RESOURCES

By KATE TALANO

When I arrived at Plum Village for what became my year of residency, I carried a quiet but persistent belief that something was wrong with me. That I had somehow fallen out of alignment with life and had to fix myself to return to the light that I had recently touched while sitting with my grandfather as he transitioned.

But during my year at Plum Village, slowly and with great tenderness, that belief began to unravel as my practice with the Three Jewels—the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha—deepened. I didn’t just study the Three Jewels at Plum Village, I touched their living, embodied nature as truths I could rest in: that I am already whole; that the path is available in each moment; and that I am never alone.

"If you meet the Buddha, kill the Buddha," the monk said as we shared over cups of warm tea.

"What? Kill the Buddha?" I asked, dismayed and puzzled by this koan.

He nodded, smiling. "There is no Buddha. You are the Buddha."

In their own artful way, each of the monastics reminded me that there was no need to look outside myself for the Buddha. The very concept of the Buddha being a thing outside myself was, in fact, clouding my vision. It kept me from seeing the Buddha everywhere, as a living energy and true jewel within me and all life.

Gradually I came to apprehend the Buddha as a presence rather than an idol—as a state of being, a way of seeing clearly right here and now. My practice focused on noticing when I am and am not dwelling in that Buddha within, and on learning how to support myself in coming back to that place of wholeness when self-identification feels strong. In this way, the Buddha became a true jewel for me.

Similarly, a monastic sparked my deepening apprehension of the jewel-like nature of the Dharma. One day while perusing the quiet aisles of the hamlet library, I discovered a small book by Sister Jina—one of the elders, a radiant Irish nun whose energy could light up a stone. A few days later, I passed her near the dining hall, bowed, and said, "Sister Jina, your poetry was so beautiful."

She blinked, then laughed. "Poetry? What poetry? Oh! You must mean my little book. That’s just my diary from a five-month retreat. The Sangha wanted me to write an autobiography, but I had no interest. So I gave them my journal entries. Every morning, I’d wake up and write three lines about what I directly experienced that day. That’s what became my little book."

From that day on, inspired by her practice, I did the exactly same. I kept a small notebook in my pocket and wrote down three lines each day—based exactly on what I saw, tasted, touched, heard, smelled, or noticed arising in my mind.  For example, I wrote the following at 5:46 am on October 27 while walking from the bunkhouse to the meditation hall.

blanketed night sky,

littered with lights

so visibly empty

The silent meals, daily walking meditations, and mindful work periods all soon became part of this practice. Dharma permeated all my waking hours, and began to sink into my bones. Insights arose without my seeking out understanding. Instead of reading about emptiness, I began listening to the visible emptiness, hearing the silence which is eternally all-encompassing, and seeing emptiness as the nature of everything.   

Deepening apprehension of the jewel of Sangha happened, in part, in relationship with other laywomen living at Plum Village. We were five who called ourselves the "Cosmic Sisters" and were responsible for co-creating the Plum Village farm with all the other co-creators—the sun, wind, plants, bees, birds, boars, and other critters. We worked and celebrated joyfully, sinking our bare feet and hands into the Earth, lighting bonfires and dancing to welcome the solstice sun and full moons—sometimes too exuberantly.

One day the monastic sisters kindly asked us to be a bit more contained with our excitement because some practicing noble silence found our laughter echoing up the hill distracting. But they also thanked us for our little honey-nectar bubble of joy, for they felt it, too.

It was in the hum of this great joy, the felt sense of connection with both lay and monastic practitioners, that my appreciation of the jewel-like nature of Sangha deepened. There’s something sacred about being deeply seen and heard. It allows what is most vulnerable to surface and be safely held. For me, the embrace of Sangha allowed a deep sorrow within me to arise. I sank myself into the land and into the arms of my cosmic sangha, knowing grief needed to move through, and love needed to come home.  

Immersed in Sangha, I came to appreciate the Buddha’s teaching, “Sangha is not part of the path; it is the path.” I discovered this jewel extends in concentric circles to encompass all beings—my four cosmic sisters, the 300-person Plum Village community, the global Sangha of practitioners, the countless non-human beings buzzing and growing beside us, the ancestors behind and the descendants ahead, mother Gaia, sister moon, father Sun. Sangha became for me a living refuge. We are never alone. 

