Monday, August 18, we will meet online.
Dear friends,
This week, we will meet Monday evening, August 18th, from 7-8:30PM EDT online; Wednesday morning, August 20th, from 7-8AM EDT Online; and Friday, August 8th, 12-1PM EDT online.
On Monday night, Magda will lead us in a reflection on Thich Nhat Hanh’s model of humility, as presented in Appendix A, and share examples she witnessed during her visit to Vietnam for his Ash Ceremony in January of last year.
Magda shares:
In the first appendix to The Art of Power, Thầy surprises us by suggesting practices to cultivate true power—practices that are simple and humble. They are not about domination or ambition, but about presence, compassion, and deep listening.
This reminds me of what I learned about Thầy during the Ash Ceremony at Tu Hiếu, when I visited with the monastics. I could feel the depth of his commitment to helping all beings—not through grand gestures, but through the quiet power of humility and compassion. As we stood before the altar, Sister Định Nghiêm pointed to a column inscribed with the first Bodhisattva Vow: “Living beings are countless; I vow to help them all.” Then, with a spark of realization, she said, “Thầy was such a rebel.” Her voice was filled with admiration—for a teacher who never conformed, who drew deeply from Vietnamese tradition while daring to innovate, always guided by compassion and humility.
Throughout my pilgrimage, I was nourished by countless stories that illustrated Thầy’s courage to walk his own path. He challenged tradition without rejecting it. He revived ancient Vietnamese and Buddhist practices, softening and renewing them for the modern world. In every step, he was a man of the Earth—firmly rooted, yet open to the winds of transformation.
At Tu Hiếu, I entered his sanctuary with reverence. In that sacred space, I felt the 10,000 natural things—the trees, soil, Half Moon Pond, chrysanthemums, and birds—had formed the Great Bell, calling me to awaken. Each breath allowed me to dissolve, to empty myself. Thầy’s presence lingered not in grand monuments, but in the quiet vitality of the land and the beings he nurtured with mindful love.
I stood where Thầy once cared for cattle and composted cow dung. I learned how he gently opened jackfruit with his feet and taught Auntie Tu, the cook, how to read Chinese. He honored those on the margins: Brother Dương, a seemingly unremarkable man whose main role was to invite the bell, is remembered in My Master’s Robe as “a long-living tree with a powerful energy.”
In Fragrant Palm Leaves, Thầy devotes several pages to a poor woman who sold noodle soup near the Buddhist university he founded. When dignitaries planned a visit and suggested the market be removed, Thầy refused. For him, dignity was not the privilege of the powerful—it blossomed wherever there was humanity and care.
Children, too, were central to his path. In Old Path, White Clouds, he recounts how the Buddha used the words of Svasti, an untouchable buffalo boy, to teach the Noble Path. Our sangha’s Engaged Mindfulness group tries to follow this example. We offer help to children whose families face poverty, incarceration, or violence. One of my illustrations shows a child embracing Thầy, who blesses him with a gentle hand.
Thầy was inspired by the humility of his spiritual ancestors—King Trần Nhân Tông, who renounced the throne for a life of contemplation, and his daughter, Sister Fragrant Garland, who turned away from luxury to walk barefoot in truth. Thầy, too, chose the path of simplicity over grandeur. His humility was the deepest form of strength quiet, ethical, and grounded in presence.
To stand in his footsteps at Tu Hiếu was to remember that true power is not found in dominance or prestige. It is found in the capacity to care, to see clearly, to bow in gratitude—to a pinecone, a bell, a child. It is found in becoming one with the 10,000 natural things—and knowing, in that moment, that we are already home.