Listen Like a Lotus Growing Out of the Mud (Published in SDI's Presence Journal, Dec/24)

Some of the leaves were a verdant green, while others were tinged with golden yellows and coppery browns around edges becoming shriveled and black in the hot autumn sun. A few brave leaves turned themselves inside out in a last blaze of light shining through thin and transparent skin, as if to say, “Here I go!” Curling in on themselves, others still disappeared into a faded brown of thin parchment like a paper bag. With the sun reflecting of this green and golden assortment of faded, mottled leaves, it was the perfect setting to listen and be listened to.

I had meditated in front of this same lotus pond many times during a twenty-one day retreat in June of 2014. The theme was “What Happens When We Die?” and our beloved teacher seemed to be pouring out all his Zen wisdom into our waiting hearts before a devastating stroke in November that year left him unable to speak or walk. He reminded us that to answer the question about what happens when we die, we must first ask the question “What happens when we truly live?”

I sat and watched the lotus pond coming to life, slowly changing from a mass of muck and green leaves, to stems stretching into the sky with tightly bound buds, and finally bursting forth in an epiphany of brilliant pink lotus flowers. It seemed the perfect metaphor for what was happening in my heart since meeting Thay, as his students called him, at a retreat in Vancouver, B.C. now almost twelve years ago. My heart was awakened to an ancient stream of Love when I first met Thay’s gaze. I saw that this was an infinite Love that runs beneath and through the mud of everyday life, flows beyond the boundaries of us and them, of culture and religion. It cannot be confined to one tradition, one belief system, one person. Since then, I began writing letters to this revered teacher in my journals, pouring out the questions of my heart, and the secrets of my soul. My journal, and Thay’s teachings and presence, became my constant spiritual companions as I explored the yearning and questions of a heart rooted in a Christian community, while growing and integrating the teachings and practices of my new Buddhist sangha.

Watching the outer transformation from mud to lotus in the pond in front of me, reading my journals about the inner transformation of mud in my own heart, I realized these letters to Thay were like a spiritual memoir of my life, a testament to his teachings and the transformative power of the practices of Zen Buddhism, integrated with the love and passion of the Christian mystic heart. Slowly over the next six years, a larger story began to take shape and form, weaving together personal vignettes from my life with the teachings and experiences with Thay and Plum Village. At the same time, I was forced to confront all the doubts and fears and self judgment that arise when we explore and share the most vulnerable parts of ourselves in a more public way. I knew I couldn’t do this by myself. I needed someone who could create a safe and loving space where I could excavate and face the muddy shadow part of myself, with curiosity, with kindness, and with embodied awareness.

So began a time of deep listening and difcult shadow work with my spiritual director, Teresa. We had only been together a short time when we began this sacred work together. It was to Teresa that I was finally able to reveal the depth of love that had been ignited in my devotional heart from Thay’s gaze. It was to Teresa that I was able to begin to find words for the sensual, mystical quality of that encounter with a love that is boundless and beyond form. As I looked into Teresa’s clear eyes, I knew she also knew this kind of all encompassing love. A shared knowing was communicated, not just through words, but through a felt listening presence in our hearts. It created a trust that allowed me to be myself while at the same time plumb the depths beyond my sense of self merely rooted in identity.

Slowly with time and embodied listening practices of breathing, feeling, and sensing, I was able to begin to unearth and look at all the ways I judge and compare myself to others, and at the stories and beliefs of separation these judgements feed. I could bring some care and compassion to the “little girl” in me so eager to please others. I could look at that “little girl” with the same gaze of love that Thay awakened me to, the same loving gaze I receive from Teresa, the same loving lens through which I want to look at the world. It is a lense that sees through the eyes of the heart, where there is no separation, no “you” or “me,” only love.

Having finally gazed at my little girl self through the eyes of unconditional love, I felt free to share the stories and wisdom, gleaned from my own practice and life experience, with complete honesty and vulnerability. True spiritual accompaniment is not bound by time or space. It creates healing both backwards and forwards in time. It is a portal from the simplicity and mundanity of everyday life to the deeper symbolic and lived meaning of mystical experiences that remind us of the Love we already are. As a spiritual director, these are the kinds of stories I want to help enflesh and midwife from the shallows and shadows of unconscious habits and beliefs, into the all-embracing light of divine Love.

Thich Nhat Hanh always encouraged his students to write to him about their experiences and practice. He often read or shared stories from students in his dharma talks. I always imagined placing my own letters and stories into the hands of my dear teacher, as a gift, both fully received and given back in love. Since Thay’s passing, that was no longer possible. As I thought about making a pilgrimage back to Plum Village, I wondered if I could find a symbolic way of ofering the fruits of my practice back to Thay. Could I ofer my book to one of his monks or nuns? Could I somehow ofer a reading to some of the people gathered at the retreat?

Discussing this quandary with my dear friend, she replied with a twinkle in her eyes, “Why don’t you read it to the lotus pond?” Yes, that seemed like the perfect place. Thay so loved the lotus ponds, and the transformations that occurred there, both in plants and humans.

