at a roadside park, and an even longer lunch break a few miles further west, cooling our faces with the ice water from the coolers in the vans, letting our feet breathe, and chatting while we rested. It was well after one o’clock when we started up again, and we still had many miles to go. After a while I was hot, sweaty, and sore footed, but it wasn’t hard to settle into the rhythm of the walk: following the bare feet of the young Englishman in front of me, watching the ground for obstacles, looking up occasionally at the Glades, the water, a bird in flight, at the feather stick and the Council flag flapping in the wind, then eyes down again, just walking. Forming single file to cross a bridge or pass by some road work, then double file again; occasionally stopping to wait for someone who’d fallen out for a minute, then starting up again. If I noticed my mind was wandering I’d silently chant one of Thich Nhat Hanh’s gathas for walking meditation: “Solid” on the left foot, “stable” on the right. “Solid, stable, solid, stable” until I felt that stability in mind and body. Or: “I have arrived,” and then: “I am home. In the here …and in the now …I am solid … I am free …In the ultimate …I dwell …In the ultimate …I dwell.” I had scarcely ever been in the Everglades, but I felt at home and solid, walking with these people in this place, just walking, noticing, breathing, with the intention to be present and steady and open and helpful. Just walking together, hot, tired, and happy.

By the time we took our late afternoon break at Port of the Islands we were all visibly beat, and I thought I might be a bit dehydrated. The only place we could find to rest was a big dirt parking lot adjoining a new hotel, but I was glad to plunk down on the dirt, take a long drink and rest my feet and legs. However, my monkey-mind was starting to stir: “It’s almost 5 o’clock now. At this rate we won’t make another five miles by dark. Why did we take such a long lunch break? I’ve about had it. It’ll be really late by the time I get back to camp and then I still have to drive back to Tampa! I wish I hadn’t taken down my tent this morning.” And so on –I was aware of the “me” taking over from the “we.”

Betty must have sensed the mood, because as we formed up again, she said: “Among our people, we don’t ask when we’ll get there. We arrive when we arrive – that’s the way we travel. On this walk you are with the indigenous people, and so we ask that you do this the way we do it. For the Indians, there’ll be fry bread waiting when we get there; fry bread! Let’s form our line, keep our silence, and walk. Is everyone here? Are we ready? Let’s go!”

Our weariness didn’t exactly go away, but the walking took over, familiar by now, the focus on the next step, and the next, and the next, and on the purpose and on the people and on the place around us. It was still hot and humid, but after an hour or so it started to cool down just a little, the birds became more active, and we knew that if the end was not in sight, it couldn’t be too far. I began to really appreciate the walking, knowing that I could make it, and knowing what a unique and wonderful experience we were sharing.

The plan was to end our walk at the Miccosukee Village across from the main entrance to Collier-Seminole State Park, where dinner was waiting for us. We finally arrived as the color was fading from the sky and dark setting in. We were hot and tired, eager to get off our feet. A handful of Miccosukee women and children were there to greet us, and they had a nice dinner waiting for us under a big chickee. But Bobby Billie had us make another big circle in the open space by the village gate, while he invited into the circle not only the walkers, but those who had ridden in the vans and pick-ups, the drivers, even a tourist couple who had attached themselves to us at our rest stop at Port of the Islands. The mosquitoes had come out in force, and we held hands until we couldn’t stand them any more and we stood swatting away mosquitoes, as Bobby took his time taking the Council flag off its flagpole, folding it carefully, and then furling the eagle feather stick in its protective case.