In essence, the year at Plum Village was for me a return to wholeness. I became more present, more fully myself. I learned to cultivate rootedness, which became the solid ground from which I could slowly dissolve the small, separate self and step into the vastness of interbeing. I began to see that my humanness and my Buddhanature are not two. That both nirvana and samsara are here. The Three Jewels carried me through transformation, and my gratitude deepened as the world itself became a monastery—everywhere a place of practice, of return home.

I offer this reflection with deep gratitude—for the opportunity to live this experience, and for the honor of sharing it. May these words be of benefit.

By KATE TALANO

Two years ago, I was gifted the honor of shepherding my grandfather through the thin yet boundless veil of this human experience and what lies beyond.

I had never experienced death in that form of intimacy before. I was not taught what to say, or what to do, yet I was following the intuitive acts rooted in breath. The years of caring for him with Alzheimer's had given us a deep bond. He had been declining for a few days prior--resisting, grasping. Slowly, his body was returning to the land. I watched, listened, and wrote. 

Early one morning, while everyone else in the home was sleeping, I went over and placed my forehead to his and said, “If there is one more thing to teach us, it’s that strength does not lie in persevering itself, but in the wisdom of knowing when to persevere and when to let go. Now I can imagine what you are going to do takes a lot of energy. So I am going to breathe with you, but it’s up to you if you’d like to stay or go.”

Then I took two deep breaths, harmonizing with his. 

We entered what I describe as ”the space between”—that liminal space beyond time, beyond words, beyond anything I had previously concretized in my mind. All was silence, light and love. Complete oneness. Peace showered my body and his as together we bore witness to his continuation. It was breathtaking. I saw us as our light bodies, not our human bodies. Never had I seen ultimate reality so clearly.

There was so much space and knowing found in the emptiness of that light and silence. I remember staring at myself in a mirror afterwards and smiling. I was not the self I had thought I was. It was in that moment with my grandfather when my purpose, my path in life became clear—to share the light, to heal, to support others on their paths to awakening to the beauty of our true nature. Destiny was not a destination, but a way of being.

In the weeks after his passing, everything I thought I understood felt upside down. What was happening? I had believed that awakening to the true mind meant finding a steady place to rest. But instead, I found myself lost in the very unknowing that awakening invites. There seemed to be a fine line between awakening and insanity, and I kept tripping over it. Yet deep within there was a quiet voice asking me to pause with kindness, gently let go, and surrender to not knowing without fear.

From that tender place, I made a series of spontaneous decisions that felt more like surrender than choice. I resigned from my job, packed up most of my belongings, tapered off the antidepressants I’d been on and off for ten years, and ended a relationship with a loving French man that had gently reached its natural end. I asked him to drop me off at the gates of a monastery in the south of France called Plum Village—a monastery I had serendipitously discovered a year earlier through a simple Google search for “Buddhist centers near me.”

I had discovered that Plum Village offered a long-term program in which lay practitioners could join the monastic community for the traditional three-month Rains Retreat and, if the fit felt right, stay on for nine months or more, living in service and deep practice alongside the monastics. I applied for the program late summer, and had received a notification that a spot had opened up, which I was able to accept.

There, I dedicated my time to both my ancestors and my future descendants. This body, this breath, this Earth-made flesh is not mine alone. It is borrowed bone and water, soil and sun shaped by generations before me, and destined to nourish life beyond me. I practiced not only for my own transformation, but for all who once moved through this matter, including my grandfather, and all who may one day be shaped from it.

What felt like falling apart was, in truth, falling together into the path, the practice, the community. I was entering “not knowing,” an awareness without solidity. In a future article, I will share how immersing myself in this community offered me steady ground beneath my feet, helping me unlearn what no longer served me and remember the way back to our true home.

Kate Talano first joined FCM in 2022 shortly after discovering Plum Village and attending a Wake Up retreat, but the seeds of mindfulness were planted in her much earlier by her elementary school counselor, Brandy Kidd, a longtime student of Fred and member of FCM who taught her how to tend to her “worry garden.” She spent a year from October 2023 to October 2024 living long-term in Lower Hamlet Monastery in Plum Village, France. After returning from Plum Village, she began teaching in the public schools in Maine, but soon moved back to Naples to be closer to her family. She teaches Deep Ecology to children and is writing a creative non-fiction memoir that offers a heartfelt invitation to meet life with curiosity, courage, and presence. 

