In January 2005, Thầy sent the following letter to those of us who would join him on his first return pilgrimage to Vietnam after thirty-nine years of exile.

Order of Interbeing member Jayna Gieber shares an experience of interbeing from her visit to Vietnam with Thích Nhất Hạnh.

In January 2005, Thầy sent the following letter to those of us who would join him on his first return pilgrimage to Vietnam after thirty-nine years of exile.

Wherever we go, we will practice dwelling happily in the present moment, radiating peace and loving kindness around us. All of us will be closely observed, especially by secret agents, who will be able to appreciate our wholesome energy and certainly will profit from it. The Five Mindfulness Trainings are the most concrete expression of our practice. There will be no consumption of tobacco, meat, fish, or alcohol; no talking while walking. As we practice to be the Sangha body of the Buddha, we are also the body of Thầy at the same time. We shall certainly make many people happy with our presence and practice. We’ll be together in a few days. As the date of our departure to Vietnam approaches, I would like to express my joy and gratitude to all of you for joining me in this historic trip. Our 3-month visit to Vietnam will be an offering to the land and people in Vietnam; therefore as a Sangha we would like to offer our best. When I left Vietnam 39 years ago, to come to the West to call for a cessation of the hostilities in my country, I was like a cell of the Sangha body, taken out of that body. 

If I did not dry up after a few years of being in exile that is because my practice was to carry the Sangha body in myself. And there was not one day when I did not try to build a sangha. While talking and working with friends in Europe and America, I naturally shared the practice, and we always tried to incorporate the practice of mindfulness in our work. I have been able to regenerate a full fourfold sangha from a single cell. I am therefore coming home not as a sangha cell any more, but as a whole sangha body. And you are my body.

I was privileged to accompany my beloved teacher and worldwide sangha brothers and sisters on Thích Nhất Hạnh’s return trip to his homeland. There were many experiences in Vietnam that cracked my heart open, awakening and blooming the energy of bodhicitta (the mind of enlightenment and love) in me. This story tells of one such encounter.

I handed the last trinket to one of the girls with bluish-black hair circled close around me. The maidens’ energy radiated like fire, their eyes shining bright as sunflower smiles burst from their lips. My heart sang when I saw the happiness on their faces.

We were traveling that day with Sister Chân Không and monks and nuns to the Quảng Trị Province to visit schools and projects supported by the tradition of Thích Nhất Hạnh. I’d risen bleary-eyed that morning at 4 a.m. to journey into the tropical forest. We began the day together singing in the lobby of the hotel guided by Dharma teachers Peggy Rowe and Larry Ward: “I am a cloud, I am the blue sky, I am a bird spreading out its wings …”

The child in me was so excited. We’re going on a field trip with Sister Chân Không! The big pink bus drove us many miles in the dark. Turning off the main highway, the driver wove down a small, primitive road. The sun was just beginning to rise. He pulled over and parked. My doubtful mind worried, But there is only jungle out there!

We filed off the bus and began to move slowly and mindfully down a narrow, muddy trail, following Sister Chân Không. It rained torrentially. Sheets of water poured down my back; it was humidly warm. The blue plastic raincoat kept the wet off my clothes, but not out of my shoes. I looked down at my trudging feet covered with mud as I placed one foot in front of the other.

In that moment I realized what Thầy means when he says, “Present moment, wonderful moment.”

Immersed in the elements, I was the rain, the mud, the trees, and the friends I walked with; I had no desire or pull to be anywhere but where I was. I felt completely alive in every cell of my body, aglow with the miracle of mindfulness. I understood deeply in my bones the unifying energy of “going as a sangha.” Although Thầy did not accompany us physically that day, his loving presence was felt in each step we took as we represented him, cells in the body of the  worldwide Mahasangha.

Gongs and drums drew us into a clearing where a small temple and schoolhouse stood. Villagers greeted us with huge grins, handing us warm sweet potatoes. We entered the schoolhouse and the children began to sing with angelic voices, “Breathing in, Breathing out … I am blooming as a flower …,” their hands creating flowers in the air.

