By Miriam Goldberg
When the Twenty-One-Day Retreat was first announced, I knew I had to attend. My thoughts, “The fourfold Sangha is reeling as if from an earthquake, and we need to show up, to be present with and for the changes, and with and for each other.” I landed at Plum Village with commitment and curiosity,
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By Miriam Goldberg
When the Twenty-One-Day Retreat was first announced, I knew I had to attend. My thoughts, “The fourfold Sangha is reeling as if from an earthquake, and we need to show up, to be present with and for the changes, and with and for each other.” I landed at Plum Village with commitment and curiosity, determination filled with spaciousness.
The first Dharma talk convened the three hamlets. I sat near the front. A gentle presentation by Sister Giac Nghiem slowly, softly circled us with the teachings of decades. As if from nowhere, Thay appeared at the front left side—a small, pale Thay wrapped in a warm jacket and bundled into a tall, heavy wheelchair propelled by a monk.
I was stunned. I hadn’t expected to see him the whole retreat. And there he was, so thin, so vulnerable, so present, so honest an embodiment of fragility, interdependence, and magnificence. I don’t remember if we bowed or if the talk simply continued. After some minutes, Thay gestured to be wheeled down the middle aisle, right into our midst! His courage, his deep commitment, his love and generosity of spirit bathed us. We breathed and smiled together, breathed and smiled as he looked around, breathed and smiled as he was wheeled up to the front again. And then we sang to him, over and over in different languages, until he gestured to go. Unequivocably, Thay was with us.
The days progressed, shiny and wobbly, without the brilliant, luminous, radiant diamond of our teacher at the helm of the retreat. In a more diffused light, the Sangha was more visible. Each of us a small, sparkling jewel, so many colors glittering in our flowing river. Our individual uniqueness and the jeweled Sangha body were strikingly evident as we struggled together with organization, presentations, deep listening. Comparative and irritable thoughts surfaced, receded, and with mindful breathing often revealed positive reflections of our true values, and what we each needed to cultivate our own mind consciousness with kindness during judgmental moments. Throughout, the Sangha body kept weaving and tumbling, fresh and persistent, going as a river.
Amidst the clarity and chaos of considering, creating, and experimenting with new ways to offer and receive these twenty-one days, flowed the ongoing celebration of Thay’s legacy, and the 50th anniversary of the Order of Interbeing. Many heartfelt acknowledgements of Thay’s presence and teachings from early Sangha members showed the profound tradition of engaged practice and Thay’s guidance and contributions.
There was little room to grieve the changes in our Sangha universe. Even so, one could feel tectonic plates shift and transform at the base of our individual and collective experience. The Sangha body was the same and not the same. As were we, in feeling simultaneously the presence and the loss of our teacher, and the power and poignance in being part of Thay’s Sangha continuation. We were called to practice full awareness and engagement in the present moment, to grow the courage and freedom of “don’t know what’s coming next,” of beginner’s mind—until we could taste the vulnerability and courage of living practice amidst impermanence and bring that gift home.
Miriam Goldberg, True Recollection of Happiness, is a psychotherapist who lives in the Santa Cruz mountains with her husband and practices with the Santa Cruz Heart Sangha.