By BEN FAGAN

   Arising
   Looking
   Is/Are
                        Be                      

It’s fair to say I had some trepidation about participating in this year’s Wisdom Retreat. While I had done two solo retreats with Fred, neither had been seven days long, and this would be my first group retreat. But, since I live a seven-hour drive away, I am not often able to get to the center in Tampa. And this was the first time that I was going to be in the country during the Wisdom Retreat. So I let go of my concerns and made the drive down.

One of the first things that struck me about the retreat was the deep sense of community. There’s something profound about getting to know someone without speaking. And our shared commitment to practice definitely lifted me up when my energy lagged. I felt many things on the retreat, but I never felt lonely. I truly experienced what it means to take refuge in the Sangha. 

About midway through the retreat, Fred offered a teaching on how our thinking minds have a strong habitof reifying everything we encounter. It would even try to turn our experiences on retreat into something called “the retreat". I have noticed this occurring since returning home. 

Fred gave us a day to reflect on this teaching, and I began to think about it in terms of nouns and verbs. I’ve been teaching writing of one sort or another for about 20 years, so my mind tends to go in this kind of direction. I realized that my thinking mind tries to make everything into a noun, into a thing that my self can then define itself against. 

But, when looking directly at my thoughts, my mind, and my self, I could find no such thing, no such noun. All I could find were processes, fluidity, verbs. I recognize that nouns and verbs are themselves concepts that I need to be careful not to attach to, but they are concepts that help point me towards the greater truth that Fred helped us experience on retreat. 

As I write this, it’s been exactly one week since “the retreat” (see, there’s the noun) ended. Thoughts of the impact of the retreat, and of whether or not I can maintain it, have arisen. But using the tools Fred taught us, I can look at those thoughts, understand their emptiness, wish them well, and let them go. And even though I don’t know when I’ll be back in Tampa, I can take refuge in the Sangha every day. It’s a refuge I need, and for which I am so grateful.

Ben Fagan lives in Opelika, AL, with his wife Juliane. He first encountered the teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh over 25 years ago, but practiced only sporadically until joining FCM in 2020. 

By TAMY SKYE FAIERMAN

Each time I pull up to Nebraska Avenue after a four-hour drive north, it feels like returning home. Home to myself. This was to be the fifth, and longest, silent retreat I had attended at FCM during the past two-and-a- half years.

On the first evening, Fred began the Wisdom Retreat by asking us to state our intentions for our seven days of silence. "I want to meet my attachments and free myself of them," I spoke into the mic. Fred smiled and nodded, reassuring me I was in the right place. 

The seven days of silence cultivated a haven for the teachings to land more deeply within us. A daily schedule including sitting meditation, walking meditation, and work meditation were intermixed with mindful eating of three scrumptious meals. Every single moment of retreat included an opportunity to practice the Dharma.

On opening night Fred assured us that together we would co-create this retreat and meet our original unborn mind. He certainly delivered on his promises.

On the first day, he reminded us to begin our meditations by grounding in the body, bringing us into the present moment. Then he shared Shantideva’s wisdom of keeping vigilant mindfulness by putting a Guard at the Gate of our mind. This set the tone for the entire retreat as my mind kept returning to wake up the Guard whenever he became sleepy or negligent.  

Fred’s Dharma talks guided us to investigate the emptiness of mind, thoughts and self. These were followed by Angie’s guided meditations which pointed us to look directly as mind, thoughts, and self arise and disappear, denoting their impermanent and empty nature. 

Fred took us through contemplations to distinguish between thoughts and awareness. By using mindful labeling of each thought we noticed when we were in "thinking mind" and when we rested in "awareness mind". After days of these practices I became quickly aware when my mind wandered off. Looking directly at my attachments, especially to my children, showed me clearly that when examined more deeply, these attachments were simply empty thoughts. 

On day four, we were offered a private interview with Fred. I sat facing him with tears in my eyes, feeling I had uncovered a treasure. 

"So what you’re saying is that this life is always just this?" I asked. 

He returned a knowing smile and gently said "Yes, and you’re just getting a taste of it. You’re seeing just this in lower case. And there is Just This in upper case. There is so, so much more."

My eyes opened wide as I heard myself ask, "So I need to trust?"

