Excerpt from a Dharma Talk by Brother Chan Phap Huu 

New Hamlet, Plum Village 

September 17, 2019 

Somebody once asked me, “What is one of Thay’s [Thich Nhat Hanh’s] characteristics you’d like to have?” It’s like asking what kind of superpower you would like from Thay, our teacher. 

It was a good question because there are a lot of things I like about him. He’s been my role model—my idol. Thay taught us we also have to learn to be beautiful and be ourselves. We have to enrich our own capacity. But there’s one quality—one superpower—Thay has that is unique. 

I don’t know if you saw me, but before going into the Dharma hall, I did twenty loops around New Hamlet to calm my emotions and take care of myself. 

I’ve been on many retreats with Thay. Whenever he has an interview, or he’s going to the parliament to give a teaching, or whatever the situation, wherever we go, that superpower is that he always has this sense that everything is going to be okay. 

Everything is going to be okay. 

He never said it, but I always felt from him the sense that everything is going to be okay, because he has this stillness and this peace that is very alive in him. 

That’s not something you buy from the market. It’s something he has generated and practiced for many years. Whatever situation he’s put in, he’s able to fall back on that foundation and take refuge in that foundation. It’s amazing. 

One of my wishes is that, no matter what situation I am in or the community is in, we can generate a collective calmness and stillness, and feel that everything is going to be okay. Because if all of us start to panic, the outcome of the panic will not be the best thing we can offer. But if we can rely on the foundation of stillness and peace and calm, then the solution we arrive at can be clearer, more calm, and more light. 

I have a story I would like to share with all of you. When I was Thay’s attendant during a Rains Retreat, Thay came and lived in Upper Hamlet with the monks. Every morning, he sat in the hall with us. 

This was before the Stillness Meditation Hall was renovated. It was much older. If you go to Lower Hamlet and see the Dharma Nectar Hall—the grey building behind the dining hall—that’s what the Upper Hamlet hall used to look like. 

That day, we were all practicing sitting meditation. We would do one session of meditation for thirty minutes, a round of slow walking meditation, and then another session of thirty minutes to practice touching the Earth. 

We used to have a dog. It didn’t belong to Plum Village. None of the animals belong to Plum Village; they come to take refuge in our community. The dog’s name was Cacahuète, which means “peanut.” He became a member of our community. Whenever we did walking, he followed, and every time we sat in the meditation hall, he sat outside. We were doing slow walking meditation in the hall, one step with each breath. Suddenly, the dog started barking. It kept barking, and we were all in the zone. “It’s okay, it’s okay. He’s doing his morning routine.” 

We continued walking. Suddenly, one brother couldn’t stand it. “Why is this dog barking so much?” He opened the window and looked outside to see the chimney of the stone building burning. He looked back towards the community and yelled, “Fire! Fire!”

From deep slow walking meditation, everyone sprinted out of the meditation hall. It was one of my Zen moments in Plum Village. This has to go into our record of Zen stories because the whole community was rushing out. Suddenly, I looked back, and Thay was just slowly walking. His whole community had left him alone. [Laughter.] Thay just slowly walked. I didn’t know how to react. I was just like, “Wow, Thay has no fear.” Thay knows it’s going to be okay. And Thay just walked slowly. Truthfully, it was okay. 

At this moment, when Thay was walking out, Thay’s shoes weren’t there. [Laughter.] Thay’s shoes are always placed at the exit door. It meant that one of the monks in his hurry saw the shoes were so conveniently placed that he put them on and ran out. [Laughter.]

Suddenly, we were all outside. It was winter. And you could hear the attendant shout, “Who has Thay’s shoes?” [Laughter.] “Who has Thay’s shoes? Can you look at your feet?” [Laughter.] 

Could you believe it? It was one of the aspirants who had Thay’s shoes! [Laughter.] 

It was a moment I will never forget, because for me it showed Thay’s stability and his understanding of the situation. If, in that moment, the brother had told us more peacefully, “Dear community, I think we should stop our slow walk and we should all exit the hall faster” instead of yelling “Fire!” the outcome might have been different. I will never forget that.

“Sangha, fire!” [Laughter.] In a heartbeat, mindfulness was dropped. I try to always remind myself of this in moments of craziness or hecticness. In the summer retreat, when the rain comes and there’s no place for Dharma sharing and so many people’s bowls and plates drop and break on the dining room floor and everyone is running around, that image always comes up: the fire and Thay walking slowly.

For us, as practitioners, it’s important in moments of crisis to learn to come back to the center. The center is what will ground us and keep the energy of practice alive. For me, all of the sitting meditation and walking meditation we’ve been doing for years play their role. The sitting meditation and walking meditation are like chopping wood. So when the time comes, you can build the fire to keep your warmth and stability.