inclusivity

Veterans of War and Peace

By Ted Sexauer How did we get into this? For the four-plus years that we of the Veteran Writers' Workshop have been meeting, our mentor, the noted writer Maxine Hong Kingston, has gently insisted that she has not only been instructing us in writing, and in listening, but also, ultimately, in how to lead such a workshop ourselves. "No, no, no, Maxine," we said, "we are veterans. We have learned too well that we must never volunteer."

But this past September, necessity finally forced our hands. Because the retreat at Santa Barbara took place during the first week of classes at DC Berkeley, where she teaches, Maxine would be able to attend only the last day of the retreat. Feeling the need to continue the program that has been so important to us, two brave souls stepped forward: my friend Dan Thompson of the East Coast group, and myself, of the West. We were assisted by Fred Allendorf from the Montana Sangha, a veteran who hadn't previously been part of a writers' group. (It's a well-kept secret, but this always happens in the military, too. Someone always volunteers, or at least is volunteered.)

Our first task was to define ourselves. Because there had been little advance publicity, we didn't start with an established group of participants. We wanted to be inclusive; we opened the group not only to war veterans, but essentially to anyone who wanted to participate-anyone who felt that they had been affected by war or by military experience. As a result, we wound up with the most wonderfully diverse blend of voices: Vietnam combat veterans; protestors against the war, male and female; a World War II veteran; veterans of non-combat service; wives and widows who had lost their husbands in combat, lost them to Agent Orange-induced disease long after the war, lost them to divorce.

Also because of the lack of advance notice, only a few of us had come prepared to write. And only a small number had prior training in writing. Writing our stories has been a central focus of the veterans' group practice because we have seen that it is the formal telling of our stories-writing them down and reading them, not just oral recitation-that brings about catharsis and change. Writing one's personal experience and reading it to a mindful, accepting audience retrieves the story from the nebulous nature of memory and validates it, validates the writer/reader. Makes it real.

Authenticates it. Prepares one to move on. So we pressed the group to write. We gave instruction on basic memoir writing; my contribution was to relate how I had taught myself to feel by writing poems about each incident in the war when I could remember going a little more numb. We guided the group in the spiritual practice of compassionate listening, which is fully half the work we do.

The results were remarkable. The writing that was produced on such short notice was striking in its power, depth, individuality, and honesty. These were not rote exercises. Because of the spiritual quality and intention of the gathering, members of the group were able to go to the heart of some of their deepest experience.

On Friday afternoon, the next-to-last day of the retreat, we graduated. We were given a five-hundred-seat lecture theater, which was filled to capacity with retreatants. Maxine Hong Kingston graciously moderated, and for two hours we read our stories to the most wonderfully attentive audience imaginable.

At the beginning of the retreat, I was very much afraid of failing in this undertaking. I was afraid of the organizational difficulties we had to face-the leaders of this unprecedentedly large I,200-person retreat had their hands full; they could not give us much attention. I was afraid that in our inexperience as teachers, Dan and I wouldn't be able to hold our diverse group together; that some would want more spiritual training than we had to offer, that others would find the writing instruction inadequate; that they would rise up in mutiny, or defect in large numbers. I found that the combination of old military discipline enhanced by the spiritUal ability to remain emotionally present, together with the soundness of Maxine's approach to writing instruction, carried us through. Not only carried us through, but made it a great success. I think we made a difference, not only to the twenty-two of us in our group, but to the entire Sangha.

The success of the group was also secured by the mindfulness of the participants, and by the practices we followed together. We sat in meditation together at each session, and observed the guidance of the bell in remembering to be present. With the help of an able tea master discovered within our ranks, Roger Voight, we enjoyed a lovely, grounding tea ceremony. And we were charmed and refreshed by a visit from the Children's Sangha, who persuaded us to sing wonderful songs with them, and who made us laugh.

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(On September 29,1997, Maxine Hong Kingston received the National Medal for the Humanities from President Clinton for her contribution to the nation's culture.)

Ted Sexauer lives in Sonoma, California, and practices with the Community of Mindful Living. He is a member of the Veteran Writers' Workshop, West Coast Group, which meets quarterly at Sebastopol, California.

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Looking Deeply at Well-Being

By Sister Steadiness Entering the Full Moon Hall, I bow my head, my two hands holding my alms bowl. The floor is cool. With gentle steps over the lavender cushions, I find an empty seat. My body is at rest, seated on my cushion. The bright light from outside draws my gaze toward the altar, a long, low table covered in deep purple cloth. The sight of the fruit arrangement nourishes my eyes. The pineapple balanced on avocados and oranges reminds me of a small Sangha, willingly supporting each other.

During this retreat, we are 350 persons practicing mindfulness together. We support each other with our presence and the collective energy generated by our conscious breathing, smiling, and peaceful steps. When we come together like this, we are like the fruit arrangement, forming a harmony out of our differences. The spiky leaves of the pineapple and the smooth, firm skin of the avocado balance each other. Each fruit rests in suchness side by side with the other fruits, creating one harmonious whole.

Finishing my meal, I look at my empty bowl. My belly is full and my hunger is satisfied. I rest in this feeling for some time, recognizing it is a pleasant feeling. I am aware of the many elements that have brought this food to me, such as the loving work of the gardeners, the shoppers, and the cooks who have prepared this meal, and I am grateful.

I prepare to leave the hall, but rest some moments longer by the low window at the back of the hall. The warm sunshine spills in the open window. I sit on the cool floor, content with the protection of the inside, yet receiving the fresh air of the outside. In this moment, I recognize a feeling of well-being present in me. It is a slow, opening feeling. In it is freedom from fear and space to explore. Having identified the feeling, I have the opportunity to look deeply at it. What has nourished my feeling of well-being?

Shining the light of awareness on my mind, I see that while I enjoyed the midday meal the mental formation of inclusiveness was cultivated in me. With my eyes and in my mind, I had contacted a member of the community, who contributed to this feeling of inclusiveness through our interactions of the previous days. I had remembered working together, and suddenly became aware that over the course of several weeks, I had developed a view that made me feel separate from her. Something in my heart felt blocked and prevented me from embracing and accepting her. Recognizing this feeling of separation, I practiced stopping my thoughts and my body to dwell peacefully in the present moment. I relaxed my body and followed my breathing. Stopping restored a feeling of equanimity and calm.