"Yes," Fred said. "Trust in the teachings. Trust in the teacher."

I received my instructions and walked out feeling a full body YES. 

Something in me knew what he meant and at the same time, I couldn't verbalize it. I had experienced the very nature of just this-ness and felt deeply committed to the path. 

On my four-hour drive home, the silence of the road beneath me and the horizon ahead bathed me in wonder. I felt the mind calmer and more spacious. Just Awareness. Just this. During my drive, I solidified my aspirations: 

--Commit to a daily sitting practice starting with the Four Thoughts

--Set the Plum Village ap Bell of Mindfulness on my phone every 20 minutes, reminding me to bring my attention to my breath and take three conscious deep intentional breaths each time it rings

--Attend more in-person and online sangha-based activities throughout the year so as to have the support I need to light up my bodhicitta. 

I left the retreat having experienced the empty nature of mind, thoughts, and self. Now I just needed to stay committed. Patrul Rinpoche’s words accompanied us throughout the entire retreat in a poster that stood near the altar. I copied his words into my journal and carried them home in my heart as inspiration to remember my commitment to the Dharma path :

"Each instant, put your heart into it again. 

"Each moment, remind yourself again. 

"Each second, check yourself again. 

"Night and day, make your resolve again. 

"In the morning, commit yourself again. 

"Each meditation practice, examine mind minutely. 

"Never be apart from the Dharma, not even accidentally. 

"Continually, do not forget."

Tamy Skye Faierman, of Cooper City,  has lived in Florida since 2001 and came to FCM two- and-a-half years ago to find sangha to support and deepen her practice. She has been practicing for eight years and began the journey of self-discovery 16 years ago. She has five kids aged 17-27 and a snuggly ginger cat. Several years ago, after 25 years of working as a plastic and reconstructive surgeon, she retired her scalpel and transformed into a Soul Surgeon, supporting others to dive deeply into themselves.

By BRANDY KIDD

One month ago, FCM enjoyed its Mahasangha event.  In Buddhism, the term “maha” signifies “great.” This descriptor certainly held true on multiple levels! It was a deeply meaningful weekend celebrating both our teacher’s 80th continuation day, and FCM’s 30th anniversary. Old friendships were rekindled and new ones were forged. To me, it felt deeply and joyfully connected (shared conversations over meals, dancing, beautiful music, chats in the garden), all united by a love for The Three Jewels: Buddha, Dharma, Sangha.          

And for me, as someone who practices primarily with FCM’s Naples Sangha, our “maha” gathering was also great in its powerful demonstration that indeed, we are all the leaves of one tree (to quote the lovely Plum Village song).

There are not two FCM sanghas, Tampa and Naples. There is one sangha with different branches on the same tree of refuge. We share the same history, the same teacher, the same lineage, the same dedication to the cultivation of understanding and love. 

And to cultivate that sense of unity, it is vitally important that we spend time 

From left, Alex Lerner, Angie Parrish and Brandy Kidd

 give an oral history of FCM's 30 years.

 together!  What a joy to see new and longstanding Naples sangha members immersed in the warmth, the conviviality, the selflessness of the buddha field that is the Tampa branch of our sangha. Likewise, when our Tampa-based brothers and sisters visit the Naples branch, the comments are often appreciative of the atmosphere, the close-knit energy of this smaller, bonded group of practitioners.

As I shared during the Friday morning panel during our celebration weekend, I had the amazing privilege of being part of FCM’s origin story 30 years ago. In the fall of 1995, having been told that Fred was a student of Thich Nhat Hanh, and then reading Thay’s book, A Joyful Path, about sangha-building, I called him to ask if he knew of a sangha in our area. He said, “People keep asking me that.  Let’s have a Day of Mindfulness!” And so it began.  

When Fred felt the call to reach a larger audience and moved to the Tampa/St. Pete area, the Naples branch continued to meet weekly and has done so without cease ever since. Many brothers and sisters have rotated as leaders of the Naples branch of our sangha, stoking the fires of Buddha, Dharma, Sangha energy with love and dedication. Many more brothers and sisters offer selfless service consistently and joyfully.  

Often in Naples I’m heard to encourage: “Please visit the center in Tampa! Attend a selfless service workday. Attend a Day of Mindfulness! Attend a retreat!” and when in Tampa: “Please come practice with us in Naples!” That cross-pollination is key. We inter-are. Yet truly: we are one sangha, united in a culture of interbeing, of love for this beautiful path.

