Monday, September 22, we will meet in person.
Go to calendar for our schedule
Address for OHMC meditation space:
3812 Northampton St. NW, Washington DC 20015
Please arrive a few minutes early so we can invite the bell on time. You may also arrive 15 minutes early to practice working meditation by helping us set up cushions.
Dear friends,
This week, we will meet Monday evening, September 22, from 7-8:30PM EDT in person at our meditation space (3812 Northampton Street NW); Wednesday morning, September 24, from 7-8AM EDT online; and Friday, September 26, from 12-1PM EDT in person / online (hybrid).
On Monday, Magda will gently guide us in exploring the Fourth Mindfulness Training. She will share how the practice of Right Speech and Deep Listening, nurtured in her encounters with spiritual friends over the summer, became a source of healing and transformation.
How Right Speech and Deep Listening with Maha-Sangha Friends Healed Me
“The next Buddha will not take the form of a person. The next Buddha will take the shape of a community, a community that practices understanding and loving kindness, a community that practices a way of conscious living. This may be the most important thing for Earth’s survival.”
— From a Dharma Talk by Thích Nhất Hạnh
Walking on Earth with Dharma Sisters
From the beginning of this new administration, I was consumed by distress. Images of suffering—especially of children—haunted me from the moment I woke up until the moment I fell asleep. With few inner filters, I had left myself completely vulnerable to the hatred of the administration and to the pain of its victims. My practice sustained me somewhat, but it was not enough. I had not shared my feelings much with those who could truly listen, and so I carried all that sadness inside, as though I were alone in the world.
Outwardly, I was active—offering my skills in service, channeling my energy into causes. Inwardly, my heart was restless, and I was burning out. Even within the Engaged Mindfulness group, where I tried to nourish and encourage others, something essential was missing.
Traveling to Malaysia and other lands opened me to new forms of deep listening. At the Sakyadhita Conference for Buddhist Women in Kuching, I met women of remarkable learning and spiritual acumen. Though just two of the 400 participants followed Thích Nhất Hạnh, their presence deeply inspired me. Another woman followed Tara, the beloved bodhisattva of Tibetan Buddhism, and her devotion also touched me. I discovered a book by a Vietnamese nun who writes letters to prisoners in the United States—a form of deep listening in its own right.
Later, I reunited with two Malaysian Order of Interbeing friends I had first met on pilgrimage to Vietnam. I also reconnected with a Bosnian friend I had met at the European Institute for Applied Buddhism (EIAB), along with my Dutch Dharma sister. On my way to EIAB, I encountered a German Dharma sister that I had met at Plum Village’s Lower Hamlet, then met a Vietnamese nun and a Chilean doctor, both radiating compassion that healed me. Finally, in Spain, I spent time with a dear friend I had met during a retreat in the lands of my Basque ancestors. These friendships, rooted in spiritual practice, became threads of healing woven across continents.
The Avalokiteśvaras of the World
I first noticed Sister Aya Yashey, an Australian tall, striking nun, at Kuching airport. Days later, I was blessed to sit at her table, where she casually mentioned running two foundations, one of which—the Bodhicitta Foundation—serves untouchable girls in India. Known as “the Nun of the Slum,” she tends to the most discriminated-against groups, much like Mother Teresa.
Unlike many of the speakers at the conference, Sister Aya Yashey did not have a PhD, but of the presentations, hers was the most memorable. I loved her irreverence, her straightforwardness, and her compassion. One evening, I discovered that the young Indian nun who had joined us on one of our walks during the conference had in fact been rescued by Aya Yashey herself.
Reading Aya Yashey’s biography, I discovered she had been ordained by Thích Nhất Hạnh (Thay). When I told her she was the highlight of the conference and that Thầy was my teacher, she simply replied, “Thầy is a true bodhisattva, one of the real ones.” Recently, on her Facebook page, she shared a photo of herself with Sister Chân Không standing behind her.
I decided then to support her work at Bodhicitta and began sponsoring a 13-year-old girl. My dream is to visit India next year and contribute to their work in person.
I owe many of my deepest encounters, including with Thầy himself, to the written word, In Malaysia, I had another such encounter, discovering a book-length collection of letters exchanged between a true bodhisattva, the Vietnamese nun Bhikṣunī Thích Nữ Giới Hương, and U.S. prison inmates. Despite living in the grips of an unjust system, many of these men wrote of finding freedom. Their words brought tears to my eyes. A Buddhist Nun and American Inmates was one of a small handful of items I carried home from Malaysia.
Deep listening takes many forms: from hearing the cries of little girls before life breaks them, to hearing the humanity of men criminalized by their circumstances.
Right Speech
One reason I decided to travel alone to Malaysia—a country I knew nothing about—was the hope of seeing Lainee and Connie again. I had first met them the year before at Hồ Chí Minh airport, after missing my flight to Huế for Thầy’s Ashes Ceremony. There, Lainee kindly spelled out her name for me without being asked, putting herself in my place, while Connie welcomed me with her radiant smile. Later, we shared joyful moments together on Đà Nẵng beach.