Once I felt fresh, I allowed myself to see and to hear the other person as if for the first time. I listened to her as a cloud listens to a flower, without judging or reacting. As I listened, the habit of forming a view about her continued to arise, but I did not feed it. I let it rise and fall, and when acceptance and understanding grew stronger than the other thoughts, I smiled to myself. I saw that my own perceptions made me feel separate and unable to accept her—not anything from outside. As I consciously put my views aside, she revealed many positive qualities, and I felt thankful to her for her trust and patience with me.

Dwelling in the feeling of well-being, I saw that it was nourished by the elements of inclusiveness, deep listening, releasing of views, and being penetrated by the Sangha's collective energy of mindfulness. I rose to leave and bowed my head to all the bodhisattvas in the Dharma hall, each a flower ready to share his or her suchness with the cloud in me.

Sister Steadiness lives in Plum Village.

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A Day of Tea and Haiku

By Alexa Singer-Telles Like many Sanghas, we hold days of mindfulness in members’ homes to enjoy the traditional practices of mindful breathing, sitting, walking, and eating. Our days together were enriched early on as we began to experiment with bringing other creative activities into our days of mindfulness. These opportunities grew organically by inviting our Sangha members to share the fruits of their talents. Not only did we experience a variety of gardens to walk in, but we varied our mindful movements, celebrated rituals for special occasions, and experimented with art.

In a recent conversation with an Order of Interbeing member about creativity and practice, it was mentioned that Thay wrote that though there are 84,000 Dharma doors, we are given the task to invent new doors for our contemporary needs. This was an important reminder to me not to get stuck in the view that there is a rigid form, but rather to allow the form to be the fertile ground where mindfulness can grow in many ways. This invitation for creativity and bringing our gifts into the practice parallels my experience with Jewish Renewal, a recent movement in Judaism. In their philosophy, Jews who left the tradition to explore other spiritual paths are welcomed back into Judaism. This inclusiveness is contrary to other approaches which insist that you leave other ideas at the door; instead it encourages these returnees to weave the teachings and gifts they have received from other spiritual traditions into their practice. The phrase coined to describe these spiritual explorers is “hyphens,” to honor their eclectic heritage. Rather than preserving the purity of a religious tradition, this invitation allows a rich interweaving of experience to inform spiritual practice and hopefully deepen it. In this modern time, where many of us have come to Buddhism from another root religion and have explored other spiritual paths, it is inevitable that we come to this practice made up of non-Buddhist elements. Welcoming in these valuable elements honors the wisdom of our experience and enriches the life of our Sangha.

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One of the first opportunities for creative practice came when Rod, an artist in the Sangha, invited us to his home studio for a day of mindfulness. We sat in the warm spring sun on the deck and enjoyed sitting meditation and some body awareness exercises. Then we were each given a small ball of clay and invited to be present to its shaping. He explained the Japanese aesthetic, wabi sabi, “a beauty of things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete.” He guided us in this unpretentious and simple approach, by encouraging the natural process to unfold. Our task was to breathe mindfully and feel the experience of molding clay into a small cup. Our eyes were closed to feel the sensations of form developing through our fingers.

Afterwards we placed the cups in the center of the circle to admire the uniqueness of each cup and share our experiences and insight. The next week, Rod brought our glazed cups to our weekly sit. They had transformed from plain gray clay into multi-colored, crackled raku cups. My cup sits on my altar to this day, a piece of imperfect art, pleasant to the eye, and holding memories from a wonderful day.

The pleasure our Sangha members derived from this art-making encouraged us to continue to offer creative expression to our group. Recently, one of our members volunteered to lead us in a Japanese tea ceremony during a day of mindfulness. Sandra had studied tea ceremony and was eager to share this special practice with us. The tea ceremony became the centerpiece of our day, and when our planning committee gathered, we had fun brainstorming ideas to enhance the experience of the tea ceremony. We designed a Japanese-style altar with such items as a parasol, a fan, a Buddha, and an ikebana flower arrangement. On the day of mindfulness, to our delight, one member brought a bonsai maple tree for the altar. These pieces made an interesting yet serene focal point for the room. To me the creation of an altar is like making an offering to the Buddha as well as giving a gift to the entire Sangha.

We usually include mindful movements as a way to remember to care for our bodies. At times we have added yoga stretching, body awareness exercises, and four elements breathing and movements from Sufi tradition. On this day our movement form was chi gong exercises in keeping with our Asian theme.

At the conclusion of our days together, we often share poetry, songs, and reflections. For this special Day of Tea, I suggested that everyone be invited to write a haiku (short poem) as a way to translate our awareness and experience into art. To give some background and preparation for haiku writing, I offered a brief teaching from the Japanese poet, Basho, one of the greatest contributors to the development and art of haiku. Basho’s teachings are very much in alignment with the practice of mindfulness and interbeing. His teachings guide the writer into an awareness of our deep connection with the natural world. He suggests that by immersing oneself in the impersonal life of nature, one can resolve deep dilemmas and attain perfect spiritual serenity (sabi). He found that the momentary identification of man with inanimate nature was also essential to the poetic creation. 1 Connecting with the natural world, especially during mindful practice, has brought me a direct experience of peace and tranquility many times. It was my hope that this exercise would be an opportunity for Sangha friends to experience this Dharma door of awareness.

The day was wonderful. The tea ceremony brought us into the serene beauty of the tradition and formality of drinking tea. We were given a bit of tea history and strict instructions, including how to pass the bowl, when to admire its beautiful hand-painted designs, and how many gulps to drink. One at a time, we were passed the freshly made bowl of tea, drinking it in three gulps, admiring the floral design of the bowl, and passing the cup back to the server. We listened silently to the stirring, passing, and gulping of the tea as it went around the circle. The tranquility of tea was palpable. My haiku expressed my sense of being transported back into the stream of ancestral tea drinkers.

Green tea stirs my heart, The ancient ones whispering Enjoy every drop!

A growing sense of awareness of our presence and interconnectedness with the natural world seemed to be captured in the haikus that were written that day. The poems, like our cups crafted many years ago, are tangible evidence of our experiences. They embody the sense of clarity that grows when we take the time to share a day of mindfulness. Here are some examples.

Hands stretch to heaven The sun is not far away Feet sink through the earth. Greg White, Mindful Clarity of the Heart

Damp concrete walkway Urges my bubbling sole To know its cool kiss Christine Singer

Six shoes in a row Where are the master’s feet now Joyful in the grass Sandra Relyea

Hot water pouring The cup of tea goes around Gulping the tea is magic Susane Grabiel

Butterfly on stone Wings opening and closing She’s breathing the sky Terry Helbick, True Original Land

As I reflect on this particular day of mindfulness through these poems, it is clear to me that the most important ingredient for a day of practice is the sincere presence and -willing participation of the Sangha members. The gifts of awareness that grow in us can be so beautifully expressed in art-making and other creative forms. Simply by welcoming and weaving into our practice the talents of our Sangha friends, the possibilities for creating beauty in mindfulness abound.

