Am I Tofu?

Sister Chân Trăng Hiền Tâm

I woke up to find myself in a remote countryside factory. It was a tofu factory. White, squared, smooth, and steaming hot tofu lined up neatly on long, massive conveyor belts circulating nonstop. I crouched between the tofu cubes, gliding along on the conveyor belt as if on a hot water slide in an amusement park. Everywhere I looked — in front, behind, up, or down — there was nothing but tofu. Even before I realized what was happening, I instinctively contorted my body into the shape of a tofu. I told myself, “I am tofu.” Knowing that, if the factory manager discovered I was a person, there would be anger, I pretended to be a steaming hot cube of tofu. Finally reaching the end of the conveyor belt, I jumped off and escaped the factory through the back door, running headlong through the vast open field before stopping just at the edge of a cliff. The factory manager shouted after me, “You’re not tofu. You’re a person!” Overtaken by fear, I replied, “No, I’m tofu,” before obediently returning to my place on the now familiar conveyor belt inside the factory.

Dream interpretation

Since childhood, I harbored a complex about what it meant to be a good student and a good daughter. Following my parents’ advice, the ultimate achievements during my childhood and adolescence were to excel in academia and receive awards. I felt stressed and pressured to conform to society’s ideal image of a citizen and a woman.

Upon becoming an adult, I declared to myself that “from now on, I will only do what I want to do” in my studies, possessions, and mode of dressing. During my seven years of working at the KBS and SBS broadcasting stations in South Korea, I lived as I liked without being concerned about fitting into any “tofu-like” ideals from my family or society. It was also around this time (in my early 20’s) that these childhood dreams of conformity stopped recurring, until resurfacing again in 2018: the year I became a novice nun in Plum Village.

As a side note, the brothers and sisters in my Beech Tree ordination family often analyze my dreams as they are particularly vivid and animated like those in the movies.

Pretending to be tofu again

The initial years of my novicehood were challenging despite the fact that I freely chose this path. Drastically changing the lifestyle I was used to for over 30 years was a shock to both my body and mind. Hidden pains and unpleasant memories began to resurface. I cried almost everyday. I even ran in the opposite direction just to avoid meeting and greeting the elder sisters. I openly expressed discontentment, complaining about discrimination when each novice was given two avocados while each bhikshuni received three. Reading the hundreds of fine manners and precepts, I grumbled, “Aren’t they too detailed? It’s like being in the military.” It seemed like all the teachings were forcing me to be tofu, conforming to the same color, shape and consistency as everyone else.

Every night before sleeping, I asked myself, “Is this truly my path?” However, an inner voice whispered, “Just give yourself a chance to practice for five years. If it does not work out, you can always return to your previous profession.” But the doubts in my mind were not content with the plan to try it for five years. I continued to complain about the monastic life, constantly protesting, “It’s too strict. It doesn’t make sense. Should I move to another center?” I kept harboring these thoughts, feeling annoyed by the fine manners and teachings.

For the first time I began to see the workings of my ego. I was trapped in the idea that I was always right, and thus others were always wrong. For example, I used to rely on Google for answers, but I had to break that habit because getting access to the internet was difficult. I could not easily go online to research about the topics I wanted to study more deeply. Getting permission to use the internet during lazy days or lazy evenings, by having to fill out a piece of paper stating “I have permission to use the internet for these reasons:…” felt ridiculous. I rebelled against it, almost completely avoiding the use of the internet for about two years.

Getting permission for everything else was equally complicated. To be able to go outside of the monastery meant I had to get permission from my mentor, the mindfulness observer, and transportation coordinator, in addition to securing a second body to go with me. If it was during the Rains Retreat, then I would additionally have to perform the final step of standing in front of the entire sangha to ask for permission by stating my intention for going out, on which day, to where, with whom, and estimated time of departure and return.

My point here is not to complain about the complexity of the process but rather to point out the workings of my ego. At every step of the process, I heard my ego shouting, “I’m the one who should decide what to do and what not to do. I must always come first!”