Now they welcomed me at Kuala Lumpur, where their conversation lifted me. In a world filled with toxic or trivial speech, our words always turned toward the Dharma: cultivating right view, focusing our meditation energies, seeking the bodhisattva path. They also spoke tenderly of their mothers—whom they care for in their homes—and of their ancestors’ generational suffering.
When I discussed my new book on Vietnam, Lainee helped me reflect deeply on my audience and how I could use the book to promote Dharma values. She shared the story of a friend who had used her own book to empower women.
And of course, there was joy: I introduced them to Bad Bunny and other Caribbean artists, and we laughed through tropical dances. Connie closed our gathering with a Plum Village guided relaxation.
Deep Listening
At the start of the new administration, I mostly carried my suffering inside. I thought my journey would simply give me distance from that toxicity. What surprised me was the healing that it offered, through the deep listening of my companions.
At the Kuching conference, I met Teena, an Indian journalist and filmmaker presenting her film and paper on Himalayan and Tibetan Buddhist women in transition. I happened to sit next to her – one of 400 women – on the first day of the conference. When she noticed my reaction to hearing Thích Nhất Hạnh’s name mentioned, she said, “I also follow Thầy. I am an Order of Interbeing member.” From that moment, we became inseparable.
Teena’s love for trees was profound—every tree contained a story. When a nest fell, she placed a basket where it once had been, saving the chicks and allowing their parents to return. With the same reverence, she called our attention to a bodhi tree in the Kuching Buddhist Village. Her fondness for trees made me think of a passage in Richard Powers’ The Overstory about a young woman who felt she could only connect deeply with those who appreciated trees. For me, too, anyone who can speak of trees with such reverence immediately becomes a soulmate.
On our daily walks by the Sarawak River, we were joined by Kat, an Australian woman who adores cats and venerates Tara through sacred dance. At the end of our time together, she gifted me a pink and green Tara purse. Her devotion to the divine feminine touched me deeply.
What healed me most in these encounters was the deep listening. One morning, I shared my decision to turn my thoughts from current events to other matters for a while. My companions listened silently, completely present, their eyes and gestures affirming both my sadness and my decision. That wordless validation was healing beyond measure.
I later had similar experiences with Renate, my Dutch Dharma sister, and with Danijela, a Bosnian war refugee who invited us to her retreat home in Oberntudorf, Germany; with Beatrix in Bonn, who offers healing through the arts and wept as we reflected on my pain; with Cristina in Spain, who had worked with flood victims; and with a compassionate Vietnamese nun at EIAB, - whose name I wish I had found out - who hiked with me and guided me in meditation until I wept out my suffering. Rosemarie, a deeply spiritual Chilean holistic doctor I met at EIAB, also listened deeply and offered wise counsel.
By the fortieth day of my journey—a number often said to signify healing—I realized I was fully ready to return home. My suffering had been embraced, and my engagement renewed.
Listening to Myself
It is rare to be in a place where you know almost no one, do not speak the language, and yet feel completely safe and at home. In such spaces, every minute can be devoted to listening to yourself—free of prescribed roles and of the weight of the world.
My stay in Oberntudorf, Germany, gave me that gift. Danijela, my Bosnian friend, had invited me and Renate to her retreat house. I had been planning to leave for Oslo to meet my husband, but his sister became very ill, and another friend I had planned to visit in Germany also fell ill. Suddenly, all my plans changed. While I had a number of options, - I had no doubt that this was the best place to heal.
Danijela, lively and warm with a heart of gold, had been forced to leave what was then Yugoslavia at the age of 16. Through many tribulations, she eventually came to own this beautiful spot. Her close friend, who in her professional role as a psychologist had supported her through her struggles as a war refugee, gifted her the funds to create this house for the burned-out—a place filled with positive energy, where people like me could find refuge through serendipity.
Life there was simple: waking to walking meditation in her flower-filled backyard; buying coffee at the village’s only bakery before continuing my walk through wheat and corn fields; napping as long as my body needed; engaging in lively conversations with this heroic woman; reading and writing. Every corner of her home had been carefully decorated by her hands, each detail radiating love. Flowers were everywhere, tended by someone who knew them intimately.
Meals were nourishing and simple—cherries in abundance, since they were in season. With herbs from her garden, I cooked beans, roots, and vegetables, introducing her to yuca, malanga, and ñame.
Girls Healing in Circle
At Danijela’s home, I envisioned my next painting: Sister Aya Yashey with Sister Chân Không behind her, appearing as Avalokiteśvaras of many hands, each hand extending gifts to young girls. They are protected by goddesses like Tara (a tribute to my Australian friend Kat), and surrounded by trees inspired by Teena. Accompanying them are countless animals, depictions I owe in part to my Dutch friend Renate—who had sent me many pictures of animals after I shared my wish to include animals as protectors in the illustration—and flowers reminiscent of those in Danijela’s house of healing, expressions of the loving ways of Rosemarie, Cristina, Beatrix and the generous nuns.
In my future healing journeys—in former Yugoslavia with Danijela and in India with Teena—I hope to continue my conversations with my many Maha-Sangha sisters, including the ones I have yet to meet.