Finally the circle was complete, and all was arranged to Bobby’s satisfaction, but he was not done with us yet. He asked us to reflect one more time on our intention: what we would do, when we resumed our “normal” lives, to work for the benefit and protection of future generations. He asked us to boil our intention down to a few brief words, and we went around the circle, starting with

Betty Osceola at Bobby’s right hand, sharing what we intended to do, making a public commitment to ourselves and one another, choosing our words with care. Finally, Bobby had us walk around the inside of our circle, in order, shaking hands or sharing a hug with every person in the circle, offering our thanks for one another’s support and presence. Bobby was teaching us patience, and appreciation, and making sure that none of the energy and intention generated by the walk would go to waste. At last, Bobby smiled and threw his arms up in the air. Our circle dispersed for dinner, and the 2016 Walk Across the Everglades for Future Generations was officially complete.

Thank you for this space to share personal dharma experiences.  I’m on my 4^th  vegetarian year  with the anniversary on Dr. MLK Jr. day.  Since first starting, I have not eaten flesh from land animals and eat sea creatures approximately once a month.  I was still attracted to the smell of BBQ until I recently mentioned this to Fred.  He suggested I visit the charnel grounds in India during a cremation ceremony because the smell that fills the air then is the exact same as BBQ.  I now visit the charnel grounds every time I smell BBQ… a deep bow to the Teacher.

I grew up as a woodsman, tracker and hunter in western Pennsylvania until I moved to Florida in 1997.  I would kill and butcher my own game and even the occasional fresh roadkill.  I was responsible for getting my father back into hunting.  He continues to keep two freezers filled with wild game. 

I took up spearfishing when moving to Florida.  “They are just silly little fishes, sub-animals and easier to clean.  I can combine my two favorite hobbies, hunting and scuba.  I’ll be doing this for a long time!”  However, during some of those dives is when I considered becoming a vegetarian.  One day I speared a snapper through the heart and watched it glide motionless to the sandy bottom, perfect kill, no struggle.  And then something amazing happened.  The rest of its school circled back and swam all around their motionless companion.  I witnessed compassionate acts but I still didn’t get it.  During the next dive trip, a barracuda ducked my shot and stared me down while I retrieved my spear.  As soon as I reloaded, the fish took off like a bolt of lightning.  At that moment I thought, “What am I doing down here killing these amazing creatures?!”  Later, I cut up my spear gun and threw it in the trash never to kill again.  I felt lighter but still a little heavy from the lives I’ve personally taken and by my past eating habits. 

One of the documentaries mentioned in other comments above summed the idea up very well… No creature wants to die, why should we promote the taking of their life?  I couldn’t think of anything that contradicts that idea.  I also suggest mindfully watching some of the documentaries mentioned above.  It is a chance to have a deeper understanding where our society’s food comes from and how we vote with our dollar.

Back to seafood… during one of the documentaries they showed what “long lines” and netting does to the environment.  Not even the sacred underwater realm is safe from un-mindfulness.  When I saw this destruction, I was filled with compassion for our earth and tears filled my eyes and I thought, “That’s it, no more seafood.”   Through this posting, I re-pledge my commitment to the sea.  I will also write a mindful letter, put it in a bottle and toss it into the ocean.

With gratitude to FCM Member Susan Ghosh for this enjoyable recollection and reflection

 

If you’ve been a part of FCM since we acquired the property at 6501 N. Nebraska Ave. in 2012 you have a good idea of what has been accomplished on our campus since then.  If you’ve started attending the Sunday sangha or other classes and activities at the center in the years since then, allow me to fill you in a bit about what our center was like.  Our main building was a church in disrepair.  The upstairs hall was filled with pews that were nailed to the floor, the window panes were plastic blue and pink, and the floor was dirty and scratched.  Downstairs what we now call the Fellowship Hall was a typical basement with a cement floor and round poles that held up the first floor.  The entire western wall was covered with a mural, painted in dark colors, and each figure in the mural was thickly outlined in black paint.  There, too, the windows were pink and blue.  In the Education Building the floors were covered with old linoleum and the walls were in need of paint. Our “grounds” were covered with weeds and torpedo grass. 