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Alexa Singer-Telles, Steady Friend of the Heart, is a member of the River Oak Sangha in Redding, California. A psychotherapist and artist, she is an aspirant to the Order of Interbeing.

  1. Ueda, Makoto, The Master Haiku Poet: Matsuo Basho. (Tokyo: Kodansha International, 1982)

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Dharma Talk: Be a Real Human Being

by Larry Ward mb36-BeAReal1I love the smells here. They’re old, been around a long time. I can feel the ancient presence of the native peoples, in the rocks and in the mountains, in the trees and in the river. It makes me very happy to be here in this space.

Compassion is very concrete practice. Compassion can make a huge difference in how we live our daily lives, how we make our daily decisions. And our practice is to feed ourselves those things that nourish our compassion. That’s what a bodhisattva does. The bodhisattvas feed themselves the spiritual food, the emotional food, the physical food that nourishes and cultivates their mind of love. That’s the second characteristic of a bodhisattva. The wisdom of nondiscrimination is one, and cultivating the mind of love is the other.

At retreats this past summer I heard Thay say something that I’ve never heard him say before.  He said, “Be a real human being.”

So I’ve been meditating on that. When Peggy and I led a retreat in Oklahoma City recently, we were doing walking meditation at the Murrah building site where the bombing happened several years ago. It only took a minute for that devastation to happen. At the east gate, “9:01 a.m.” is carved in stone, and at the west gate, “9:03 a.m.” Between them are 161 empty chairs, for the people who were killed at 9:02. The first row is made of smaller chairs for children, because there was a daycare center there.  And as we walked around that memorial, it became really clear to me that Timothy McVeigh never had a chance to be a real human being. How do I know Timothy McVeigh wasn’t a real human being? Because a real human being does not perpetrate violence. That’s not the act of a real human being. Violence is a dark cloud floating across the blue sky of a real human being. A real human being is not trapped in or addicted to conflict and jealousy. Yes, we all have seeds of conflict and jealousy in us, but our seeds of conflict and jealousy are a dot against the blue sky of a real human being

We all have the capacity to be greedy, to want too much, to give too little—to ourselves as well as others—but that is not the motivation of a real human being. That’s a shadow passing across the ground of a real human being.

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A real human being is like this camp—this camp is our host. The earth is here, supporting us and holding us; the trees are here, the creek  is  running.

Just holding us, whether we’re short or whether we’re tall, whether we’re young or whether we’re old, whether we’re black or whether we’re white, whether we’re straight or whether we’re gay, whether we’re this or whether we’re that. A real human being is a host, welcoming everything. In the morning when the sunlight strikes the sky for the first time, you can look in it and see dust in the sunlight. A real human being is the sunlight, not the dust.

Our practice is to water those seeds in us, to create an environment around us that gives us a chance of being a real human being. What I’m trying to do with this practice is to cultivate my best self, the best Larry possible. And when I do that I manifest the way of the bodhisattva. A bodhisattva is another name for a real human being. Thay told a story this summer about a wonderful woman from Holland that he met who saved thousands of Jews from the gas chambers in World War II, all by herself.  Bodhisattvas are real people.  Recently I started thinking about a brief encounter I once had with Martin Luther King; he was a real human being. Mother Theresa, whom I met when I lived in Calcutta, was a real human being. She was so real that when she thought something, you just did it.  [Laughter.]  It was astounding!

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Thay is that way. Peggy and I had promised Thay last year that we would join him on a trip to Korea last spring. But as April approached, we were moving from one side of the country to the other and we were extremely busy. So we wrote Thay a beautiful letter saying why we couldn’t come to Korea. We got a note back: “Thay is very sad. Here’s the schedule in case you change your mind.” [Laughter.] That’s all a real human being has to do. Being near a real human being is so rare an opportunity that any time we can, we go because it is a chance to be trained. To be trained in what? It’s a chance to be trained in becoming a real human being.

So we went to Korea, and it was a profound experience of the bodhisattva way. One day in Korea, five thousand people joined us in walking meditation, as we walked into the subway where a man had committed suicide and had killed 200 other people. He left a note, saying he did not want to die by himself. We did walking meditation into that subway where family members were still gathered, with candles, altars, and pictures. It was powerful to go from the daylight down those steps into that dark subway. You could still smell the fire. It was profound practice in offering compassion without saying a word.

The world needs real human beings. In the Lotus Sutra there is a section called “arising up from the earth,” and in it the Buddha is having a conversation with hundreds and thousands of bodhisattvas from all over the galaxy. One of the reasons they’ve gathered is that they’re concerned about planet Earth, and they asked the Buddha, “Do you need reinforcements?”  [Laughter.]  “Do you need help?”

And the Buddha said no, at this very moment bodhisattvas are rising up from the earth. Real human beings capable of living like the blue sky, like the sun and the moon that shine on everything. Shine on confusion, shine on clarity. Shine on sadness, shine on happiness. Shine on birth, shine on death.  Rising up from the earth.  It’s a powerful statement.

If you want to do something with your life, be a real human being. If you want to do something for your children, your grandchildren, be a real human being. If you want to do something for America, be a real human being. In everything you need to be a real human being. And it’s already inside of us; it’s in every cell of our body. However, we have to be trained to develop it, cultivate it, and to apply it. This is one of the Buddha’s fundamental insights—that one has to be trained to live life deeply. Most of us assume you have to be trained to be a doctor or a nurse or a pianist or a schoolteacher or a cabdriver or a cook. The idea that we have to be trained to live profoundly, seems to have never crossed anybody’s mind! You have to be trained to live. It’s one of the Buddha’s fundamental insights, and that training is lifelong.

The Buddha designed his life so that nine months of the year he was in public service, and three months of the year was spent in in-depth training. He designed his day that way also. He had very long days, lots of people coming and going, lots of teaching. But three times a day he withdrew for his own training, his own practice.

I think the dilemma for every one of us in this room, right now, is how do we design a life that allows that to happen for us? Our society is not structured for us to be real human beings; it’s structured for us to be consumers. And you don’t have to be a real human being to be a consumer. Our education system, our economics, our political process, don’t give us the time or create the environment for us to train ourselves in being a real human being. The training every bodhisattva has had for over two thousand years, is training in six things, and it’s the same training the Buddha had when he was a bodhisattva-in-training.

