That’s it. That’s the story. A simple act that I would recall again and again as the answer to why Plum Village is my home tradition.
It happened when I was with a small group of Plum Village practitioners, ranging from senior monastic Dharma teachers to lay people who only met their first Plum Village monastic this week. We had just finished offering a mindfulness music event – music, poems, and short talks – to about 400 people, and were now gathering for dinner “backstage”, at a long communal table in the offices of the event space. The room buzzed with laughter and conversation, jubilant with the success of the event and the relief that our work was done for the day.
There were, indeed, insightful, delightful, and fresh expressions of the Dharma at the music performance. But the most impactful teaching I took away from that day was from something that happened afterwards. Something so small, I could have looked away for a few seconds and missed it.
A nun walked across the room towards where I was standing. My eyes could not help following her with curiosity. This was a senior Dharma teacher who has edited and compiled Thich Nhat Hanh’s works, represented Plum Village at conferences, and appeared in interviews to share about Plum Village’s teachings. This was my first time being around her, and, cautious as I was to not put any teacher on a pedestal, I observed, wondering if I could see her practice reflected in the (literally) backstage moments.
She stopped in front of the giant industrial trash bin between us, now filled with salad containers and sandwich wrappers from dinner. She reached around the edge of the bin, grabbed the openings of the trash bag, and pulled and lifted it out. She then walked to the elevator to take it downstairs.
The room, oblivious, continued with its cheerful clamor as she slipped out. It seemed like the most ordinary thing that she was taking out the trash. But it didn’t feel like that to me.
You might say that I’m overthinking things, but I sometimes wonder what I would have done in her position. I know that for myself, I can get too lazy to help out with the trash when I’m visiting my parents. This is when I’m just a family guest, not a guest of honor who is here to offer teachings to hundreds of people. How easy would it be to let ego take over and excuse yourself from basic chores, especially after having played a key teaching role in the event?
I was moved, not only by this nun’s quiet caring for the group, but also by the structure and teachings of Plum Village tradition that allowed it in the first place. It’s not in every Buddhist tradition that Dharma teachers can take out the trash, even if they want to. And not only that: Plum Village Dharma teachers can openly let tears fall when strong emotions arise, share that they are nervous before giving a talk, and be corrected by others when they make a mistake. No matter your seniority, you are allowed to be a human being here. Plum Village is not perfect, but this particular strength of the tradition makes me proud to call it home.