Brandy Kidd is leader of the Naples Sangha and is a licensed clinical social worker in Naples.

By JUNE HEMBERGER

The sun was just rising as I left Naples to drive north, making my way to the FCM’s Mahasangha. Having missed the first day, I was determined to take full advantage of Day Two. The closer I got, the more excited I became, and maybe even a little bit nervous since I haven’t spent much time at our center.

Dion Hall and John McHarris welcomed me with big smiles and hugs. Then Pryanka Handa and I hugged as she was leaving to return to Naples. Their familiar faces certainly made me feel more comfortable.

My experience at a silent retreat last year was quite a contrast to the celebratory atmosphere at the Tampa Center that morning. Everyone wore big smiles and overflowed with joy! I greeted a few people I’d met at last year’s retreat, and they immediately made me feel welcome.

That morning a panel of early members, Angie Parrish, Brandy Kidd and Alex Lerner, described the amazingly fortuitous creation of FCM. From meetings in Fred‘s living room when he lived in Naples to the discovery of the Tampa site, the story was both entertaining and miraculous. I was moved by the thought of so many people working together to literally construct their vision once the site was found. Our center would not be here today without the hours and hours and hours of selfless service people gave to our sangha. I was inspired just imaging it!

Later that morning Fred interviewed three panels of FCM members about how their practice has impacted their lives. One panel of Marilyn Warlick, Karuna Reiff and Bryan Hindert focused on relationships, another of Misti Oxford-Pickeral, Max McHarris and Carl Newman focused on work, and the third of Libby Dunn, Peggy Wallace and Kevin Conlin focused on illness and death. I was moved by peoples' openness and deep, heartfelt descriptions. Kevin's experiences with end-of-life issues reaffirmed for me the value of just sitting with someone, whether they’re ill, in physical or emotional pain, or nearing death. I learned much from others’ practices.

That afternoon I met and learned from Peggy Wallace about community care and Raven Dreifus-Kofron about spiritual friends groups. Dinner was predictably delicious, and a chance to meet yet more people. The evening was topped off with an amazing cello and piano concert by FCM members Diana Fish and Bob Boguslaw, who are professional musicians.

All in all, it was definitely worth the trip! I strengthened friendships and made lots of new friends. Best of all was feeling so welcomed and cared about by my sangha sisters and brothers, even those I’m just getting to know. How grateful I am to have discovered FCM many years ago. I am learning how to be happy and how to bring more love into this precious world. 

June Hemberger joined FCM in 2019. She is a retired medical practice manager, management consultant and retail business owner.

By DION HALL

My aspiration to join the Order of Interbeing (OI) developed once I realized that the bodhisattva path was my ticket to happiness and fulfillment. This was an easy conclusion to draw, as the happiness I get from dedicating myself to practice and being of benefit has been unmatched, especially when compared to worldly grasping.

One day, after spending some time researching the Order of Interbeing, I decided to become an aspirant. I was initially inspired by Chris Witrak, who had already been ordained, and Max McHarris, who had just become an aspirant. I felt that I was in a similar place in my practice and understanding of the Dharma as they were, which made taking the leap easier. I remember separate conversations with both of them, where we shared the sense that we are the future of FCM. We talked about how important it is for us to do the work now, so that when the time comes to step into more significant roles, we will be ready.  

My next step was to ask Fred about joining OI. At first, he said, I think reluctantly, “We’ll talk.” So, being my typical go-getter self, I emailed Fred “to talk”.

Our meeting went well. I expressed my aspiration to carry on the legacy of Thay and the legacy of Fred. None of us would be here without either. I really love the Dharma, and nothing gives me greater joy than to see others transformed by their practice. This is all I want to do in this lifetime.

My aspirancy began right away, and I joined the newly formed aspirant group. It was our great fortune to be able to work so closely with Fred for two years and deeply look into the Order and the 14 mindfulness trainings. We took a good look at our views and practice week after week, and I think we’ve all grown in our practice tremendously.

Reflecting back on my experience ordaining at Magnolia Grove Monastery, my practice has had an injection of energy. I am moved by the support of the community—John McHarris, Rita Cathey, and Misti Oxford-Pickeral—who took the time to travel to support David Braasch, Libby Dunn, and me. I am moved by the nuns and monks at the monastery, who truly embody the spirit of Thay and are certainly carrying on his legacy.