These six things are called the paramitas. They are practices that take us from the shore of fear to the shore of non-fear. From the shore of greed to the shore of non-greed. From the shore of hate to the shore of non-hate.

The first one of these practices is generosity. First, it means learning to give physical things we have without reluctance. Sharing. Basic kindergarten kinds of issues: “I have a cookie, and you don’t have one. What do we do now?” [Laughter.] Generosity. We have to train ourselves. Even though the impulse is deep inside of us, buried in ourselves, to share and to give, we are so quickly trained out of it by our society, by our culture. This is not just our culture, it’s every culture: “Don’t you do that, don’t give them your cookie.” Why? Because they may come back tomorrow for another one. We have tremendous rationales for cutting off and killing our true human being. Generosity: giving without apprehension, giving without fear.

There’s a great story about the Buddha’s generosity. The Buddha and his cousin Ananda were out for a stroll, and a man came up, bowed and said, “Dear sage, my mother has a medical emergency, and in order for her to be healed she needs another eye.”  So the Buddha took his eye out and gave it to the man. The man took the eye from the Buddha, threw it in the dust and stomped on it. And while he was stomping on it, Ananda said, “Hey, wait a minute!” But the Buddha said, “Ananda, the gift has already been given.”

Generosity. The practice of generosity is the practice of giving. For most of us, if people don’t do what we want with our gift we’re upset. That is the practice of non-generosity. When a gift has been given, it’s no longer yours, it’s no longer mine. And of course, there is no greater thing a person can do for their friends than to lay down their life, as Jesus reminds us. And the laying down of your life could be something as dramatic as martyrdom, but it could also be something as undramatic as going to a classroom full of children every day for forty years. It could be as mundane as going through your social work files for the thousandth time and not giving up on yourself and not giving up on humanity. It could be the fifty-fifth conversation with your daughter about the same thing, and you know you’ll do number fifty-six, you won’t withhold that from her.  Generosity.

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We train ourselves so well that eventually our generosity becomes like the Buddha’s.  It’s spontaneous – sure, here’s my eye.  But for most of us now we have to think about the cookie—the eye’s a long way off! And that’s the purpose of the training. The training takes us on a journey from the cookie to the eye. And we don’t get there without training. I know how hard that is for Americans who want things fast. It takes practice. It takes training.  It takes time.

The second paramita is diligence. It’s called Right Effort in the Eightfold Path. How can we be diligent? The first step of diligence is figuring out how to be consistent in your practice. Once a day, twice a day, once or twice a week with the Sangha, My own personal experience is that you cannot practice too much.

Once we have a daily practice rhythm, diligence means looking deeply within ourselves. It’s going into great inquiry. As Master Empty Cloud would say, “Great inquiry into our fundamental face.” That’s the practice. To have the courage to look into our real face. Not our five year-old face, not our ninety year-old face, not our American face, not our female face, our male face. Our fundamental face. Our original face, some have called it. Our Buddha nature, others have called it. The face of nirvana is our fundamental face. The face of a real human being. Great inquiry. Diligence. Looking into who we really are. And when we begin to see who we are, we begin to see who everybody else is.

For a long time I’ve been estranged from my son. I’ve written him letters over the years, but we have never been reconnected at the heart level. This year while practicing, I discovered the last threshold that stopped me from reconnecting with him. I realized that I didn’t know who he was: I didn’t know his fundamental face was the same as mine! I forgot about his Buddha nature. I forgot about his blue sky. And I forgot that because I forgot that about my face. As soon as I had that insight, within three days I got a phone call from a friend who said, “Your son’s looking for you.” And I’m looking for him. When we leave this retreat, Peggy and I return to Boston where we’ll be for a month, and we’re staying about two miles from where he lives, and he and I have plans to hang out.

Inclusiveness is the third paramita. That’s a very popular word in diversity circles. You want to be inclusive. Okay. Inclusivity is the practice of developing the capacity to receive what life gives us. To receive the pain, the suffering and the disappointments and to develop the capacity to take it in and to transform it into compassion.

Some years ago Peggy and I had our house burn down in Boise, Idaho, by an arsonist who had been sent by the Aryan Nation. I was working in California when the fire started. Because the fire occurred at two-thirty in the morning, they expected us to be there sleeping, and they meant to do us real harm. Peggy called me at three o’clock and told me that she and our dog Reggae were safe but the house was a total loss. I said, “Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The whole time I was rearranging my schedule I was so stunned at the very idea that somebody would do that. I realized I didn’t know how to think like that.  I realized I didn’t know how to feel like that about anyone. I asked myself, how could somebody do that?

So over the next year as we rebuilt the house, I began to look into what kind of person joins that group. And I found out that they come from very poor economic backgrounds.  That most are high school dropouts. See, I’m moving toward inclusivity. That, if you look a little deeper, you’ll discover that nine out of ten of those people have been abused as children, emotionally and sexually. That’s how somebody could do that. Just looking for something to do to somebody, to strike out with the rage, with the anger, with the pain that’s just sitting there, growing.

Inclusivity practice takes time -this is about patience. This is not about having a Pollyanna attitude. For two years, Peggy had post-traumatic stress symptoms from being there when the fire started. But what is most important about this experience is that we were not harmed. What I mean is that we did not find ourselves having to be cruel. We did not find ourselves wishing ill will. We did not find ourselves having the seeds of hatred watered and developed at all. Anger, yes. Disappointment, yes. Shock, yes. But we did not become possessed and cruel. We did not have our focus turned around and reoriented to try to eliminate someone who tried to eliminate us. Protected by compassion.  Protected by inclusiveness.

There’s a wonderful story of the Buddha. Around his time of enlightenment, Mara came and sent armies who fired arrows at the Buddha, and as the arrows got closer they turned into flowers and dropped to the ground. Now, I want to be like that. [Laughter.] And we can! That’s just the practice of inclusivity. I’ve seen it happen with Thay. I’ve seen an arrow coming at him, and by the time the arrow got to him it was a flower. Peggy and I were sitting with Thay and Sister Chân Không and a few others when Thay got the phone call about his sister passing away in Vietnam. And we watched him receive that news, knowing he couldn’t go to be with his family. We watched that news go in and come back out as compassion for the person on the phone who had to give the message. Inclusivity.