 

Little by little our campus transformed.  The basement walls were painted, pews were pulled up, wooden floor polished, Med Hall and Hallways were painted; ground covers, shrubs and trees were planted, and on and on and on. Every day this beautiful campus we now have was manifesting. While some things such a roof repair were completed by professionals, hundreds of hours of selfless service were offered by sangha members.

 

From the outset sangha meetings were held in our new home, so in addition to the ongoing work, our home had to be clean and ready to use every Sunday. If a cloud of dust had been raised, our blue cushions needed to be vacuumed.  The Buddhas, altar, teacher’s table and cushion, all needed to be dusted. The bathrooms had to be clean and ready for use.  

 

Back in those early days about 20 people (??) regularly came to work days. In addition to all of the large and small jobs that needed to be done a small group of us did a LOT of house cleaning. I recall saying to a sangha sister, “I clean more here than I do at home.”  Another sangha sister and I grumbled as we vacuumed the blue cushions in the 80 degree heat of meditation hall.  We wanted a “cleaning person.” Our teacher, Fred, did not respond to our complaints.  His vision was of a community where individuals selflessly offered their service to the group.  So, on we went.  Over time we learned that this new expectation was just a part of training our minds to put our own personal preferences aside and to find joy in caring for the center. We also were learning what it meant to be a part of a community in which all shared in taking care of the needs of our buildings and grounds, our programs and one another.

 

My mind was not easily trained, but though it grumbled I learned how to do the necessary tasks. FCM was different in most ways from my family or any other group that I had been a part of and it nourished me tremendously. I wanted to be a contributing member of the group. And, frankly, I wanted to be more like my sangha sisters and brothers who shared themselves so wholeheartedly and found so much joy in doing so. Over time I developed the habit of volunteering when there was work to be done.

 

Four years later the gifts of our tradition of selfless service have been tremendous. It is wonderful to be a part of the quiet family of workers who sit for 10 minutes on Sunday morning and do a brief meditation before quietly beginning the tasks the allow the center show her beauty to all who come to sangha meetings. Getting to know other members through our friendly bows and the practice of silently mindfully work together on our common goal is very profound.  I have come to see that the center needs all of us and each of us contributes the skills and talents we have. If we choose, we can try out new skills in this safe and supportive environment. 

When I invite family or friends to visit the center I feel a quiet pride and deep gratitude for the opportunity to be a part of the transformation and care of our center.  As soon as people step on our campus they feel the energy and see the beauty of our home. When I say “we’ve done almost all of this ourselves”  I know in my bones that I am a part of “us”. We take care of our buildings, we take care of our grounds, our programs, and one another.  Our teacher, Fred, and our teacher’s teacher, Thay Nhat Hanh, stress the importance of the sangha. Thay says, the next Buddha may manifest as a sangha.”  Here at FCM we have a rich and ongoing opportunity to understand the deep meaning of sangha.

 

If you have chosen to be a member of FCM, and haven't yet volunteered for selfless service, please know that caring for the center is a privilege of membership. Also, please understand that your help is needed.  As the old adage goes, “many hands make light work.” If you are like me and don’t always have a joyful and generous heart, embrace that part of yourself with kindness and compassion, and allow the part of you that wants to end your own suffering to step forward. I think you will find that caring for the center strengthens your sense of connection to the sangha and being of service will open your heart.

We thank Wake Up Tampa Bay members for these very open and moving sharings. Please also visit the photo album from the March 2016 Wake Up Day of Being (click here).

With gratitude to Whitney Hill

My path to the practice was rough to say the least, as I’m sure it was for just about everyone on it.  In fact, none of us are strangers to suffering.  Without it, we wouldn’t be here.  We don’t come to the practice because our lives are perfect and easy.  We come because our lives are painful and difficult and we often feel alone.  We are looking for reprieve from our tumultuous minds and the seemingly endless storms of emotion that run our lives.  We come because we’re hurting and broken and there is a part of us that knows that this cannot be the only way.

Mindfulness offers the rest we seek.  The habits we cultivate offer us a way out; they show us a different path from the one that brought us here.  And the people who walk this path with us, our community, our sangha offers support and guidance when the way is not so clear.