I heard a recurring criticism that OI members come off as prideful when wearing the brown jacket. I am proud to wear the brown jacket, not to show off or think I’m better than anyone. I am proud to join the ranks alongside our teacher Fred and all the great students of our dear community. I am proud to be of service and do what needs to be done. I am proud to join this great stream. The brown jacket means I'm here to help.

Dion Hall, of Temple Terrace, has been a member of FCM since 2022 and is a member of Wake Up Tampa Bay and the FCM Board of Directors. He was given the FCM Dharma name Source of Great Aspiration and the Plum Village Dharma name True Action of Non-Self (Chân Hạnh Vô Ngã).

By STEPHEN MAYPER

Everything was different. Not when I received transmission, but

when I found the Sangha. Receiving transmission, for me, felt like a foregone conclusion. The wheels of a cart following the foot of the ox. 

I can look back at my life and see a variety of conditions that subtly steered me in this direction, such as learning from my parents that people are fundamentally good and worthy of love; my karate teacher, Mrs. Kaplan, teaching me "square breathing" when I was 5; my pathology professor, Dr. Wheeler, leading fortnightly meditation sessions in my first year of medical school. Through that, though, I never really saw the path. 

2020 was the year I woke up. The scales fell from my eyes, and I realized I had fallen asleep behind the steering wheel of my life. I had let my personal and professional lives run on autopilot without much thought to what I aspired to in life. Jolted back awake during the pandemic, I set to work trying to course-correct. 

I gobbled up self-help books, sought out a psychologist, and set to work on establishing healthy physical habits, and, under the guidance of a few smartphone apps, I began to take up a meditation practice. For years, I sat semi-regularly, and began to listen to Dharma talks online. Most of that time, I couldn’t tell if anything was happening. I understood the goal was to stay mindful during daily life, so I set reminders. I put up sticky notes around my office; I taped index cards around my apartment; I set morning intentions. Yet still I struggled to find mindfulness off the cushion. 

A breakthrough started to happen when I stumbled upon Wake Up and the Florida Community of Mindfulness. Practicing in community and basing my practice in spiritual values and aspirations for the first time, I suddenly found myself having mindful moments throughout my day-to-day. The support of a community and a moral framework made my practice come to life. Still now I spend most moments lost in thought and carried away by emotions, but ever so slowly I am finding moments of “remembering” creeping into my day. 

Before coming to FCM, I had already found solace in the Buddha's example and many of his teachings; however, in finding the community, I truly found refuge in the Buddhist path and the community. Everything was different once I found the sangha. 

The decision to take part in the transmission ceremony did not even feel like a choice. It felt like a natural expression of what I already knew deeply in my body: that the Buddha, the Dharma, and the sangha are my refuges in this life and that I will work for the rest of my life to follow the five precepts to the best of my abilities.

Stephen lives in Tampa with his wife, Nicole, and their dachshund, Weasley. Not unlike his path with the Dharma, when he met Nicole at FCM, he "knew” he had found his soulmate and they married not long after. He enjoys gardening, hiking, and almost anything nerdy or science-y. 

By MARY DAY

Little did I know, when joining FCM's Naples Sangha a year and a half ago, the capacity of one’s heart and mind to open. Practicing the principles of loving kindness, generosity, and selflessness with others in this retreat revealed what a moving and memorable discovery this can be.

Driving from Naples, and looking forward to the retreat, it felt good to arrive at the Tampa Center. The poster of His Holiness the Dalai Lama at the front of the room, with his quote “Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible,” set a feeling tone of loving kindness for the entire weekend. Imagining His Holiness present in the room became an anchor. It was a reminder how choosing kindness is an option, anytime and anywhere.

Our retreat sangha had approximately 30 participants, with about a third of the group doing a three-day silent retreat for the first time. The first practice session presented the tools for cultivating true love which included turning on the light of mindfulness, gently digging deeper to understand, and watering seeds through practice. This orientation guided us toward bedtime as we slipped into noble silence for the weekend.

Angie Parrish and David Braasch alternated their presentations, balancing positive energy with a palpable sense of well being. 