Tears of tenderness trickled down my cheeks. I stood quietly, touched by the loving-kindness palpable in the one-room schoolhouse. Adults sat with the little ones, showing them how to use crayons. One of the younger nuns gently took a child’s hand in hers, and together they began to color.

I breathed in the tenderness we were offering and receiving—the love they accepted through attention and gifts from strangers—the love we drank in—their innocence and gratitude. A feeling of unconditional compassion filled the schoolhouse.

Earlier on the bus, Sister Chân Không had explained that this had been the village of Thầy’s mother. I’d imagined feeling her presence. Words I’d read from Thầy describing his mother came back to me: “When I think of my mother, I cannot separate her image from my idea of love …”

On the bus, I had been sitting next to a Dharma teacher from Australia traveling with her seventy-eight-year-old mother—the same age as my mama, who had died only a few months earlier.

I whispered, “You are so fortunate to be making this trip with your mother.”

She responded, “You must see this adventure through your mother’s eyes, feel it through her hands.” Suddenly, my mother’s face seemed to hover close to mine. I turned my face toward the foggy bus window that was being pelted with raindrops and cried silently. Melancholy tore at my heart. 

Acutely aware of my recent fiftieth birthday, the passing of time, and the fleeting experience of life, I hoped to better understand the nature of a human life. 

I diligently studied Thầy’s teachings on the historical dimension of time, space, and form and the nature of no-birth and no-death in the ultimate dimension.

In my hand, I see Mama there.
Touching my soft skin to my lips, I kiss my Mother.

Standing the classroom with a dozen young ladies, I remembered the bracelets made by a friend from our Braided Way Sangha. She’d asked me to pass them out in Vietnam. I saw whom I would give it to—a dozen young ladies standing beside me.

I tapped one girl on the shoulder and handed her a bauble of green and pink beads. She giggled and gasped. Soon her girlfriends gathered round. One at a time, each girl came forward ceremoniously to receive her gift.

After I had handed out the last one, I noticed a flurry at the back of the crowd. The villagers parted.

She pushed her way to the front.

Dark eyes boring into me, she unfolded both of her bony hands, placing them near my chest. This tiny, eighty-pound crone commanded my attention. Deep-set, withered eyes with a glint of wildness. A crooked smile revealing blackened teeth.

She pointed at the girls’ jewelry. Then at me. Then at herself.

Time stood still. I breathed in the moment, rich with wonder and mystery. I looked deeply at her palms—ancient brown skin, fingernails filled with earth. I smelled her warm breath before I felt it. The circle around us grew quiet.

“I don’t have any more. I’m so sorry.”

Again, she pointed—girl, me, herself.

I felt her deep hunger to feel pretty and special, to be one of the girls.

I squeezed her hands, trying to communicate, I do care about you.

Just then, I glimpsed the mala bracelet on my wrist. I’d received it during the ceremony in which I expressed my aspiration to join the Order of Interbeing. My mala.

Gathering her hand in mine, I rolled the mala from my wrist onto hers.

She lifted her hand in awe. When she understood I had truly given it to her, she stretched out her arm and displayed her bracelet for all to see. Spiraling playfully in a circle like a princess showing off royal jewels, she embodied both maiden and crone.

The interactions between her heart, the maidens’ hearts, and my heart, despite age, language, and cultural differences—were a perfect experience of interbeing—our lives interconnecting with each other’s, with our mothers’, with Thầy’s mother, and with the Mother of All Buddhas. We were One.

As we prepared to leave, the old woman followed me to the bus to hug me and kiss my hand. I looked into her eyes and saw love and gratitude. I kissed her hand in return.

My teacher’s encouragement came to mind: “Don’t forget to touch the wonders of life.”

“Thank you, Thầy,” I whispered into the rain and stepped onto the big pink bus.

This article is an excerpt from Jayna Gieber’s second book, Tea with Thích Nhất Hạnh: Tales of Love, Liberation, and Joy!, which she was working on at the time of her passing from pancreatic cancer in October 2017, shared posthumously by her daughter, Amber Geiger Morgan (Gentle Fragrance of the Heart), in honor of Jayna’s continuation.