Walk With Me, Thich Nhat Hanh

My friend Kelly and I finally got to see Walk With Me, the film about the monastic tradition of Vietnamese Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh that has been in the works for years. As a member of the larger sangha of the Plum Village tradition, having met with a small group of friends, new and old, for more than fifteen years, I have waited in happy anticipation for its release.

I was going to call it a documentary, but it is more than that. It isn't fiction. It is a meditative experience that exposes the viewer to some of the most graceful elements (and some amusing ones) of the life of nuns and monks in the Plum Village tradition, and those who come on retreat with them. There is a lot of silence. There are a lot of gentle bells. There are smiles and tears and yes, tiny motes of instruction to have it all make sense to the Western mind.

There are moments here and there where the deep, dulcet voice of Benedict Cumberbatch reads from Thich Nhat Hanh's book, Fragrant Palm Leaves: Journals, 1962–1966. These journals were written at a time when he was in exile from his beloved country because of his peace activism. They are extraordinarily beautiful and profound reflections, and move like a thread of silver through the happenings, and nonhappenings, of the film.

I want to see it again. And I am grateful still more that I have the support and inspiration of this wonderful community.

If Walk With Me is not scheduled to appear in your town, suggest a venue to the organizers (you can find them on Facebook), or ask your local film festival or theatre to schedule some showings. In Vancouver, the film festival added several showings because the first ones all sold out. These ones are selling out, too. It is probably a good bet for your theatre.

A lotus for you, Buddhas to be!

Casey

“Peace In Oneself" - Buddhists Rally Against Racism

Calligraphy by Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh

If you are alive, you are probably aware of the enormous pressures against refugees and other migrants in the last few years, and the increasing acts of anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, and racism generally. Most uncomfortably unexpected to residents of the Lower Mainland has been the distribution of KKK literature in Surrey in the last months. And with the fears or deportation running rampant in the USA, increasing numbers of people are risking winter conditions and arrest to walk across the border into Canada. I need not go on and on. You know it better than I.

Here is one thing my Buddhist sangha has decided to do in response:


Dear Thay, dear Sangha.

It is necessary for us to cancel our sit on March 12th (second Sunday), with apologies. We will still be sitting on the fourth Sunday (the 26th) at Vancouver Status of Women.

Some of us will be taking our practice to the International Day Against Racism on March 26, in downtown Vancouver from 1pm - 4pm: 

http://vancouver.carpediem.cd/events/2462226-international-day-against-racism-march-at-thornton-park

Please feel free to join us if you wish to attend as a sangha. We have taken this step in response to rising anti-immigrant, anti-refugee, and racist sentiment in the world at large. Our teacher and many of our members worldwide are or have been refugees and immigrants. We want to stand peacefully together to support our sisters and brothers who are bearing the brunt of destructive policies and behaviours.

RSVP to me and we can let you know where and when we will gather.

A lotus to each of you, Buddhas to be!

Casey

Hope of Letting Go

Hope of Letting Go

23August 2016

3^rd Day on Retreat

(This note was written shortly after learning my home was to be torn down, devastating information when added to the enormous waitlists and largely poor quality of subsidized housing in Vancouver today. I was shocked to be losing the friends and community I have cultivated, in addition to losing, if I end up in miniscule housing or on the street, everything I have slowly acquired to turn my single room into a place of welcome and comfort. But I was on retreat. I had a chance and support to look at things in a different way.)

I have been calm. I have meditated, prostrated, chanted, and prayed on a nearby forested hill. I have reviewed my Brigit poems and found wisdom in some (and lousy writing in some others). I have received listening and a reminder of non-attachment and the need for an energetic and clear-thinking ally to help me find housing. I have taken a risk and opened up in prayer circle and when all left I have sobbed until I could chant and then chanted until I could carry on and then walked out. I have fallen asleep fifty times but not allowed myself to nap.

Today I have slept anxiously, woken at 6:30 with the start of a cold, and forced myself to stay in bed and rest. I have risen deflated and anxious, looking for the friends I made here, not finding them, recollecting the countless times I had entered into a three-way friendship only to become the one and they the two. I have reminded myself of the old hurts that make that seem unfortunate. Reminded myself that I have chosen a deep, reflective retreat. They have chosen a restful, playful, adventurous one. No surprise I am left behind. Nor would I have wanted to go. How many opportunities do I have for real contemplation?

More important is how I meet this housing—catastrophe, it feels like, but I am reminded of the true devastation people face in the Sudan, Nigeria, Aleppo, and I know that this is merely frightening for me. No one is dropping bombs on my home. No one is torturing me. I do not have to flee with only my life.

My zen books and the dharma talks remind me of the comfort of my ancestors, the link to them when I walk mindfully for my father, for my mother, even if they never had the opportunity in their own lives to take a mindful step. The dharma speaks of suffering, how it arises from the desire to be an individual, and that we have choices (as I knew yesterday but was forgetting today) in how we face it and how we remove those obstacles of craving. (Not easily done, but worth a shot.)

I spent an hour in meditation on that very idea yesterday—each piece of furniture I feel I can’t happily relinquish—the hutch my mum and I refinished, the wardrobe I bought with Eileen, the bed I was given at eighteen by one of the few people who were really thinking about me then. I put my thoughts on each piece of furniture and what it means for me, what memories, what love it attaches to, what age-old hope for calm and security. And saying to it, yes, I can live without you. I am grateful to you, but I can say goodbye.

It loosened the ties but didn’t break them. It gave me some breathing room.

I had a thought a few minutes ago, in the midst of depression at losing my precious, stable, beautiful, peaceful home—thirty years it took to create this!—and after reading once again, “craving to be an individual” and “how we face our suffering”. The thought was: maybe this is the best time in my life for me to move. Sooner, and I would have been paralyzed with grief and fear. Much later and I would be too old to take as much advantage of it. If I am going to face my fear of such drastic liberation, perhaps the perfect time is now.

This of course does not end my suffering around it, or secure me good housing, or guarantee anything. But that luscious, tempting fruit: the chance to slice away the fear that makes me cling so hard to my securities and comforts, the craving to be this particular person who I see and story-tell in this particular way, that is a tantalizing one. Normally, it is not tantalizing enough to cut the strings. But now, when I have no choice, if I am not too quickly saved, if I must lose all? Then maybe. Maybe there is hope of letting go.