Mindfulness trainings, the fourth paramita, are characterized in the Eightfold Path by right speech, right action or conduct, and right livelihood. The first role of the mindfulness trainings is creating stability and safety in and around ourselves. You know, it is very difficult to reach tranquility and profound insight in sitting meditation if you’re constantly looking out the window to see if your neighbor is looking for you with a gun because you stole his chicken! [Laughter] The first function of virtue is to create stability in ourselves, so we can calm down.  So the sand in the glass can settle at the bottom.

Mindfulness trainings are the ground upon which awakening can occur. And they are also evidence of the awakening. They’re both. But it’s a journey. The first step in practicing the mindfulness trainings is to notice your own behavior. Not improving yourself. The first step is noticing yourself with gentleness, with compassion. And the second step is slowly beginning to try to shift the pattern. The third step is healing the pattern. And the fourth step is transforming the pattern. Most of us want to go from step one to step four. Be compassionate with yourself. The key is to continue to practice. Mindful breathing, mindful walking, mindful eating.

There’s also a secret of the Eightfold Path that’s not written down. It’s called right association. During a retreat last summer one of the children asked Thay, how did he get so peaceful? And Thay said, “Well, first I wanted to be peaceful. Second, I had an image of what that might be like.” And he referred to a time when, as a young person he saw his first picture of the Buddha sitting mindfully on the grass. “Third, I surrounded myself with peaceful people. Fourth, I added to that an environment that would support my practice of peace.” Right association.

Many of us want more peace, but our associations are not peaceful. We  have to take  charge,  and create the environment that cares for us, that supports us, that will sustain us in becoming real human beings. We have to learn to set boundaries that protect our practice. We have to learn to protect ourselves from others with gentleness and kindness, with kind caring.

Meditation is the fifth paramita that takes us to the other shore. And the other shore is always right here, right now. The practice of meditation is not an escape from life, it’s an escape into life. The classical description of meditation is the practice of stopping, calming, and achieving tranquility, stillness of mind, imperturbability. And the practice of deep seeing, deep looking into life, vipassanya, insight. This must occur for that to occur, and of course they inter-are, as Thay would say. But most of us want insight without stopping, without calming. For example it’s not that we aren’t smart enough to solve the problem of education in America, it’s that we haven’t meditated on it. We haven’t stopped long enough to settle down, to calm ourselves, and to look deeply into it.

Sometimes at Plum Village Palestinians and Israelis gather together. Because the first part of the peace process is about peace with oneself, they’ll spend several days sitting and walking and eating mindfully, and only later will they start to talk about peace with each other. It’s only a political problem because it’s a spiritual problem.

Einstein said the same level of consciousness that created a problem can’t solve the problem. You can only reinforce the problem with that kind of thinking. It’s astounding what can happen through spiritual practice, when, eye-to-eye across the table, father-to-father, son-to-son, daughter-to-daughter, mother-to-mother, all of a sudden we see each other’s children lying in the street and we get it! We get it in the very cells of our body, the possibility of being a real human being, and we know real human beings are not warmongers, that real human beings are not driven by revenge and prejudice. Revenge and prejudice and war are dark clouds floating across the sky of a real human being.

Meditation: stopping and calming and looking deeply into life. Meditation: sitting and walking and eating and lying down. Meditation is more than stress reduction. The purpose of meditation is to transform the quality of our minds. We say we want peace in the world, but we don’t have minds capable of it. We wish people were more kind, but we don’t train our minds to be more kind. Master Tang Hoi from Vietnam used to say that meditation is the process, the practice, of eliminating those clouds in the blue sky that is our mind.

Right view, right understanding, is paramita number six. The realization of perfect understanding is the bodhisattva’s only career. It’s very important that all these practices are done with wisdom. Generosity without wisdom, without understanding, is pity. Generosity without right understanding means you’ve died for the wrong cause. History’s full of examples of that tragedy.

Right view is detachment from views. It doesn’t mean we don’t have views. It means when we have views we know that that’s what they are, just views. Opinions are easy to come by; most of us have opinions that are created by our culture. We have opinions created by our family, by our ancestors, about ourselves and about each other, and we think they are our own. Right view is insight. Right view, right understanding, is about moving from the shore of speculation into the shore of direct perception. To practice developing insight into life, our whole life long,

The way of the bodhisattva is the way of the real human being. It is the way, as Thay would say, of walking with our Buddha feet, so that with every step we enjoy the miracle of being in the present moment. We touch the Pure Land of the Buddha, the Kingdom of God with every step–that’s where we live. With our Buddha eyes, everywhere we look we see wonder.

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Our Racism is a Crying Baby

Larry Ward Interviews Sister Chau Nghiem June 20, 2004 at the New Hamlet, Plum Village

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Sr. Chau Nghiem, can you give us a glimpse into what it was like being a person of African American and European American descent, prior to coming to Buddhist practice and monastic life?

It’s been at the center of my searching all my life. I have always tried to understand who I am, because from a young age I felt that there were conflicting parts of me. My life has been very complex and very rich because of this.

I was born in Chicago and grew up in a large, Christian, lay residential community. My mother is African American and my father is European American. Tthere were other African Americans in the community, as well as Indians and Asians, but it was mainly European Americans. The neighborhood surrounding us on the north side of Chicago was very diverse.

When I was eight or nine, I would squeeze the bridge of my nose a lot, hoping it would become skinny like a white person’s, because somewhere I got the message that my nose was too flat. Also, my brother and I met my dad’s parents for the first time when I was nine, after my parents had divorced. It was only after my parents divorced that we were allowed to come visit them in Houston. And they had an African American maid. So that was a very stark message and it stuck with me.

But from age eight to twelve we also lived in Kenya. It was very good to live outside of the United States, which has unique racial practices. It was wonderful to live in an African country, to go to school with many African children, and to grow up in an environment where people lived simply and close to the land. Visiting the homes of my Kenyan friends, I learned some of their native language and culture. Near our home, there were always women in their beautiful, colorful kangas, selling things in the market. Something deep in me was nourished.

I went back to Chicago for junior high, and was bussed to a racially diverse school on the South Side. I had Latina, Polish, Asian, and black friends. But being different racially wasn’t something we talked about or were really aware of, I think because we hadn’t started dating yet. It all gets complicated when you think, Who am I going to date? Race wasn’t on my mind, and I didn’t see myself as a person of color or as a person of a certain race.