That is what Wake Up has been for me.  We’re all at different points along our journeys but, in a way, our suffering brings us together and we all learn from each other’s experiences.  Wake Up is a space where we find refuge in the teachings and in each other.  It’s a place of consistency and reliability where new habits are formed and old ones fade out. We’re a community notably free of the judgments and ridicule that so often plague our generation.  We’re a force for peace in each other’s lives where old friends feel loved and connected and new ones feel safe and accepted. We stop, we rest, we calm, we heal.  We laugh, we cry, we listen deeply and we share openly all in the spirit of mindfulness.

With gratitude to Aoka Carr

She said “I feel like I can be inside my skin in this place.” That's when I felt my eyes well, hot tears streaming down my patient face. It was because of the day's practice - the sincere efforts to attune to the present moment that I had the awareness to let them fall, silently, without trying to change them. I sat as each one of the attendees expressed poetically honest and authentically vulnerable sentiments. There were familiar themes: a sense of belonging and excitement to meet other young people on the journey of mindfulness and self-discovery, an environment of non-judgement that lead to feelings of comfort which allowed some to find an openness within themselves, discoveries of ways of looking at thoughts, feelings and sense impressions that inspired intentions for many to carry further.

As each person opened up, I saw the tenderness inside them, the place that, in one of our readings, we learned most people protect themselves from exposing. I saw deep listening, deep sharing, connection, space, presence, bravery, nakedness... and in the midst... I realized that this was a new experience, a curious one. This is what it is like to be in a room full of peers, who are seeing each other and allowing others to see them.

It was the end of the Day of Mindfulness that Wake Up, a meditation group for people in their 20‘s and 30‘s, had put on. Five hours earlier, we - some core group members, some who had been coming for a while and some entirely brand new to the center had arrived to a seated meditation. We were guided to find our breath and dwell in the presence of the moment. When the bowl was struck, we read from Nothing Special and practiced deep sharing and deep listening. I watched as people heard each other without trying to change each other; I noticed when I was trying to be of the moment rather than in it.

Next, we quietly put on our shoes and mindfully stepped out into the sunlight, walking the gardens, our shadows falling, in and out of step with the person in front of us, stopping midway to listen to the birds and feel the wind on our faces. Back inside the meditation hall, we were lead into a a gentle yoga class followed by a deep relaxation. I felt the peace in the room amongst the audible breaths, as we tightened and relaxed our muscles in unison.

Afterwards, we were lead down stairs to delight in the bounty of delicious foods people had thoughtfully prepared. We remained in silence, contemplating how the whole universe could be represented by the food on our plate. When everyone was seated we talked. Really talked with each other about our lives, why we were at a day of mindfulness, our struggles in our practice, our fears, vulnerabilities, advancements. I heard people whose practice had grown, talking with people who just began, and a lot of laughter. I felt such gratitude to be among so many who were so genuinely interested in each other.

After a beautiful time getting to know each other more deeply with words we went back into the meditation hall for our final sitting. This is where I could feel an expansion inside myself.  Sitting, the thoughts still came and I still watched them, but behind them was a tenderness, a gentle potentiality of detachment. I could feel the energy of our collective efforts. In all of us, there was a softening - some armor laid down. And with the final sharing, she said, “I feel like I can be inside my skin in this place.” And my tears fell and I let them, grateful to be able to be so present in this wonderful day.

With gratitude to Casey Clague

I first became involved with FCM when I moved to Tampa about three years ago. Shortly after I began attending sangha, Bryan Hindert approached me to ask if I’d be interested in starting a Tampa chapter of Wake Up.  Our initial group was only five or six people, but we met regularly and were all very supportive of each other’s spiritual growth. Unfortunately, I had some health problems and other life circumstances that prevented me from attending Wake Up for around a year and my spiritual practice became less of a priority.  

