Is Life Really Empty?

He smiled, and looked up at a pippala leaf imprinted against the blue sky, its tail blowing back and forth as if calling him.

Looking deeply at the leaf, he saw clearly the presence of the sun and stars - without the sun, without light and warmth, the leaf could not exist. This was like this, because that was like that.

He also saw in the leaf the presence of clouds - without clouds there could be no rain, and without rain the leaf could not be.

He saw the earth, time, space, and mind - all were present in the leaf. In fact, at that very moment, the entire universe existed in that leaf. The reality of the leaf was a wondrous miracle.

Though we ordinarily think that a leaf is born in the springtime, Gautama could see that it had been there for a long, long time in the sunlight, the clouds, the tree, and in himself.

Seeing that the leaf had never been born, he could see that he too had never been born.

Both the leaf and he himself had simply manifested - they had never been born and were incapable of ever dying.

With this insight, ideas of birth and death, appearance and disapperance dissolved, and the true face of the leaf and his own true face revealed themselves.

He could see that the presence of any one phenomenon made possible the existence of all other phenomena. One included all, and all were contained in one.

Seeing the independent nature of all phenomena, Siddhartha saw the empty nature of all phenomena - that all things are empty of a separate, isolated self.

Siddhartha now understood that impermanence and emptiness of self are the very conditions necessary for life. With impermenance and emptiness of self, nothing could grow or develop.

If a grain of rice did not have the nature of impermanence and emptiness of self, it could not grow into a rice plant.

If clouds were not empty of self and impermanent, they could not transform into rain.

Without an impermanent, non-self nature, a child could never grow into an adult.

"Thus," he thought, "to accept life means to accept impermanence and emptiness of self. The source of suffering is a false belief in permanence and the existence of separate selves.

Seeing this, one understands that there is neither birth nor death, production nor destruction, one nor many, inner nor outer, large nor small, impure nor pure. All such concepts are false distinctions created by the intellect.

If one penetrates into the empty nature of all things, one will transcend all mental barriers, and be liberated from the cycle of suffering."


Extracted from: Old Path White Clouds, by Venerable Thich Nhat Hanh

Are You Prepared to Love?

Do you have someone to love? We all want to love and be loved.

We may want to love children who are hungry, disabled, or abused, to relieve them of their suffering. We carry that love in our heart and hope that someday we will be able to realise it.

But when we actually contact these children, they may be difficult to love. They may be rude, they may lie, they may steal, and our love for them will fade.

We had the idea that loving children who need our help would be wonderful, but when confronted with the reality, we cannot sustain our love. When we discover that the object of our love is not lovable, we feel deep disappointment, shame and regret.

We feel as though we have failed. If we cannot love a poor or disabled child, who can we love?

A number of Plum Village residents of Vietnamese origin want to go back to Vietnam to help the children and the adults there.

The war created much division, hatred and suspicion in the hearts of the people. These monks, nuns, and laypeople want to walk on their native land, embrace the people, and help relieve them of their suffering.

But before they go back, they must prepare themselves. The people they want to help may not be easy to love.

Real love must include those who are difficult, those who have been unkind.

If they go back to Vietnam without first learning to love and understand deeply, when they find the people there being unpleasant, they will suffer and may even come to hate them.

You think you can change the world, but do not be too naive. Don't think that the moment you arrive in Vietnam, you will sit down with all the conflicting factions and establish communication immediately.

You may be able to give beautiful talks about harmony, but if you are not prepared, you will not be able to put your words into practice.

We must practise harmony of views and harmony of speech. We bring our views together to have a deeper understanding, and we use loving speech to inspire others and not hurt anyone.

We practise walking together, eating together, discussing together, so we can realise love and understanding.

If you are able to breathe and smile when your sister says something unkind, that is the beginning of love.

You do not have to go some place else to serve. You can serve right where you are by practising walking mediation, smiling, and shining your eyes of love on others.


Extracted from: Beginning Anew, Teachings on Love, by Venerable Thich Nhat Nanh

Is Your Cup Big?

If your cup is small, a little bit of salt will make the water salty.

If your heart is small, then a little bit of pain can make you suffer.

Your heart must be large.


Quoted from: Venerable Thich Nhat Hanh, Plum Village

How to Live Alone?

There was a monk whose name was Thera. His friends probably gave him the name Thera, which means "the elder."

That monk liked to live on his own. He always went off on the alms round on his own. He liked to do walking meditation on his own. He like to eat on his own, he liked to wash his clothes on his own. He really liked to do everything on his own. He seemed to like to avoid his friends in the practice as much as possible.

All the monks had heard the Buddha praising the better way to live alone, but the way the Buddha used the meaning of "living alone," he meant not to be imprisoned by the past, not to be pulled away by the future, and not to be carried away by what was happening in the present.

The Buddha did not mean that living alone means to distance yourself and separate yourself from your friends in the practice.

Nevertheless, this monk liked to do things on his own, eating on his own, going to the town on his own, and avoiding other people.

The other monks knew that he liked to do things alone, but they felt that there was something not quite right about this way of life. They felt that he wasn’t really practicing according to the spirit of the Buddha’s teachings.