But when I started high school, we moved to Atlanta. I lived with my dad and his fiancée, who were both white, in an all-black neighborhood. I attended a mostly white school. So suddenly, I was out of the lay residential community that I’d grown up in all my life which had been a cushion between me and the world I now found myself in. It began to get really hard, with no other racial groups but whites and blacks, and all this Southern history embedded in the culture.

It became clear that I didn’t fit with the black folks. I’d grown up in different parts of the world, but mostly with white people, so I didn’t talk like a black person. I didn’t have the same mindset or family background. I could dance! I could always dance, but otherwise I didn’t fit in. There were other kids who were biracial: black and white, and we all had to try really hard to prove that we were black. It was very painful.

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I think not growing up with my mom also made me feel like something was missing. My parents divorced when I was seven and my brother and I lived with my dad. We only visited my mom and her relatives for two weeks every summer so I never really lived with black people. I was hungry for something they had that I felt was my inheritance, but that was somehow foreign to me.

Around that time I started to read a lot of African American authors. My dad always had us listen to many kinds of music, but especially to soul music and R&B. This cultural connection to my ancestors spoke to me on a very deep level, and helped me make sense of things.

In high school it became clear that I did belong to a certain color, and that was black. I took that on, and said, “I have a white father, but I am black, because that’s what society says I am.” So I dated mostly black men and checked the African American box on official forms. But I knew that the boxes I checked and the messages I was receiving did not fully describe who I was.

In my junior year of high school, I wanted to spend a year abroad as an exchange student and I chose Brazil. I wanted to experience being in a society where the lines of racial discrimination were less rigidly drawn and where people interact with other races with more humanity and ease. The African Diaspora became the focus of my academic interests. I learned capoeira, an Afro-Brazilian martial art. My master’s thesis in university was on capoeira as emancipation practice for African American young people. A major concern of mine as a teenager and young adult was to understand and help to change the suffering caused by racism that I experienced and witnessed around me.

What was the purpose of the People of Color Retreat?

For me it was to embrace people of color, to reach out and say, “Hey, you! We want you to feel like this is your space, too.” It was motivated by a deep wish to help people feel at ease. Like our other retreats which focus on a group of people with a common life experience (i.e., police officers, congresspeople, children, artists, psychotherapists, etc.), we wanted to provided one more condition to help people feel safe and bring mindfulness into their lives. Sometimes you have to open lots of doors; this was just opening one more door. Also many of the monastic brothers and sisters felt that in order to be complete as a community, we needed to reach out to a wider group of people, to include a missing element in our Sangha.

Who attended the People of Color Retreat? What were we like and where were we from?

The first night in the front of the Dharma hall, looking at the sea of colored faces, I could have cried. It was so beautiful! Mainly we were from the United States, many of us coming for the first time to this practice, and many who were new to Buddhism. Many were also from the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender communities. The two biggest racial groups were African American and Asian American,  although most people had quite a mixture in their backgrounds. There were also Latinos and Native Americans, and a few European Americans.

Why has it taken so long to introduce this practice to people of color?

Actually, I think a majority of Buddhists in the United States are people of color: they’re Korean Buddhists and Chinese Buddhists and Japanese Buddhists. They are mostly in insular communities that are preserving a tradition.

Another aspect of Buddhism is influencing mainstream American society. When we become Buddhist practitioners it’s difficult not to reflect in our Sanghas whatever racial blindness we carry. If we live in a white neighborhood with white schools and primarily white work environments, of course our Sanghas will reflect that. There are also economic obstacles. But the number of practitioners of color is definitely growing. A hundred people attended the African American Buddhist retreat at Spirit Rock in 2002. This year at Deer Park there were almost three hundred.

What was the biggest challenge in the organization and development of the retreat?

For me the biggest challenge was defining the terms of inclusiveness. How do you handle requests from people who aren’t of color but who want to come? How do you design a Dharma discussion where people of color feel at ease, and also include our forty white monastics? At first we felt the retreat should be for people of color only, but Thay suggested that while priority could be given to people of color, European Americans could still come if there was space.

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When we began to reach our maximum capacity, I had to turn away white people. Some felt that they were being discriminated against and were hurt. The monastery is usually open to everyone, so being a person of color and having to explain to a white person that they can’t attend was quite painful. I told one person he couldn’t come because we had to save the last spaces for people of color and he said, “Well, white is a color!” I wrote him and said, “White is a color, but white is not the color that is undergoing racial oppression in this country.” I sent him some concrete statistics on the racial discrimination happening here. Several other cases were not easy to resolve. How do you determine who is white or of color anyway? Some people look white but have ancestors of color; who are we to say they are not people of color? These difficulties illustrate how people of color often spend so much time thinking and worrying about what white people feel and think. It’s not a helpful habit energy to always see ourselves through the eyes of white people. In the end, retreatants were happy that the majority of people were of color and asked that future retreats have the same ratio.

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There was so much karma coming at me at the registration desk! It was difficult to feel like I was taking sides but at the same time trying to offer people of color the safe and supportive environment they needed. I don’t know how to be fair and compassionate all the time.

Next time there should be at least three people to help with registration, for greater collective insight into such situations.

For me just to talk about “them” and “us” and “white people” and “people of color” is painful. Since becoming a nun, I don’t think about my European and European American brothers and sisters as white, I just see them as my brothers and sisters. But in this retreat full of people of color, I felt an incredible joy and glory in myself being a person of color; it was profound and healing. I had never been around that many people of color practicing mindfulness.

How has the practice been helpful to people in dealing with their suffering?

It was so important for people to hear that Thay understood and shared their difficulties. In his orientation, he talked about his struggle for peace in Vietnam, his connection to Dr. King, and his own experience of being discriminated against. He told of being detained at the Seattle airport in the 1960s when he was on tour speaking out against the war in Vietnam. Because he did not have a transit visa, immigration officials seized his passport and locked him in a room with big “Wanted” posters on every wall. Thay was telling us, “I’ve been there. I’ve been through what you have experienced.” And people felt, Ah! Okay. I’m not going to be preached at by someone who doesn’t know where I’m coming from. Here’s someone who has been where I am and has reached a very beautiful place in spiritual life. So I don’t have to be stuck.

Usually when we have a transmission of the Five Mindfulness Trainings, Thay puts the incense on the Buddha altar and gives the second stick of incense to a monastic to put on the ancestor altar. But at this ceremony, Thay offered incense to both altars. I think people really felt embraced and honored by Thay.