 When I finally started back, I felt welcome immediately, like I hadn’t missed a beat.  Since then, I have been continually amazed by the growth of the group, both in terms of size and in our individual practices.  In walking this path together and deeply sharing our experiences, I feel like we have learned to live more skillfully, kindly, and openly. For me personally, I have gained a peace and awareness in my life that I didn’t know was possible.  It would be hard to overstate how essential Wake Up is to my continued spiritual development. I want to thank all members of the group for their continued support and insight;  I hope that I am able to give back to some degree what has been freely given to me. 

With gratitude to Jennica Rob

I started attending Wake Up about a year ago. Prior to this, I had started a meditation practice to help manage my anxiety. My only expectation was that Wake Up might help me become a better meditator in some small way. Unexpected to myself, I have become a regular at Wake Up and have benefited from it in ways that I never imagined. I feel that it has radically changed the course of my life. Through our discussions and guided meditations I have been given invaluable tools to ground myself in the present moment rather than being caught in the stories in my mind.

I have been able to bring this practice into my days and feel much more present and accepting of my life. But what I am most thankful for is how Wake Up has allowed me to make connections and foster friendships with some of the most authentic and open minded people I have ever met. I feel continuously inspired by the kindness and openness of my peers. I am in awe of of their consistent willingness to be honest and present with themselves, both with their strengths and flaws, sorrows and joys. I feel lucky to know them and look forward to seeing how Wake Up evolves in the months to come.

With gratitude to Jerry Stinnett

I initially found Wake Up through meetup.com. I was looking for a group of younger folks to meet with regularly and get to know under the setting of meditation. I had been experimenting with meditation on my own using self-help books. I also had been to a few different groups but they weren’t quite what I was looking for.

I really didn’t know what to expect when I first arrived, but I was getting into the practice of getting outside of my comfort zone. Being a highly skeptical person I felt some initial insecurity but I quickly warmed up to the guided meditation. Since that first day I believe I have only missed one or two events in the last year and a half. Everyone that I have met in this group has been sincere and open. I found my way into the greater Sangha as a whole from this group and became a member shortly thereafter.

I cherish the bonds that I have made through Wake Up and will maintain these friendships for the rest of my life. The personal transformation I have gone through in the last few years has been in large part due to the existence of this group. I look forward to seeing it grow and continuing to be a part of it.

With gratitude to Sam

For the past ten years, my struggles with anxiety have been exhausting. Whenever I thought I was “getting better” life would trigger me and I would lapse back into painful confusion. I started meditating about a year and a half ago when I realized that taking anxiety medication on its own would be only palliative for me and not transformative. The final straw that set me on the path of mindfulness was my first experience with heartbreak. Shortly after my heart had broken open, I sought out a community and started attending FCM. I like to think of my experience with heartbreak as a “Wake Up call”, because it called me to Wake Up.

Since attending Wake Up, my peers and I have grown together in so many ways. I have learned to value the art of listening more than the art of self-expression, which to my surprise has been a great relief. All of us at Wake Up have the great opportunity to feel free to be ourselves. Simply showing up is an act of emotional vulnerability, an admission that we are lost and in need of community, and I love that. This admission of pain is what binds us all together and is something I have learned to deeply appreciate.

Listening deeply to my friends at Wake Up has taught me that my very own anxiety is a source of motivation to heal myself and others. It has also taught me that my very own anxiety is not my very own, because fear is a seed in all of us. I am now grateful to have suffered my way to the path. Through earnest practice and the encouragement and deep insight of my fellow meditators at Wake Up, the natural wisdom at the core of every human is visible to me now. It is like being lost in a forest in the middle of the night and seeing the distant glow of a fire on a hillside. I know it is there, and I know I am going towards it, and the journey is the rest of my life. I cannot control the forest around me, but I can keep walking.

