Sister Chân Hiền Hạnh

The window slowly opens. The brisk cold brings me back to reality. Looking at the rain on the distant horizon this morning stirs something in my heart. How beautiful and poetic the rain is. There’s an upsurge of inspiration, urging me to jot down a few words. The rain had woven a path, taking me back to a memory. The rain is me, is the sunshine, and is the entire galaxy.

That day, after coming home from a faraway trip, I felt such warmth and spaciousness. It was home indeed, like the expression in the West: “Home sweet home!” Holding a cup of tea in my hands, I savored the refreshing air like that of the autumn in France and a pleasantly familiar feeling returned. Oh! I was in my hometown, yet I had allowed my mind to wander off. I smiled to myself and continued to enjoy this moment with the tea.

The tea was finished. I stood up and looked off into the distance. Oh, water… It was a familiar sight as my hometown is used to flooding during this season. I didn’t pay much attention to the weather. The rain created the conditions for me to stay inside to explore, to learn; otherwise, whenever it was sunny, I would happily go to the garden, tending the bushes, trees or planting saplings. From a distance, I heard the sound of the telephone ringing. It was a friend of mine asking about the floods. I took a picture and sent it to her, and also sent my sense of not-worrying to the universe. Then, I returned to a few unfinished tasks.

Toward the end of the day, the water came up into the front yard. I started to worry a little bit. There were a few things I needed to prop up, but how could I do it by myself? They would be ruined by the water. Looking outside, I saw an old friend leisurely rowing a small boat around. I called out to ask for his help. The two of us carried a few things up to a higher place and smiled to ourselves. He was a childhood friend who used to fly kites and play Mancala board games with me. Now he had a family of his own, residing afar, but he would come home every weekend to take care of his elderly mother. It had been over 20 years; it was a joy seeing one another again. We all implicitly understood the difficulty of our shared hometown.

In my hometown, every time someone called for help, somehow everyone would respond. I had been away for a long time; now coming back in the form of a monastic, the interactions with the neighbors became different. Nevertheless, the neighborly love would still be ever close and authentic whenever any one of us needed help.

My friend went home. I looked around at the state of disarray. But first, I must find something to eat before continuing rearranging the house and propping things up. Oh, the floodwater had entered the house. How quickly it had risen up. Looking at the stream of water, the memory of when I was seven or eight years old returned, when the water had risen up to the windows. Grandma was wading through the water at the level of her belly to retrieve a few things that were floating around. I could see Grandma shivering while trudging through the water. Meanwhile, Mother was placing the clay stove on a tin table to cook rice using rice husks as fuel. The little girl, me, was enjoying playing with the water; despite being scolded, she was still carefree. The memory of Mother and Grandma was alive as though they were present right beside me now.

The floodwater rose even higher, but I remained calm. Then, a few loved ones from faraway called. Seeing the level of water through the video chat, they felt sorry for the situation, but I remained as joyful as before. Whatever will come will come. Such is the presence of a stable and unwavering spirit.

I fumbled around until late. Where could I lie down to rest a bit? There was only a wooden table that was both high and sturdy. I climbed onto it and lay down. After just over an hour of peaceful sleep, a few mosquitoes started buzzing around me.

I reached for the clock and saw that it was almost 3 AM. I sat up to go boil some water. Hmm, the power is out! I found some candles and lit a few around the house. The candlelight shimmered on the water. I felt like I was sitting on a floating rock on a deserted island, gazing at the vast sky spread out over the ocean water with myriad stars above. Silent and incredibly beautiful!

I thought of finding something to improvise a tea table with. Looking to the side, I saw a little table. As I was standing up to carry it over, I suddenly saw — in the corner of my bed — two eyes looking up at me! A snake! Frightened, I jumped at the sight. Normally I would run away if I saw a dead snake on the side of the road. What was I going to do with one that was still alive!? I calmed myself down, and after a short moment, dared to look at it again. I realized that it was also scared of being pulled away by the floodwater. But what if I touched it by mistake and it bit me? I remembered a sutra that recounted how the Buddha once invited a snake to leave, so that the monastics may rest there. I tried to imitate the Buddha and whispered to it. It writhed a bit and then skillfully coiled its body to be more comfortable. It didn’t seem to hear anything I was saying. Should I befriend the snake?

I neither came close to it nor pushed it away. I just looked for another corner to drink my tea. Looking over there, I saw a colony of ants clinging to a broomstick. In another corner were a few dazed grasshoppers being buffeted by the water. And the snake in that corner. “In this solemn moment, the wind was still, the birds were silent!” There was only me with myself.

The words of Thay’s teaching echoed in my heart:

With a peaceful heart, I was imbued with Thay’s insight: “I am one with all living beings.” Aware of my deep and gentle breath, I felt the presence of Thay and my mother in me.

Breathing in, I saw that this body my mother had given me was still healthy and at peace.
Breathing out, I saw that my spiritual practice and insights continued to be nourished by Thay.

Thay and my mother manifested in my heart at the same time. Thay and my mother were one, warm and sweet as in Thay’s A Rose for Your Pocket:

The candlelight was still flickering. The cup of tea was slowly emptying. I deeply understood the countless causes and conditions that supported every step I took. Joining my palms, I sent Mother Earth the most fragrant flowers and the sweetest fruits (of my practice) to everyone. The love of Thay, my mother, and friends was forever pure and fresh.

The weather is quite cold this Christmas season. I light a candle, enjoy some tea and wrap my gratitude onto the pages of this journal. There are no gifts or sweets to send to my beloved, but my heart is at peace. Thay is already in me and the people I love through serving together, understanding and empathizing with one another. We have been a part of each other since beginningless time.