I have arrived, I am home
February Newsletter: A story from my time at Thich Nhat Hanh's Plum Village
Dear readers,
This topic has been requested for some time, and I’m finally ready to share my experience at Plum Village. It has taken me a while to find the right words, and there are still many things I choose not to disclose. I also want to honor my fellow retreat participants and cherish the moments I prefer to keep private. I hope you find resonance in my account of a specific moment from my time at Plum Village back in October 2023, which was my first visit to this Buddhist monastery.
We bundle off the train, full to the brim with retreat participants. The air was surprisingly warm. This part of France was experiencing unseasonably warm weather for October. My colleagues and I were among the first to disembark the train. The station was tiny, with only two platforms nestled in the French countryside. I was filled with excitement at the prospect of attending an event that I had never imagined I would be a part of. We made our way to the coach and parked in the glowing late afternoon light. As we walked to our seats, we watched through the window as more people began to disembark the train and head towards the coaches.
As part of the organisation I work for, we were asked to join the Climate Leaders Retreat, where we would learn how to pair Buddhism with the work we are doing in the world (namely, working to stop climate change). For those who don’t know, Plum Village released a book, Zen and the Art of Saving the Planet, which explores these ideas of applied Buddhism, which I highly recommend.
It was at this moment that I realised not only the scale but the calibre of people attending this retreat. People in government, model-activists, world-renowned activists, and heads of sustainability for large corporations. I felt myself slowly turn inwards, excitement turning to apprehension. At Plum, your deepest insecurities can be pulled to the surface, like a fish on a hook. Alas, my old friend, insecurity, was rearing its ugly head.
The night is inky black, the air filled with the faint scent of pine and damp earth. I make my way along the path to the toilets, which are illuminated by the pearly light of the moon. Any other time walking alone in the night, I’d be uneasy, but here, I feel so safe, helped by the sound of the breeze moving through the trees, the twinkling of the starlight through the canopy above, and the gentle sound of feet shifting through the grass in the distance.
Mid-walk, the air is broken by the sound of the gong from the bell tower. It penetrates the night, sending out a calming reverberation that makes your body root into the earth. When you hear the bell or the sound of the gong, this is an invitation to pause. You stop everything you are doing. Even if you are mid-conversation or eating breakfast, once the bell sounds, you stop your conversation, put down your spoon, and bring yourself back to the present moment.
Then I hear it.
It’s so clear that it must be sitting just a few feet away from me. Nestled among the branches and veiled by the night sky, its voice is distinct. The sound of an owl—perhaps a barn owl—melodically echoes through the night. I’ve never heard an owl in the wild before, and it stops me in my tracks. I am moved to tears by the rhythmic nature of its calls. I know it’s probably watching me with its glossy black eyes. In that moment, every sense was engaged, and I felt completely present, attuned to the natural world around me. The boundaries between myself and the wild became permeable, merging into one.
After several minutes of taking in the sounds of the forest, the owl, and the cool breeze through the trees, I carried on my way to the bathroom, feeling profoundly altered by this close encounter with the natural world.
We sat in a circle under the four pine trees. Our dharma-sharing circle is named after these four majestic pines, planted when Thich Nhat Hanh first arrived at Plum Village. I feel apprehensive. Ever since stepping foot at Plum, I’ve been betwixt between two emotions: feeling a deep sense of belonging and connection to the natural world and complete isolation and estrangement from my fellow participants. My social anxiety and the stories I’d created in my head of my insufficiencies in comparison to everyone else on this retreat had left me feeling disconnected.
The dharma-sharing circle intends to hold space for your fellow group participants to bring forward what is alive within them. You don’t offer advice or respond; you simply listen. As we move around the group, I’m trying my best to pay attention to what everyone’s saying, but all I can do is rehearse my lines in my head. What feels alive for me right now? I feel lonely. I can feel my throat thicken as tears build behind my eyes.
Finally, it’s my turn. I become acutely aware of eyes falling on me. My palms are damp with sweat; my throat is tight and my eyes brimming with tears, I start crying. Not how I intended my first dharma-sharing circle to go. “I just feel really lonely."
I’ve always been introverted, but being here has brought to the surface all the insufficiencies I felt about myself. How in the tea hut, people spoke so easily and freely, approaching people they perhaps didn’t know, while I sat on the outside, longingly looking in, craving connection, but not knowing where to begin.
After the dharma sharing, my cheeks were flushed red, not only from the heat but also from embarrassment. The four pines had not provided much shelter from the sun and had not shelted me from how vulnerable I felt. Despite how I was feeling, a couple of people from my group came up to me and thanked me for sharing so openly. It felt good to be heard and listened to and have my words appreciated.
In our next dharma-sharing circle, we were invited to share something which had been meaningful in our experience at Plum so far. I immediately knew what I wanted to share. When it was my turn, I shared my experience of listening to and being with the owls at night. I feel interconnected with the world around me, at peace with being in the wilderness of Plum. I could feel a smile on my face as I spoke, as this was genuinely a tender moment I wanted to share with the group. I could feel myself opening up, even if it was ever so slightly.
As the week went on, I could feel myself unfurling like a flower in spring. The group was shifting, growing more comfortable amongst one another. Each morning, I’d make my way after meditation to Thay’s hut, where people would be sitting cross-legged, watching the sunrise. The crescent moon sat low in the sky as the sun broke on the horizon and turned the sky into colours of blue and gold.
Our days were made up of dharma talks, walking meditation, sitting meditation, and eating meditation. It was simple, but as you can imagine, totally transformational. I felt safe in the quiet moments, during our noble silence from 9 pm until 11 am the next day, during meditation and walking meditation, and on my solo walks through the French countryside around Plum.
On one of our last dharma-sharing circles, after we had sat and shared, I felt a hand tap on my shoulder. It was a participant I’d not had the chance to speak with one-on-one yet. He had a very gentle presence; you could say he was on his spiritual journey, unravelling the layers of expectations and corporate existence, and then he found Plum Village. He smiled softly, “I thought of you when I saw this; it’s for you”. I held out my hand, and he placed an owl’s feather into my palm. The feather softly brushed my skin.
I felt tears welling behind my eyes. This feeling of isolation I had felt began to dissipate. Belonging — that’s what I felt. Being seen and witnessed by someone so deeply was a pivotal moment in my time at Plum. I’ve still got the owl feather pressed into my journal, a reminder of a special moment of connection and belonging.
Now, I look back on this memory over a year and a half later, I want to tell my younger self that this sense of belonging I was so desperately searching for never came from the validation of others; it was always within me. We all long for belonging, and having a community is a huge part of belonging. But, being at Plum Village, and since being back, I’m choosing to embody and remember that my sense of belonging just is — it’s a part of who I am, irrespective of who I surround myself with.
I hope you enjoyed this more vulnerable writing of my experience. It felt very special to recount this time and the feelings I was having in posterity (other than my journals).
Wishing you all a gentle start to February!
Hannah.
If you are new here:
Hi, I’m Hannah!
I'm a writer & creative mentor based in the UK, a regular writing contributor to the transformational learning platform, Advaya, and work within the climate space focusing on fostering resilience amongst young people. I’m also a student of Zen Buddhism, an avid reader, and a lover of the natural world.
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Ah this is so beautiful.
I'm glad you enjoyed and benefited from Plum Village, Hannah. I've been 3 times and hope to go again this summer. I'm a good friend of Mick from the Happy Farm; we were in the same sangha in Belfast (I live in London now.)