November marked the completion of a long-awaited bucket list item: I visited Plum Village! Nestled near Bordeaux in southwest France, this mindfulness practice center was the home of the late Vietnamese Zen Master Thích Nhất Hạnh, founder of the Plum Village tradition that I have been part of for more than ten years. Two conditions coincided to make this the right time for the trip: a good friend’s invitation and changes in my personal circumstances, which made it easier to get a visa for Europe. So it was that I found myself with a luxurious week (those who work full-time in the US know how precious any time off can be!) practicing mindfulness among brown-robed monks and nuns in the rolling French countryside.
After the trip, I shared a few photos of the monastery grounds with a close friend and fellow practitioner. “My breathing changed when I saw the pictures,” she commented. That’s also how I feel about the gift that is Plum Village’s energy: it was something that softens my breathing and puts a smile on my face whenever I recall it. I have also felt this peaceful energy at other Plum-Village-style monasteries in the US, but on this trip, my receptivity to it was heightened. I was keenly aware that Plum Village was the place where Thích Nhất Hạnh lived, taught, and built community for much of his life, and that this was my first time setting foot on its grounds after more than a decade in this tradition. When I approached the altar of the monks’ meditation hall, a few steps away from where Thích Nhất Hạnh would have sat in meditation, I felt, simultaneously, like a pilgrim arriving at a holy place and a child returning home.
Plum Village’s schedule is more relaxed compared to other insight meditation retreats: instead of alternating periods of sitting and walking, formal meditation is limited to two sessions of 45 or 30 minutes per day. Other activities include chores, Dharma talks, sharing with fellow practitioners, and personal study time. The schedule reflects Plum Village’s emphasis on maintaining mindfulness in every daily action, be it brushing one’s teeth, walking from one place to another, or working in the garden. It has concrete practices to encourage this, such as the practice of listening to the bell: clocks in the dining hall would chime every 15 minutes; anyone within hearing range would stop what they were doing, return to their breathing, and check in on how mindful they were at that moment.
My favorite time of the day was the morning, when this peaceful energy was most palpable. The community would wake up at 5 am and walk from our accommodations towards the meditation hall. It would still be dark, save for a few dim lights on the walking path, naturally making one’s steps slow down, and the fresh, cold air naturally drawing one’s attention back to the breath. The big meditation hall, after people shook off their thick coats and made their way to cushions, would settle into a profound quiet. A morning chant to inspire our diligence and pay homage to the Buddha rose towards the high wood-beamed ceiling, followed by three solemn sounds of the bell, each reverberation seeming to enrich and encourage our meditative silence.
Silence carried over to breakfast, but blossomed into a friendlier version: we sat at communal tables, and plenty of smiles were exchanged before we ate. As a slow eater, I loved being able to quietly savor my food while still feeling connected to everyone. There was plenty to enjoy, as Plum Village residents were creative with their cooking, and I never got bored with the all-vegan meals here. A bright spot at breakfast was homemade plum jam: Plum Village, as its name suggests, has many plum trees on its grounds, and every summer the blessings of plum abundance are preserved as jam, prunes, and prune juice.
The collective energy of slowing down and paying attention imbued the grounds with peace and warmth. Peace, as the fruit of mindfulness of breathing, and warmth, as the cumulation of small and large acts of kindness between residents. If you forgot to bring something, someone will lend it to you; strangers offered to wash dishes for those who were unwell; I once came down late for breakfast to find that my roommate had noticed and saved some food for me. In sharing circles, people could open up about their struggles; tears were welcomed and cared for. The community and the practice support one another: if I was distracted by worries, passing by a nun whose presence was solid immediately called attention back to my practice, which in turn allowed me to be present in interactions, and perhaps bring someone else out of their ruminating. Many of our lives are so marinated in the capitalist world’s energy of striving that we forget about alternatives; Plum Village monasteries show us how it feels to flow with much more wholesome currents, with a collective intention to cultivate wisdom and love.
On my last day, morning meditation was not on the schedule, and I woke up late after a previous full day of activities. I decided to head to the meditation hall anyway to join the early risers who were already meditating. After some time, the breakfast bell rang, muffled and distant, each peal diffusing into the hall’s vast space. One by one, my fellow meditators left. The shuffling of jackets and shifting bodies subsided. More time passed, and I became aware that if I continued sitting, I would miss my last chance to have the delicious plum jam I had enjoyed so much this visit. Yet I could not move. The embracing stillness permeating through the hall and my heart was deliciously irresistible. “Well, this is much better than plum jam,” I thought, smiling.