Since I did not like these constraints, I knew I could just leave the 5-year program and return to my previous lifestyle. That was the easy option. Instead, however, I chose to face the real challenge: to break free from all the actual constraints that did not make me feel free. Those constraints were not about the type of work in the monastery or not having a salary; they were the thoughts in my head and the reactions of my body that made me feel stifled. So I focused on what was happening in my mind and body, managing my six senses and practicing noticing before reacting whenever my ego screamed, “I am right here! Don’t ignore me!” Over time, my tendency to react surprisingly slowed down.

Gradually, instead of checking my phone for messages upon waking up in the morning, I would smile and silently recite the “Waking Up” gatha. When taking the first step off the bed box, I would practice being aware of the cold stone floor under my feet. Trying not to wake my roommates up, I practiced taking mindful steps in the darkened room and quietly opening the bedroom door. The simple lifestyle of a nun significantly simplified my life: just eating while eating, just cutting vegetables while cutting vegetables and just listening while listening to Dharma talks. Even when I did not want to follow the guided sitting meditation, I just did it. I just allowed myself to do it. The various sounds of the bells around the hamlet often reminded me to pause and come back to myself when I might have forgotten my mindfulness, lost in nonstop thinking.

Slowly, the past image of me scrolling through the news while watching a Netflix series in a shaking subway began to fade away in my mind. Just like the name of my beloved teacher, Thay (“Nhat Hanh” means “one action”), I committed to practicing one action at a time for the duration of the 5-year monastic program. It was like a 5-year sabbatical after living a totally different lifestyle for 30 years. From the fourth year onward, conflicts with the sisters began to decrease as I focused more on looking into myself instead of complaining about the people and the hamlet–I would like to express my deep gratitude to those who supported me during those years.

I was determined to focus on three key practices: living harmoniously in the community, generating the energy of mindfulness in daily life through conscious breathing and body awareness, and looking deeply into the nature of interbeing. Occasionally I had doubts about the practices of Plum Village because it was a little different from the typical Buddhist practices in Korea. The people I met in France were more interested in the practical side of the Dharma than intensive exploration of Buddhist doctrines; whereas in Asia, especially Korea, Vietnam, Japan, and Taiwan, it was common for novices to focus on Buddhist doctrines and various scriptures during the first four years at Buddhist Universities. I worried that when I returned to Korea, the Koreans I met might feel that I had not studied enough Buddhism. Coincidentally, I had a chance to test my understanding of the practice when I went home to help take care of my parents after my father was diagnosed with cancer.

Going back to Korea

When I heard the news that my father was diagnosed with cancer, I cried the whole day. I knew that I needed to return to Korea to help my parents. Fortunately, with the wholehearted support of the sangha, I was able to go very soon after the request. The country had changed so much since I left four years ago; the flow of society seemed busier and the people were expressionless. Among the faces of passersby, it was challenging to spot anyone smiling or greeting each other with a smile; it was as though everyone was wearing an emotionless mask. Their looks were unresponsive like bare frozen fingers in the depths of winter.

Seeing my parents again after four years was incredibly joyful, though it would have been better if it were a casual home visit. Nevertheless, the important thing was that we were reunited. Dad looked different. His hair had turned white, but his eyes sparkled brighter than any of ours. Remarkably, Dad remained positive about being diagnosed with cancer, considering it as a spotlight on life, not death. It was surprising and inspiring to witness his uplifting attitude, focusing on doing his best without being overly concerned about the results.

There was anxiety in the air during the days leading up to the surgery; however, we did our best to continue with our daily routine. I learned in Plum Village not to let worries take over my mental state, understanding that dwelling on thoughts of anxiety would not help make things better. Dad made plans to study Buddhism with me during his recovery.

When Dad was in the operating room of a big hospital in Seoul, I did what I could not to allow thoughts of worry to crowd my mind. I held Mom’s hand and quietly practiced breathing. Next to the surgery room was the intensive care unit, which was filled with families visiting loved ones who faced death. Seeing the sad faces of the families going through the last moments with their dying relatives while hoping for Dad’s successful surgery made Mom even more anxious. To ease her nervousness, I gave her noise-canceling AirPods and played Plum Village songs and chants. Music has the ability to help soothe those who are not able to soothe themselves. I thought it might be helpful for Mom as well.

