“Peace is not something we wait for. It’s something we practice.”
. . . Bhikkhu Paññākāra
This is the third blog I’ve dedicated to the nineteen venerable monks who have walked for peace with
humility and compassion. They have impacted me that profoundly. On Tuesday, February 10th, they reached their destination after covering 2,300 miles in 109 days from Fort Worth, Texas, to Washington D. C. Step by step. Day after day. It’s a remarkable feat and it’s impossible to imagine the hardships they’ve suffered. They always appeared serene but who knows what was really going on. Torn up feet. Exhaustion. Hunger. Rain. Snowstorms. Some of them walked part of the way barefooted to feel their feet kiss the earth. Many of them became sick at different times and they kept walking. The head monk, Bhikkhu Paññākāra, fell ill, stopped to get an IV and he continued to walk, seeing each step as an opportunity to be mindful. An opportunity to breathe consciously. An opportunity to be mindful because mindfulness powers peace.
When they arrived in Washington, they were stunned that thousands upon thousands of people had joined them along the way. These extraordinary men were a prayer in motion and watching them became a morning ritual for me. Selfishly, I want them to go on forever and I will miss them but they reminded all of us that this was not the end of something. The practice goes on.
Bhikkhu said, “We don’t stop when we’re tired. We stop when we’re done.”
They are done. In an historical moment of unity, they have shown us how to become a force for peace. We have it inside of us, they say, and they are inclusive, acknowledging all races and religions. As they return to their temple in Ft. Worth, they have placed the reins in our hands as we take home what we saw and experienced during their journey and use it for good.
They are the epitome of discipline and consistency, of putting one foot in front of the other, over
and over. In order to complete something difficult, it takes both discipline and consistency. When you don’t want to start or it feels like you can’t take another step, that’s when you call on your discipline. When it feels gentle and you’re in tune with the rhythm of your body, that’s when you feel the consistency. These two states of being take turns as one folds into the other. For both, patience
is key. When you stop caring about “when” and you starting focusing on “now,” everything begins to make sense.
When I decided to write my first book, I had no clue how to begin. The idea of doing a whole book
with a beginning, a middle and an end, was so daunting, I wasn’t sure if I could manage it. A writer friend gave me a valuable piece of advice. “Don’t see it as a whole book. Stop thinking about the ending. See it as chapter by chapter. Do you think you can do that?”
I thought I could and I did. I had a hard start at the beginnings of some of the chapters but once I got going, I fell into a rhythm and I became consistent. I stopped wondering what would come next or when I would be finished. I placed my full attention on what I was doing in the moment. The process helped me believe in myself. It showed me that I had more strength and self-confidence than I
thought. I saw my journey as a pulsating magnet that drew me forward, that encouraged me to keep going.
A few years back, I was writing a self-help book for a prominent motivational speaker, a woman in her mid-thirties who was obsessed with talking fast, achieving, and being productive. She so rarely stopped moving, she gave new meaning to the expression “ants in her pants.” It was a task for her to sit still for the hour or so that we worked together each week. One afternoon, as the sun was setting in its pastel glory over the Pacific Ocean, she jumped up and asked me quickly and breathlessly, “What do you see in your future? What do you want for yourself next? What are your hopes and dreams?”
I stopped to think. I had traveled extensively, my career was on course, I had a beautiful home, I had great friends, I’d made peace with living alone for the most part and I preferred food that was fresh
and simple. And I loved writing. I watched the gulls soar and swoop in front of the plate-glass window of this woman’s sumptuous Malibu estate. “Peace,” I told her. “I want peace.”
She gazed at me wistfully, clearly disappointed by my answer, and asked me, “Is that all?”
Pema Chodron says, “Searching for a final, perfect state of being is a misunderstanding. The
point is to embrace the messy, unpredictable process of daily life. There is no final graduation day. It is a continuous practice.”
I am fortunate to have a friend who followed the monks in the same spirit that I did. Now, she
and I talk about them every day. We are encouraging each other not to focus on the bad and the hate that is ever present but rather on the good and the love that is also present. “Our walk is not a demonstration or a protest,” the monks said. “It is a walk for peace.”
My friend and I are reminding each other about the journey and it has changed our lives. May it do
the same for you.
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