The gentle flowing movements and deep breathing of David’s qigong instruction were joyful and uplifting. The continuity and tradition of the "flowing as a river" walking meditation brought us all together. In a unified motion of going forward, David’s recitation of Thich Nhat Hahn’s quote, encouraged us to lead with the left foot and say to ourselves “I have arrived”, then follow with the right foot “I am home”. I could feel in the cadence of this walking meditation a continual and gentle reminder of our interconnectedness.

Angie’s presentations were skillfully balanced and gently held my attention. Practicing deep sharing and deep listening with a person I had just met was comforting and profoundly touching. Sharing causes and conditions, each of our hearts opened. I felt acknowledged and truly seen. Though our experiences were quite different, the recognition of her suffering gave larger context for mine, transforming into "our" suffering. The practice of tonglen helped me in support of this realization. I breathed in the communal suffering. I breathed out healing and love for communal relief.

Practicing work meditation in the garden was restful for my mind and invigorating for my body. It was a joyful experience to be outside with others, enjoying the exquisite beauty of a Bodhi tree’s leaf! The person I was sharing this with pointed out the leaf’s heart shape, which opened my heart even wider. 

The closing circle gave us each an opportunity to share one or two insights from the retreat. Mine included: 1) A way to turn on the light of mindfulness can be adhering to a daily meditation practice every morning and  2) A way to gently dig deeper for understanding can be putting oneself in other people’s shoes. 

Mary Day was introduced to meditation in the 1980s using Thich Nhat Hanh’s The Miracle of Mindfulness. She and her husband retired to Naples nine years ago. Both are artists and maintain a "smallwalls" studio in the Naples Art District.

By DEBORAH BLAIR

In January I attended the workshop Fred offered on trauma and resilience. Rather than understanding trauma and how it relates to me, I had initially considered registering for the workshop primarily because I was interested in understanding intellectually how the word “trauma” is being used today in popular culture, and how to use the historical Buddhist perspective related to resilience. But that’s not what happened for me.  

Instead, I found myself signing up for the workshop because of the experience I had growing up in my family. We didn’t call it, “Going No Contact” or “Ghosting” in those days, but that’s what it was. There would be a colorful fight between two parties. Then months or years might pass before the parties spoke again.  Or the Ghosting might only last for a weekend. After the alcohol was out of the way, there would be a handshake, pat on the back, or a bro hug.

The Ghosting was always about one person feeling victimized by another and the victimizer defending their actions. On the periphery, other family members chose sides, whispered, and gossiped. I found this entire cycle of family behavior to be traumatic in the sense that the fights were never really resolved, and family members never really trusted one another. 

This cycle of Ghosting has been going on for multiple generations in my family, and was continuing with me and my daughter repeatedly “Going No Contact.”

To be honest, I ended up registering for the workshop simply because I wanted to learn how to fix this situation with my daughter. A huge expectation, right? But my daughter had contacted me shortly before the workshop, and we had begun to communicate once again, albeit very cautiously on my part. So I wanted our communicating to continue without “Going No Contact” again, but didn’t really know how to do that in a way that would build a foundation for resolving any future conflicts without resorting to repeated Ghosting. 

Trying to be openminded and willing as I entered the Meditation Hall for the workshop, I soon found a cushion where two people made space for me to sit. The group was large, and I was nearly late, which always rattles me. But soon everyone settled down, and the talk began. As Fred began to speak, I quickly realized that this workshop was not going to be like anything I had prepared myself for. Instead, Fred was sharing the kind of gentle understanding that I had come to expect from FCM workshops and retreats I’ve attended in the past. His perspective on trauma and resilience was also unexpected. 

Fred spoke of how the culture that we live in conditions our world view and beliefs, along with how we understand and experience trauma. He noted how the internet spreads ideas and news in ways that humans had never experienced before such technological advances.

He reminded us that life is full of unpleasant experiences, and that suffering is a basic tenet of Buddhism. He taught us how we can reframe trauma and become resilient by practicing Right View and understanding the causes of suffering—including how open communication helps us to understand ways in which others may experience our actions as causes of their own suffering.  

Overall, I left the workshop appreciating how we can reframe trauma and become resilient by practicing Right View, and committed to understanding better through opening myself to conversation with others about how my actions may be experienced as causes of suffering for them—suffering I’m unaware of unless it’s brought to my attention.  

Deborah Blair of Placida, FL, has been an FCM member for two years.