Fortunately, Dad’s surgery was successful. When he woke up, his first words were about the Twelve Nidanas! These were Buddhist terms he had asked me to memorize in Korean as part of our Buddhist studies together. The days in hospital passed quickly. Supporting Dad with the basic tasks like emptying the urinal, helping him wash, and assisting with his bowel movements were nothing compared to the repetitive tasks Mom and Dad had done for me throughout my childhood.

It took several months for Dad to recover. Dad also began to express his feelings openly about how much he missed me during the five years I was away. During Dad’s recovery, I felt like I was going through a Korean Plum Village Rains Retreat. One of the reasons was that my parents built a house in the deep mountains after retirement. Much like a temple nestled in the remote mountains, the surroundings are truly tranquil and pure. Morning sitting meditation, mindful eating, walking meditation, exercising, tending the garden, and listening to Dharma talks were part of the daily routine. Dad also wanted to teach me Korean Buddhist terms, basic Buddhist theories, and applied psychology, including those from early scriptures. The schedule was tight, but Dad enjoyed it, saying that studying was easy because it made both him and Mom happy. While reading unfamiliar sutras and Buddhist terms, I realized that I had already studied these in Plum Village. The expressions were different, but they were the same teachings, much like different fingers pointing to the same moon.

Dad and Mom’s favorite meditation was hugging meditation. Although typical Korean fathers feel embarrassed to openly express their love for their children and rarely hug them, Dad was strangely hugging me quite a lot every day, sometimes too much. After sitting meditation, after breakfast, after walking meditation, and after listening to Dharma talks… he kept wanting to hug me. At one point, I even joked that I would limit the number of hugs to a maximum of five times a day. I realized that my unexpected trip to Korea was not just about caring for Dad but also about self-healing.

Once again, am I really tofu?

I want to share about another dream I had. It is a secret, but since there is no such thing as a secret living in a community, I will tell you a little bit about it. It happened the night before I received the Great Bhikshuni Precepts in February 2023. Personally, I do not interpret dreams as mysterious occurrences; I think dreams are reflections of our inner thoughts. In the dream, two friends and I were overlooking a vast frozen river, surrounded by dense green tropical forests and mountains. We were observing this scene from a helicopter in the sky.

In the dream, I was a man with dark skin. My two friends suggested, “Let’s jump together into the icy river below!” After taking a closer look, there was a large hole in the frozen river, and its depth appeared almost black or extremely deep blue. Despite thinking it was like being told to die, I strangely felt I could jump into the water with my two deeply trusted friends. Without hesitation, the three of us held hands and dove into the icy water. “Splash!” To my surprise, the water felt warm like a hot spring and was incredibly clear. When I opened my eyes underwater, I saw that one friend looked like Buddha and the other looked like Thay. We could not speak underwater, so we just smiled and enjoyed swimming freely together.

The one year as an aspirant and the five years as a monastic seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. And here I still am, swimming in the hot spring of the community. It is as if I have just finished a long bath, shedding the residual dust of the mind, leaving my entire body feeling light and renewed. Even after completing the 5-year program, I still find myself sitting with the Sangha, laughing, chatting, and practicing, just like in one of my other dreams. I’ll tell you about it another time.

To this day, I am still hasty, occasionally lazy and sometimes grumpy and discontent, troubling the sisters around me. However, I still enjoy flowing with the sangha. My trust in the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha continues to grow. Living and practicing with people of different personalities, I have many chances to look deeply at my ego through the diverse forms and colors reflected in the mirror of other people’s speech, bodily conduct and thoughts. Looking closely, I realize that within their mirror, I exist; and within my mirror, they exist. It is challenging, but I learn every day that the path is beneficial for my personal growth.

So, I continue to ask myself, “Am I still a factory tofu, or have I leapt off the conveyor belt to play with others like the children we all are at heart?”