People also felt moved by the sense of community. For many, there aren’t other people of color they can share these concerns with in their local communities. Here we nourished each other, shared our common ancestry, and our desire to transform. We invited everyone to put an object connecting them to their ancestors on the ancestors’ altar. Someone brought a bag of rice, someone brought a book about slavery. Someone brought a T-shirt, with a picture of Indian chiefs that said, “Fighting Terrorism Since 1492: the Department of Homeland

Security.” [Laughs.] There was a necklace, a bag of seeds, a doll. People brought pictures of their families, their ancestors, a drum. The last night retreatants shared a song or poem, or talked about their object on the altar. It was a highlight of the retreat: each sharing was so rich and nourishing. We were honoring and healing our blood family in the context of a spiritual family.

How can practitioners help increase access to Buddhist practice for people of color?

I think mainly it’s just to be open and not to feel like we’re doing anything wrong. When we bring up the idea of including more people of color in our Sangha, just to be aware of whatever feelings come up. It might be something comfortable, it might be uncomfortable. We have to be gentle with ourselves.

We need to talk about racism or discrimination like Thay talks about our painful mental formations: it’s a crying baby, and we need to take care of it. We need everybody’s mindfulness and insight because we’ve been running from it for a long time; we have to be careful not to be violent with ourselves, with our language; we need to have compassion for ourselves. Our attitudes about racism and discrimination are a transmission from our family and society. It’s thick, uncomfortable mud, but it can produce a lotus. We need to have a positive outlook.

Thay is so wonderful, setting the context of how we talk about racism in our practice of compassion and understanding. We also need to have curiosity and inquiry, not to assume that we know everything. We’ve been indoctrinated since birth, so we need a sense of spaciousness around our perceptions, being open to changing. We need to look into ourselves and to ask, “When did I start to identify as a person of a certain color, and how has that influenced my life? How do I act from that, in helpful and unhelpful ways?”

The history of racism in our society is so present, right under the surface; it doesn’t take much for it to come up. There’s little clarity or understanding about it. As a society, I see us going in the wrong direction; we’re becoming more stratified. We need a spiritual perspective on this collective suffering. Shining the light of mindfulness on this area of our lives will bring a lot of benefit. There are skilled people—you’re one of them, Larry—who know how to ask the right questions in a way that helps us to touch honestly the painful and scary feelings, and to see how to transform them.

For me this is totally about transformation and liberation, not about getting even or complaining or blaming.  And it’s collective––we have to heal all of us. My five-year-old nephew is already being affected by racism. Already! He’s five years old, and I can see it. And I don’t want kids to have to live with that reality. This is about healing all of us, being compassionate with ourselves, and being willing to go where it’s not easy or comfortable.

What is emerging as next steps?

There is a five-day retreat for people of color planned at Deer Park in September 2005. The exact dates will be on our Website soon. The folks at Spirit Rock have asked Thay to lead an event in the Bay Area. People are excited, saying, “Come over here! Do some of that for us!”

There is this issue of the Mindfulness Bell. Parallax Press is publishing a book this fall called, Dharma, Color, and Culture. There are plans to set up a self-sustaining endowment fund to help more people of color and other underrepresented groups to attend Thay’s retreats. We want to find ways to reach out to more young people of color. We are creating an group for people to dialogue about increasing diversity in our Sanghas (e-mail inclusivesangha-subscribe@yahoogroups.com to join in!). Trained people could come to local Sanghas or to our bigger retreats to lead us in how to unlearn racism and be more inclusive to people of color. I’d love to see our whole Sangha body engaged in a conversation about this.

I talked with a person of color from the UK who thinks it would be extremely helpful to have a similar retreat there. So this feels like a story I heard of an osprey who dove into the ocean for a fish, and picked up a whale. There is a lot of substance here to be worked with personally and collectively and globally. The inspiration of what’s already happened is starting to water positive seeds of healing and transformation in other places. Thank you for your interview.

Wonderful! Thank you, Larry. Thank you very much.

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Larry Ward is a Dharma teacher living in Asheville, North Carolina.

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Next Generation Dharma Teachers

By Kenley Neufeld  mb64-NextGeneration1

The location was the hidden valley of Deer Park Monastery near San Diego, California. This five-hundred-acre sanctuary provided the space for about sixty Dharma teachers to meet for five days in early June. The weather was perfect, the sharing intimate, the facilitation exceptional, and the practice grounded. The Dharma teachers came from Theravada, Ekayana, Mahayana, Vajrayana, and Triratna streams, bringing a richness of experience to our gathering and conversation. Though the gathering was located at Deer Park Monastery, it was organized and facilitated by a team of five Dharma teachers from each of these lineages. We felt much gratitude to the monastics of Deer Park for opening up their home for our practice. In addition, the retreat was offered with the generous sponsorship support of the Thich Nhat Hanh Foundation.

As active Dharma teachers in a tradition of Buddhadharma offering refuge in the Three Jewels, we gathered as a continuation of a similar retreat at the Garrison Institute in 2011. We came together to share our experience and to support each other as young Dharma teachers (born between 1960 and 1980) teaching Western Buddhism. The intent was to connect teachers for whom Dharma teaching is a (or the) significant life activity, whether through teaching retreats, guiding a Buddhist temple, or other format. Being together demonstrated that we are truly a community of teachers, neither independent nor separate because of our tradition. We need not teach in isolation and can support one another in our practice and teachings.

Our teaching experience ranged from one year to twenty-five years; we were lay and monastic teachers, those who live in community, and those who work full time outside of the Dharma practice; we represented Canada, Korea, the United States, and the United Kingdom. The gathering had a “conference” feel to it and we spent a great deal of time in dialogue rather than in meditation and practice.

Being a newer Dharma teacher, I arrived with my own nervousness about what to expect from being with sixty-plus other teachers. From the very first mindful mingling activity, I felt a connection and knew that I was in a community of like-minded Dharma sisters and brothers. We were ably guided by a group of four teachers who made it easy to participate and feel included. I came away with this word on my mind to describe the gathering: inclusive. Inclusive in terms of practice streams, voices being heard, needs being expressed, and topics being explored. We had many “open space” time slots to delve deeply into the topics that most interested us as teachers.

We used crowdsourcing, the practice of obtaining ideas by soliciting contributions from a large number of people, to determine the best ideas for group exploration. This was accomplished in two steps: first, each individual wrote a topic idea on a piece of paper. Second, we randomly moved about the room and exchanged the idea with another person, who then scored the idea before we moved around the room again to exchange ideas. In the end we used the scores to identify our top ideas for discussion. We co-created this gathering together.

