RESOURCES

By PEGGY WALLACE

My brother was 13 years my senior. I didn’t really grow up with him around. He was off to college before I could even make sense of his existence.

But for him, I was like his first child. He had memories of our early years together, he as a teenager and me as a toddler, that simply don’t exist for me in any real way. He loved me fiercely, always.

When I was myself a teenager, we developed a bond so strong, other members of our family couldn’t fathom it. He was present in my life in a way that no other adult was. He mattered to me in a way that simply didn't apply to other people. When he suddenly died in 2009, it left a gaping hole in my world. The pain of losing him is something that remains with me, just under the surface.

One of the many things we bonded over was music. He was a musician in his spare time, playing guitar and piano, writing and recording songs, playing on the street corners in his downtown Boston neighborhood just for fun. I loved music, and because I adored him, this was our bonding place.

We could spend hours listening to music, each taking a turn at picking out songs from his vast music library. Back when music was made on vinyl and there were stores that sold things called "records", we could spend an entire afternoon combing through the options, making our selections, and then going home to have a listening party. He taught me about rhythm, tone, pitch, harmony, and cadence. I learned to identify the different musical instruments simply by sound. There literally are not many songs (particularly the classics) that aren’t tied to my memory of him in some way.

And so, in 2009, music stopped for me, or rather, I stopped the music. It was painful, especially in the early days following his death, to listen to songs we enjoyed together.

And so, very soon after his passing, I started telling myself stories about music: You can’t enjoy music anymore. If you listen to that, it will bring back painful memories. Music isn’t special anymore. It’s not going to sound as good, now that he’s gone. And on and on, the stories went. Until I decided that music would no longer be a part of my life. I tuned into talk radio and called it a day. I had decided that I was no longer a music fan. Too painful. Too hard. 

Fast forward 15 years and I’m at the FCM Widsom Retreat. It’s a few days into the retreat when, close to the end of the evening, Fred instructs us all to lay down in the Meditation Hall. Get comfortable, he says, because we’re going to listen to music.

Panic. Stories. I don’t listen to music, and certainly not in public, because I’m likely to cry. I was stiff, and tense, and worried. And I heard the stories start to play in my head.

And then Fred said, seemingly directly to me, “Just relax”.  So this time, I decided to try something different. This time I thought, What might happen if I don’t tell those stories and just listen? Could I let music just be music?  Could it be joyful again? Could I enjoy the beauty of it again? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if that was possible?

Because I had long ago made the decision to invent and tell myself my stories about music, I also had to make the decision to put the stories down, if only for a moment, just to see what would happen.

As I lay there in the Meditation Hall, staring out the window at the dark night, heat lightning lit up the sky, and the music began to play. Oh, God, acoustic guitar. My brother's first, most loved instrument. For a moment, my heart ached and I started to entertain an old story, but I was able to let it go, telling myself, “I don’t have to tell a story about this, I can just listen”.

And then, the magic happened. The music was stunning, clear, melodic. As I let go of my stories, gorgeous tempos and melodies flowed over me like old friends coming home again. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I was stuck by the serene peace the music brought to me. It was one of the more powerful moments of my life.

I did a lot of thinking in the wake of that experience. I realized very acutely that the stories I had invented, perpetuated, and told over and over again had walled me off. I was missing out on the joy of music and it was all my own doing. What else was I holding myself back from? In what other ways was I limiting my life experience because of these stories? And why did I invent them in the first place? Well, that’s another discussion entirely but if I had to sum it up, I could: Fear.

And so I began examining my own mind, and looking for the stories in my everyday life (they are not hard to find). I began deconstructing these stories that I once thought kept me safe. Each time one began to play, I stopped and examined it. Was it true? Did I need to keep telling it? Was it really helping me, or was it depriving me from being fully open and engaged with my life? What is this story keeping me from?

And that process continues today. And slowly, in the untelling of my once-cherished stories, I am reclaiming my life and giving it back to myself, uncovering joy along the way. 

Peggy Wallace of Tampa has been a member of FCM since 2021. She is a member of the Board of Directors, leader of Community Care on the Leadership Council and a member of the Order of Interbeing.

By RAJ GOYAL

Arriving at the Florida Community of Mindfulness always feels like returning to a sanctuary. The stillness of the Zen garden, the gentle trickle of water and the nourishing silence of the sangha have a way of loosening knots I didn’t even realize I’d been carrying. In this space, the mind softens, and the heart quietly opens.

For the past six months, I had been working through Part One and into Part Two of the Deconstructing the Myth of Self Intensive, taking deliberate steps to observe the structure of self. I came eager to go deeper in the August retreat, but a week before the retreat, my mother had a TIA. In an instant, I was swept back into the identity of “responsible son.” The sense of “me” became sharper, heavier.

Through reflection—and my parents’ loving encouragement—I realized they had the resources to manage without me. That recognition allowed me to arrive fully.