When I remember to surrender to the fact that life is unpredictable, existence becomes lighter. The precious moments when I become aware of my limited time in this body are the moments that bring me home to the present moment. I doubt that I could have learned to surrender without the help and wisdom of others. Speaking from my experience, letting go of the illusion of being in control does not come easily. I still have a very long way to go to heal myself, and I look forward to following the path knowing I am not alone. Not only do I see that my peers have plenty of wisdom to offer me, but I see that my pain has been a means of gaining insight that I can offer to them in return.

With gratitude to FCM member Rebecca Milburn for this post.

I moved away from Tampa a year and a half ago, and thus, moved away from FCM. I have continued to participate in intensives from afar; they have been very important to my continued growth and connection to FCM. However, I have missed FCM: the people, community, close connection with the teachings, the beautiful building.

 

After a year and a half, I had the opportunity to visit FCM last weekend. I participated in Wake Up, a Day of Mindfulness (with Fred teaching) and Sunday Sangha. It was wonderful to be back; I felt a combination of excitement and peace when I stepped foot in the building on Friday. I enjoyed again participating in Wake Up – it has grown tremendously since I was a member and the new members (new to me, that is) have a sense of ownership of the group that I really appreciated.

 

The Day of Mindfulness was soothing and healing for me. I received so much love and warmth from the sangha, I was filled with the deep sense of connection and community I remembered from when I lived in Tampa. Practicing silence in a shared space provides me with a sense of safety – the ability to connect with others beyond using words. To my surprise, spending the day primarily doing sitting and walking meditation did not feel difficult. It felt like I was getting back in touch with a part of me that was always there.

 

The Q &A session Fred led was extremely helpful and it seemed the questions he answered applied directly to my life. I work as a psychotherapist in a community mental health clinic located in a very high need area. I often feel overwhelmed by all the suffering I encounter on a daily basis. A term spoken of in my profession is “self care” and I am often inclined to think of my spiritual practice in such terms. Fred reminded me that my practice goes beyond “self care” – a more appropriate term may be “self/other care” – since, as he said, “I am my brother” – there is no separation. When I heal myself, I heal another and when I heal another, I heal myself. This helped rejuvenate my desire to be of service to others and to do so from a place of joy and meaning.

 

I also resonated with the Q& A regarding the “to do list”. I continually find myself needing to have something to do, filling space, fearing the quiet. While at the Day of Mindfulness, having the support of the sangha, I relished the quiet and calm inside me. Now that I am back in Virginia, I am happy to know that the sangha is still there, supporting my practice, and possibly the inner quiet, from afar.

 

I bow deeply to all members of FCM and offer gratitude to those who made this visit possible for me.

As soon as I entered the retreat center, I knew I this would be, for an introvert like myself a dream come true: in the company of others but not required to engage in small talk. Although it was the first retreat I had ever been to, I felt at ease. From the first silent moments, a companionable silence between my fellow participants. I was almost disappointed by the lack of challenge silence might present me. Perhaps the real challenge to my quiet nature would be a Constant Conversation Retreat. Such extreme discomfort would be like being whacked by a Zen master’s stick daily and maybe I would be slapped into enlightenment.

The retreat  took place over four days at the Franciscan Center in Tampa, a modest, no frills place of 1950’s boxy architecture, but spacious enough for the forty-two of us and right on the banks of the Hillsborough River. Across the river in the distance the Golden Arches reminded us of our proximity to the never silent city, but the park-like grounds created a peaceful oasis.

Our days at the retreat began at 6:00 AM by the person in charge of waking us hitting a gong that sounded like a metal plate being struck. I am not much of a morning person and unmindfully rushed to dress so that I could guzzle as much coffee as possible before meditation at 6:30. In the dining hall, coffee clutched like a lifeline, I took a seat with a few others as we watched the full moon shining into the river. Calmed immediately by the glow of moon and water I felt grateful to be up early enough to bask in this serenity, made all the more precious by our silent observance.