So the other monks went to the Buddha and they said, "Lord Buddha, one of our fellow practitioners called Thera, the elder, likes to do everything on his own: walking meditation, eating meditation, working on his own, and we don’t know if living like that that is really truly living alone."

And Buddha said, "Where is that monk? Ask him to come here and have a cup of tea with us."

So the monks went and invited Thera to join them, and the Buddha said, "I hear you like to live alone. How do you live on your own? Please tell me."

And Thera said, "Lord Buddha, I sit in meditation alone, I eat on my own, I wash my clothes on my own, I go into the village for alms on my own."

And the Buddha said, "Oh, that is true, then you really do live alone. But maybe the way you live alone is not the best way to live alone, there is a better way to live alone."

And then the Buddha recited a gatha: "If you live without being imprisoned by the past, not being pulled away by the future, not being carried away by the forms and images of the present moment, living each moment of your life deeply, that is the true way of living alone."

When Thera heard this he knew that he had been living alone just as an outer form, and there was a deeper way to live alone.


Extracted from: The Sutra on Knowing the Better Way to Live Alone, by Venerable Thich Nhat Hanh

Quack! Quack! That's a Chicken!

A newly married couple went for a walk together in a wood, one fine summer's evening after dinner.

They were having such a wonderful time being together until they heard a sound in the distance: 'Quack! Quack!'

'Listen,' said the wife, 'That must be a chicken.'

'No, no. That was a duck,' said the husband.

'No, I'm sure that was a chicken,' she said.

'Impossible. Chickens go "Cock-a-doodle-doo", ducks go "Quack! Quack!" That's a duck, darling,' he said, with the first sign of irritation.

'Quack! Quack!' it went again.

'See! It's a duck,' he said.

'No dear. That's a chicken. I'm positive,' she asserted, digging in her heels.

'Listen wife! That ... is ... a ... duck. D-U-C-K, duck! Got it?' he said angrily.

'But it's a chicken,' she protested.

'It's a blooming duck, you, you ...'

And it went 'Quack! Quack!' again before he said something he oughtn't.

The wife was almost in tears. 'But it's a chicken.'

The husband saw the tears welling up in his wife's eyes and, at last, remembered why he had married her. His face softened and he said gently, 'Sorry, darling. I think you must be right. That is a chicken.'

'Thank you, darling,' she said and she squeezed his hand.

'Quack! Quack!' came the sound through the woods, as they continued their walk together in love.

The point of the story that the husband finally awakened to was, who cares whether it is a chicken or a duck? What was much more important was their harmony together, that they could enjoy their walk on such a fine summer's evening.

How many marriages are broken over unimportant matters? How many divorces cite 'chicken or duck' stuff.

When we understand this story, we will remember our priorities. The marriage is more important than being right about whether it is a chicken or a duck. Anyway, how many times have we been absolutely, certainly and positively convinced we are right, only to find out we were wrong later?

Who knows? That could have been a genetically modified chicken made to sound like a duck!


Extracted from: Opening the Door of Your Heart, by Venerable Ajahn Brahm

Don't Cry, Baby

"Respected Teacher, without understanding love is most difficult.

It reminds me of something that happened to my sister Bhima.

One night she cried all night long until my sister Bala lost her patience and spanked Bhima. That made Bhima cry more.

I picked Bhima up and sensed that she was feverish. I was sure her head ached from the fever. I called Bala and told her to place her hand on Bhima's forehead.

When she did that she understood why Bhima was crying. Her eyes softened and she took Bhima into her arms and sang to her with love. Bhima stopped crying even though she still had a fever.

Respected Teacher, I think that was because Bala understood why Bhima was upset. And so I think without understanding, love is not possible."

"Just so, Svasti! Love is possible only when there is understanding. And only with love can there be acceptance.

Practise living in awareness, children, and you will deepen our understanding. You will be able to understand yourselves, other people, and all things. And you have hearts of love.

That is the wonderful path I have discovered."


Extracted from: Tangerine of Mindfulness, Old Path White Clouds, by Venerable Thich Nhat Hanh

How Can You Be So Stupid!

One fourteen-year-old boy who practices at Plum Village told me this story.

He said that every time he fell down and hurt himself, his father would shout at him.

The boy vowed that when he grew up, he would not act that way.

But one time his little sister was playing with other children and she fell off a swing and scraped her knee, and the boy became very angry. His sister's knee was bleeding and he wanted to shout at her,

"How can you be so stupid! Why did you do that?"

But he caught himself. Because he was able to recognise his anger and not act on it.

While the adults were taking care of his sister, washing her wound and putting a bandage on it, he walked away slowly and meditated on his anger.

Suddenly he saw that he was exactly the same as his father. He told me, "I realised that if I did not do something about the anger in me, I would transmit it to my children."

He saw that the seeds of his father's anger must have been transmitted by his grandparents.

This was a remarkable insight for a fourteen-year-old boy. Because he had been practicing, he could see clearly like that.

By making peace with our parents in us, we have a chance to make real peace with our real parents.


Extract from: Teachings on Love, by Venerable Thich Nhat Hanh