The drive to the center became my first practice. With each mile, my thoughts slowed, my breath deepened. By the time I stepped onto the grounds, gratitude filled me—gratitude for my wife and family, who had given me the space to be here, and for the chance to turn inward without distraction.

Early in the retreat, I noticed subtle triggers from daily life. My aspiration was to look beyond the content of these triggers and examine the architecture of self. Turning toward my “mistrust” schema in inner child work brought waves of sadness, suspicion and insecurity.

Betsy Arizu, the retreat leader, with her steady presence and compassionate guidance, created a path for exploring these wounds safely. Her process was so clear and impactful. In the embrace of the sangha, I could question long-held stories, gently offering my inner child new evidence that these old truths were not absolute. New, healthier beliefs began to take root.

There were moments of resistance, especially when memories cut close to the bone. At times, missing my family pulled me away from the present moment. When that happened, I walked slowly through the Zen garden, letting breath and step become one. Guided meditations with Misti Oxford-Pickeral and Bill Mac Millen brought me back to the work at hand. Misti’s almost angelic voice in the morning chanting set the tone for each day with clarity and intention.

One of the most powerful moments came during deep sharing after the inner child sessions. I felt raw yet held. The community’s presence gave strength to the tender perspectives I was forming. It was as if we were not only loosening the knots within ourselves but gently untangling each other’s as well.

In those moments, I felt what it means to take true refuge—in the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha—rather than in the delusive, conditioned self.

Since returning home, I’ve deepened my daily meditation, aspirations and intentions. My journey with the book Emotional Alchemy continues, now with a sharper focus on the schemas that construct the self. As Zen Master Dōgen wrote, “To study Buddhism is to study the self; to study the self is to forget the self.”

Raj Goyal began his practice in 2017, starting with yoga and moving toward longer meditations. He found FCM about two or three years ago and has embraced its community ever since. He live in Odessa, FL, with his wife and their three daughters (ages 5, 13 and 15). This year is dedicated to deep self-work for his own growth and for his family.

By KARUNA REIFF

Since becoming a mother, I had hoped to take my family one day to a family retreat at a Plum Village monastery.  As a child myself, I had wholeheartedly enjoyed attending several Plum Village family retreats in the U.S., as well as a few summer family retreats in Plum Village, France. Those experiences were always bright, happy spots in my childhood where my connection with Buddhism and Buddhist communities started to grow.

My dream came true this summer when I went with my husband and our two children (ages 10 and 13) to the Family Retreat at Blue Cliff Monastery. The monastery sits on 80 peaceful acres of woodland in the rural Catskill region of Pine Bush, NY-- a lovely change from busy Tampa Bay! Blue Cliff is home to a thriving community of monks, nuns, and lay practitioners who share the art of mindful living with thousands of adults and children every year. 

Karuna and Newton Reiff relax among the Buddha statues at Blue Cliff Monastery.

In the photo above, Karuna hugs her daughter, Metta, in front of the Blue Cliff meditation hall.

We attended a four-day retreat primarily led by the monks and nuns. It seemed part mindfulness retreat (not much silence, though!) and part summer camp. The adults' program included some meditation, a Dharma sharing group, work meditation, and talks/panels on topics such as the Five Mindfulness Trainings, transforming suffering, and Beginning Anew. 

Meanwhile, the children were immersed in their own activities, which often included games like soccer, tag and volleyball.

Miraculously, our 13- year-old son, who typically likes to do his own thing, happily spent almost all day every day with the Teen Program without any complaints. Our 10-year-old daughter joined the children’s program for her age group where she enjoyed playing outside almost all day and learning about things like the Two Promises and Beginning Anew.  

The accommodations were varied and a surprise (at least for us) until we arrived. We were very comfortable in an RV while other families stayed in dorms or camped. Delicious vegan meals were served buffet-style three times daily with enough variety for everyone to be satisfied.  

What stood out the most for me was how quickly all members of my family felt comfortable and happy.

The children instantly sensed Blue Cliff was a safe place where they could wander about and feel free. As parents, my husband and I quickly relaxed our guard as we felt the kindness of the community and knew our children were engaged in wholesome, nurturing activities. 

The retreat watered and planted seeds in the four of us around kindness and living more harmoniously with others. Being with so many other families (250 total people) engaging in this wholesome way of being encouraged us in our practice. And, of course, it was nice to have someone other than me sharing this wonderful path with our family. 

While most of the families that we met live in other parts of the country, connections were made and hopes of meeting again during future summer retreats were expressed. We also had the good fortune of attending with another FCM family, the Sedhains, which made the experience even more special. 

We hope to return for another family retreat at Blue Cliff and hope this article will encourage other FCM families to consider a family retreat at one of the Plum Village monasteries here in the United States. Blue Cliff (NY), Magnolia Grove (in MS)  and Deer Park (CA) monasteries all hold annual family retreats. It’s a great way to vacation together!    

Karuna Reiff lives in St Petersburg where she works as a hospice social worker.  She helps to facilitate the Family Program at FCM.  

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).