After the 6:30 half hour group sitting meditation and ten-minute group walking mediation, we engaged in our individual walking meditation outdoors. Silent and slow were the unspoken guidelines. Setting one foot in front of the other became significant. The shells on the walkway crunched under foot, and pressed lightly into the rubber of my shoe’s sole. Other walkers seemed to float past me. Outside and inside, our movements around each other took on a ballet like quality. Edges softened and when we had to make way for another in the hallways with each move to the side we emanated gentleness, kindness even.

Here is what I took away from the four days of silence and mindfulness:

How to put the right amount of food on my plate. At the first breakfast I filled my plate but eating mindfully and without distractions, I soon realized I could not finish this amount of food. I didn’t need to eat with my usual greediness. Slowed eating tells me when I am full.

Mindfully walking reveals the world around me. The pace makes room for contemplation of a tree branch winding to the ground, the light playing on the water, the energy of my mind drawn to more focus, less scattershot.

Most talking is not necessary. And I did not miss my cell phone or computer or even something to read. The ego likes to talk a lot more than my Buddha nature.

Also, I gained:

 

A greater understanding of ducks.

The ducks and I woke, sat, walked and ate. We co-existed and I felt like their kin. One seemed to follow me for a bit on my walk. Being a duck and being a human is not so different when the mind’s endless litany of desires, demands and preferences are set aside. If the world appreciated more being than doing, perhaps I could have dipped a cup into the Hillsborough River for a drink.

A better handle on my thoughts.

Thoughts do not have no substance I had given them. As soon as one arises, it disappears. My mind makes thoughts, but something else, my awareness remains steady as the thoughts come and go. I can choose to follow them or not.

A deeper experience of space.

With our preoccupation with solid objects like bodies, cars, guns and high-end real estate, we do not notice the spaciousness of life. To find space we must remove the paint from the canvas. The mind rebels at this; it needs to fill space with images and words. Mindful investigation shows us how space is the substance we dwell within and without. Space surrounds and fills bodies, rocks, ducks. Space holds us, like an embrace.

A deeper experience of silence.

Silence and space are inseparable, perhaps they are the same thing. Both serve to heighten awareness.  Sitting in the meditation hall  the stillness is like the  river on this windless day; we sense the energy of our own bodies and those near us, the current still runs underneath the flat surface. Each small movement of a foot, each small sound like a cough is like a stone tossed into the water. My shoulders and back stiffen against this submersion in this deep silence because my habit is mindless movement and nervous fidgeting. This silent stillness reveals each habit.

An insight.

Space and silence are changeless as nothing else is. Words and actions change each moment, float around space and drop into oblivion. We fill the canvas with images, fill the air with words, but nothing is lasting but space and silence. We know this, but see no point in it, devalue it. And yet…We yearn for both. Even when we do not know it.

What then is most nourishing, most natural? What calls us, what is oddly familiar and like home when we stop, awake, aware? If what is real is only what is changeless, what is really true about the ducks and us?

Dear Sangha

Thank you Lee Purser and Ruth Fishel for leading the first Half Day of Mindfulness for the Mediation in Recovery group. This group has been meeting at FCM since October 2014 and was developed to support many of us in recovery programs to use mediation and mindfulness in our daily lives. During this day, Lee and Ruth provided instruction in mediation along with guided meditations and dharma talks. We also did a walking mediation through the beautiful FCM gardens.

Lee brought so much of Buddhist thinking into her talks, relating how these teachings enhance the principles of 12 Step Programs. She provided a wealth of information about Buddhism and Recovery. As usual, Ruth spoke so personally about her path of growth using Buddhist teachings to enhance her recovery program. Her emphasis on practicing self acceptance is so important in learning to live in the present moment.

Although the day was one of silence, we had the opportunity to ask questions and make comments. We also met in dyads to share the one or two most important things we took away from the day. Our experience ended with lunch and fellowship where, judging from observation, participants eagerly shared with one another.