So there I sat, clasping the book to my heart. The lotus pond listening and companioning me in stillness. With a slight breeze, the lotus stems swayed, as if breathing and fully attentive. Their large broad leaves like big Buddha ears, open, receptive, ready to fully receive the words of my heart. Since then, I have read the book in small gatherings in bookstores, Buddhist temples, Christian churches, Catholic retreat centers, online, and in-person. I usually have had a sense of nervousness, and self-consciousness. (This is a life-long practice!) I wonder, how will my words be received? Will I be misunderstood? Will they think I’m crazy or deluded for the kind of all consuming love I have for my teacher, for the Buddha, for Christ? Will they think I’m too attached? Am I?

Yet who can fully understand, let alone express in words, the Love that permeates the whole cosmos? A lotus flower can! From a seed growing out of the mud, stems stretching into the sky with tiny buds still tightly bound, then blossoms beginning to open to the warmth and light of the sun, to an explosion of color open to the radiant sky, then slowly dissolving, dropping petal by petal, seed by seed, returning to the mud, back to the soil, the soul of Mother Earth.

Yes, the lotus pond is the perfect spiritual companion. There is no expectation, no comparing or judgment, no need to impress. No cell phones, no distractions, no background of thoughts. No planning or note taking, no need to remember. No rules, no beliefs, no preconceived notions. No pictures, no media, no technical glitch. There is only the silence and aliveness of the lotus pond. It is a space for deep, receptive, mutual listening. It is a silent receiving of all that I am and have been, who I am becoming, and who we are all becoming together—the lotus and I, my teacher and I, the sangha and I, the earth, and the sky. It is a shared understanding beyond any words, to describe the cycle of life we all fully embody. Each lotus blossom will wilt and dry out and return back to the mud and muck to become soil and energy for the lotus blossoms that follow.

I think about Thay and his great heart of love. I think of how excited he was for the first lotus blossom of the season. And what about the last of the season? Did he love that lotus just as much? No discrimination, he teaches. No birth. No death.

Thay’s familiar face and form are no longer here. He was honored and carried and followed from his root temple in Vietnam, then cremated in a very moving public ceremony. Thay always said “I am not this body.” Indeed, his flame burns on in my heart, in many hearts, in all hearts brave enough to share their own vulnerable stories: in churches and temples, synagogues and mosques, in public and private, in times of despair, conflict, sorrow, and also in times of deep peace.

Can I learn to listen like the lotus pond? As a teacher and spiritual director, can I learn to listen like a silent receiving of all someone is, in their words, gestures, smiles, and in their tears? Can I lean in quietly, and listen with the ears of my heart, in compassion and presence grown out of the mud of my own life? Can I let go of fear, preconceived notions, bias, and judgment—finally letting go of the idea that I am separate from you? Can I listen in a way that is mutual, that includes, not excludes, together, in love?

And what about you, dear reader? I hope you have a spiritual companion or friend who will listen to you with the presence of a lotus pond. But if you don’t, if you are lonely and by yourself, try taking a walk in the forest, or by a river or lake, or somewhere in nature’s companioning presence. Find an inviting place to sit, maybe on a rock or a log, seemingly placed just for you. Sit …Breathe….Listen. Be still. There is no need to “know” right now. Just sit and observe. Attune to the trees and the bees, the lavender, wildflowers, the bright shiny beetle that crosses your path, and the clouds as they shift in the canopy of sky.

Know that as you listen and attune, there is a reciprocal attunement, a listening beyond words, beyond your thoughts, your worries, your questions, and your cares. This is the essence of the deepest kind of prayer, not to a single all knowing God in the sky, but to the silent loving presence permeating every rock, every tree, every fiber of your being. When we slow down to attune and tend to ourselves, the whole universe is listening. A lotus flower blooms in the depths of your heart. Om mani padme hum.

As I continued to read the book out loud to the lotus pond, I smiled at the thought of these lotus leaf ears listening. Perhaps it was just my imagination, or maybe a deeper knowing. I truly felt Thay’s listening presence, in the whisper of the breeze, the birds twittering in trees, and the answering silence in my own heart. The words of the Fourth Mindfulness Training (Plum Village’s version of the Buddhist precepts) came to me, “Aware of the sufering caused by unmindful speech and the inability to listen to others, I am committed to cultivating loving speech and compassionate listening in order to relieve sufering and to promote reconciliation and peace in myself and among other people, ethnic and religious groups, and nations” (plumvillage.org). Yes! I felt this vow in the depths of my being.

Bringing my hands together at my heart center, I bowed deeply to the lotus pond, as my spiritual companion, my teacher, to loving presence in all its forms and disguises. “The one who bows and the one who is bowed to are both, by nature, empty. Therefore, the communication between them is inexpressibly perfect” (Chanting from the Heart, 27). This kind of listening is a mutual listening that dissolves the barriers of separation and misunderstanding, creating a shared listening presence that embraces new possibilities for peace.

While completing my bow, a scrufy black cat slowly walked towards me, rubbing up against my leg and sitting down, as if she wanted to listen, too. I breathed into my heart centre, and realized that there was a bit more space there. Reading my story out loud to the lotus pond, somehow helped to heal the part of me that longed to be fully listened to, seen, and acknowledged. Maybe that’s exactly what we all need to heal each other and to heal the world: to listen like a lotus growing out of the mud.

REFERENCES

HANH, THICH NHAT. Chanting from the Heart: Buddhist Ceremonies and Daily Practices. Berkeley: Parallax Press, 2000.

PLUM VILLAGE. “The Five Mindfulness Trainings.” Accessed October 1, 2024. https://plumvillage.org/mindfulness/the-5-mindfulness-trainings