After learning more about each other (such as age, lineage, years of teaching, etc.), we focused on these themes:

  • What are we grappling with as teachers?
  • Storytelling
  • Hard Dharma topics
  • Sustaining ourselves

Within each of these general areas, more specific topics emerged, such as patriarchy, privilege, ethics, teacher accountability, scholarship, dating, recovery, trauma, sexuality, race, faith, balance, gender, LGBTQ,* and teaching tips. One of the great tools used during the retreat was creating space for every voice to be heard. We met in large groups, small groups, triads, and pairs. Casual and small group conversations were thriving throughout the retreat.

The most significant work for me during this gathering was observing my mind. It is so easy to allow judgment to arise and to get caught by my ideas of how people “should practice” and how people “should teach.” These feelings were particularly acute because Deer Park is a second home for me, and yet many of our regular Plum Village practices were not recognized or used during these five days. All my ideas of how things “should be” came rapidly to the surface, only to be let go with each breath. If I can’t let go, there is a huge barrier that severely impacts my relationships with others. This retreat offered me an opportunity to grow in the area of group participation.

I came away from the gathering feeling supported, hopeful, inspired, and grounded. I have a deeper commitment to my teaching activities along with an awareness of the community of teachers outside my tradition that I can call upon, and learn from, throughout the years. I have a deeper understanding of what my brothers and sisters are doing and how we inter-are with each other. I also have hope for bringing this experience to the sixty-four active Tiep Hien Dharma teachers in North America.

* Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer

mb64-NextGeneration2Dharmacharya Chan Niem Hy (Kenley Neufeld) received the Lamp of Wisdom in 2012 and supports Sangha work from his home in Ojai, California.

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Joining with Grace

By Laureen Osborne  mb58-Joining1

For seven years, I helped take care of my two elderly parents while trying at the same time to run my own business. My mother suffered with a rare form of dementia from which she eventually died in 2000. Eighteen months later, my Dad died suddenly of a stroke. By 2003 I felt my life had completely derailed. In the aftermath of all that suffering and sorrow, I was taking medications for depression and anxiety. I found myself wanting a new life. I felt I had endured enough suffering to last a lifetime, and I wanted to be happy again.

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The death of my parents really made me look at my life and how little time I had to enjoy it. I was desperate to find some happiness—but how? I realized I needed some help. I’ve never been a religious person, but I felt drawn toward a spiritual path. I went to the library and got some books on Buddhism. After about a year of study I wanted to learn more, so I surfed the web. That’s where I found Thay.

One of the first things I learned from Thay’s teachings is that happiness is not “out there somewhere.” I already had all the conditions for a happy life; I just didn’t know it. I realized I would never have found happiness the way I was going.

I am not a “joiner.” I’ve never been good at making friends because I’m basically shy, and I worry about what other people think of me. But I decided to join a Sangha. Based on what I had been reading about the practice, I thought people would accept me for who I was, and I was right: they welcomed me with open arms. I began going to Sangha every week. Suddenly, I had become a joiner. After another year of practice I wanted to make a formal commitment to the Buddhist path, so I decided to receive the Five Mindfulness Trainings.

I remember the evening of the ceremony. I looked nervously around the room and saw that the other aspirants were as nervous as I was; it was a big deal to them too. I also saw the smiling faces of those already on the path. After the ceremony I received congratulatory hugs from everyone in the room. I knew at once I had made the right decision for my life.

Since then, I have taken the Fourteen Mindfulness Trainings and have become a member of the Order of Interbeing. One of my jobs as an OI member is to offer support to other Sangha members, especially those contemplating receiving the Five Mindfulness Trainings. Receiving the trainings means different things to each of us. Often aspirants share with me their doubts about whether they will be able to practice the trainings diligently. When asked, I let them know that in my own experience, the trainings have permeated my consciousness even when I wasn’t aware that transformation was happening. They influence my thinking and are there when I need them to show me the way.

Doing the Right Thing 

In my “old life,” before learning to practice mindfulness, I knew the difference between right and wrong, but it was easy to ignore that moral voice in my head. Temptation was all around me. I found it very easy to take the wrong path. The introduction to the trainings says, “The trainings are a means to guide us.” For me, this has proven to be true. Whenever I have a decision to make, the trainings spring to mind and I am guided to make the right decision.

A couple of years ago while jogging I noticed something fluttering in the road. As I got closer, I realized it was a $20 bill! I bent and picked it up, and then noticed another and another. Suddenly, I was $180 richer! Then I remembered the Mindfulness Training on generosity, instructing me not to take things that don’t belong to me. I wondered who had lost the money, and it occurred to me that this money may have been very important to someone; maybe they were going to use it to pay their rent or a babysitter. I put up a sign near the spot where I found the cash and waited a week for someone to call. No one did. I donated half the money to our local animal shelter and kept the rest.

On another occasion, I was waiting for an elevator. When the doors opened, the lone passenger was a huge black man. He was wearing biker clothes and his arms were covered in tattoos. After a few seconds of hesitation, I stepped into the elevator, making the decision not to judge him based on my conceptions about his appearance. I smiled at the man and said, “How are you doing?” He smiled back at me. After a few minutes of riding quietly, he turned and spoke to me. He thanked me for getting on the elevator with him! He told me that people have often taken one look at him and refused to get on.

I never thought of myself as a joiner, but since receiving the trainings I have joined in several peaceful protests and marches, something I would never have done in the past. Part of my reluctance to get involved stemmed from my belief that one person can’t make a difference, that I am only one grain of sand on a huge beach. Now I realize I am a grain of sand that helps make up that beach. Doing something, no matter how small or futile it seems, is better than doing nothing at all. I like to think kindness and inclusiveness are contagious.

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What I value most about having received the Mindfulness Trainings is that now I have joined a community of people who think like I do—people who, like me, want to do the right thing, become better people, and live in a better world. I know that I am not alone on this path. I know that all over the world, people are practicing compassion and kindness. This knowledge is a huge support for my practice.

Later this year, I will be joining my Sangha brothers and sisters to offer a workshop on mindful eating in Ottawa. I am excited to have the opportunity to share this wonderful practice with people who are struggling with weight issues. Unmindful consumption is a cause of great suffering in our society. Sharing this practice could open the door of mindfulness for many people.

mb58-Joining4Laureen Osborne, True Beautiful Truth, practices with the Ottawa Pagoda Sangha in Ontario, Canada. She is the author of a vegetarian cookbook and a blog on mindful eating. For more information, visit www.mindfulcoachingclinic.com.

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