When Lee first spoke of planning this day, the thought was we may have 15 to 20 attendees. We were delighted that approximately 45 people attended. Thanks to all who got the word out! The group of attendees was very diverse with many long time meditators along with those new to the practice. Some, but not all, were in Recovery programs and while many were members of FCM others were not.

Finally, I would like to encourage anyone interested to try the Mediation in Recovery group which meets every Tuesday in the Education building at 6:30 pm. Everyone is welcome!

Bowing,

Eleanor Cecil

Fragrant Palm Leaves (Journals 1962-1966) by Thich Nhat Hanh

Book review by FCM member Janet Levine

 “A satisfying read on many levels: a great introduction to Thay’s ideas, to the majesty of his poetic writing, and to understanding the inspiration for his spiritually based activism.”  

Fragrant Palm Leaves is the work of a person in his mid-thirties coming to terms with realistic acceptance of the meaning—great possibilities of leadership and mission, as well as significant disappointments of personal loss—that arise from his monk’s training and leadership role in trying to reform Buddhism in his country, Vietnam. The strength of the journals lies in Hahn’s honesty in his writing. The journal entries are not private musings but poignant and often powerful reflections, inspirational messages, directed at his followers. A controversial figure in Vietnam, as he went into to exile (for the first time) in May 1966 he wrote that he doubted if the collection would pass the censors. “If it can’t be published, I hope my friends will circulate it among themselves.”

The memoir opens in 1962 in mid-winter at Columbia University in Manhattan and at Princeton University in New Jersey. In this section many striking descriptions of Thay’s reminiscences of the secluded mountain monastery and retreat he built with his friends and comrades—monks and nuns—at a retreat they named Phuong Boi contrast with his descriptions of the stark winter beauty of a northeastern winter. “Phuong” means “fragrant” and “boi” is a palm leaf on which the “teachings of the Buddha were written in ancient times.”

Anyone who has resonated with a “place of the heart” now lost to them will be powerfully moved by Thay’s descriptions of life at idyllic Phuong Boi and his sheer joy in the beauty he finds there. His realization that he cannot remain attached to this place is a lesson for us all. As he writes, quoting another monk, ‘Phuong Boi doesn’t belong to us, we belong to Phuong Boi.” 

Whether it is in the starry sky in Vietnam or a winter storm in New Jersey, in any place he lives Thay finds solace and cosmic connection to nature. “I still respond to the call of the cosmos…with all my body, with every atom of my being, every vein, gland and nerve, I listen with awe and passion. That is how I feel when I hear the call of sky and earth.”

Among many other reflections Thay touches on the passing of youth and the permanency of truth. He shares several instances of his own growing realizations on the nature of reality and illusion. These moments contain the clarity of awakened understanding. They are illuminating and encourage us to continue in our practices knowing that we too can experience the conviction of Truth. “How can we continue to live if we were changeless? To live we must die every instant. We must perish in the storms that make life possible. I cannot force myself back into the shell I’ve broken out of.”

Thay returns to Vietnam in 1964 after his stint lecturing in the USA and although Phuong Boi has fallen into ruin in the tropical environment, he and his cadre of followers devise Buddhist practices in the impoverished rural village communities where they find themselves. These practices are the foundation stone from which will evolve the Communities of Mindfulness that Thay will establish around the globe. 

A satisfying read on many levels: a great introduction to Thay’s ideas, to the majesty of his poetic writing, and to understanding the inspiration for his spiritually based activism. 

Marco Island resident, Janet Levine recently became a member of FCM. She is a lifelong meditator and a Dzogchen practitioner for twenty years. Steeped in the traditions of Tibetan Mahayana Buddhism, FCM is her first encounter with Vietnamese Buddhism and the work of Thich Nhat Hanh. On the recommendation of Fred Eppsteiner, she began her acquaintance with Thay’s work by reading “Fragrant Palm Leaves”. She is a well-reputed author and a book reviewer for the New York Journal of Books.