Sunshine and Green Leaves - Thich Nhat Hanh

SUNSHINE AND GREEN LEAVES

                                                         (Thich Nhat Hanh)

Today three children, two girls and a little boy, came from the

village to play with Thanh Thuy. The four of them ran off to

play on the hillside behind our house and were gone for about

an hour when they returned to ask for something to drink. I

took the last bottle of homemade apple juice and gave them

each a full glass, serving Thuy last. Since her juice was from the

bottom of the bottle, it had some pulp in it. When she noticed

the particles, she pouted and refused to drink it. So the four

children went back to their games on the hillside, and Thuy had

not drunk anything.

Half an hour later, while I was meditating in my room, I

heard her calling. Thuy wanted to get herself a glass of cold

water, but even on tiptoes she couldn’t reach the faucet. I reminded

her of the glass of juice on the table and asked her to

drink that first. Turning to look at it, she saw that the pulp had

settled and the juice looked clear and delicious. She went to the

table and took the glass with both hands. After drinking half of

it, she put it down and asked, “Is this a different glass, Uncle

Monk?” (a common term for Vietnamese children to use when

addressing an older monk).

“No,” I answered. “It’s the same one as before. It sat quietly

for a bit, and now it’s clear and delicious.” Thuy looked at the

glass again. “It really is good. Was it meditating like you, Uncle

Monk?” I laughed and patted her head. “Let’s say that I imitate

the apple juice when I sit; that is closer to the truth.”

Every night at Thuy’s bedtime, I sit in meditation. I let her

sleep in the same room, near where I am sitting. We have agreed

that while I am sitting, she will go to bed without talking. In

that peaceful atmosphere, rest comes easily to her, and she is

usually asleep within five or ten minutes. When I finish sitting,

I cover her with a blanket.

Thanh Thuy is the child of “boat people.” She is not yet

four and a half years old. She crossed the seas with her father

and arrived in Malaysia in April of last year. Her mother

stayed in Vietnam. When her father arrived here in France, he

left Thuy with us for several months while he went to Paris to

look for a job.

Every night Thanh Thuy sees me sit. I told her that I am “sit-

ting in meditation” without explaining what it means or why I

do it. Every night when she sees me wash my face, put on my

robes, and light a stick of incense to make the room fragrant,

she knows that soon I will begin “meditating.” She also knows

that it is time for her to brush her teeth, change into pajamas,

and go quietly to bed. I have never had to remind her.

Without a doubt, Thuy thought that the apple juice was sitting

for a while to clear itself, just like her Uncle Monk. “Was

it meditating like you?” I think that Thanh Thuy, not yet four

and a half, understands the meaning of meditation without any

explanation. The apple juice became clear after resting awhile.

In the same way, if we rest in meditation awhile, we too become

clear. This clarity refreshes us and gives us strength and

serenity. As we feel ourselves refreshed, our surroundings also

become refreshed. Children like to be near us, not just to get

candy and hear stories. They like to be near us because they can

feel this “freshness.”

We can be better than a glass of apple juice. Not only can we

settle peacefully while sitting still, we can also do it while standing,

lying down, walking, or even working. What prevents you

from allowing the sun of awareness to shine while you take a

walk, make a cup of tea or coffee, or wash your clothes? When

I first became a student at the Tu Hieu Monastery, I learned to

maintain awareness during all activities—weeding the garden,

raking leaves around the pond, washing dishes in the kitchen.

I practiced mindfulness in the way taught by Zen Master Doc

The in his little manual, Essentials of the Practice to Apply Each

Day. According to this small book, we must be fully aware of

all our actions. While waking up we know that we are waking

up; while buttoning our jacket, we know that we are buttoning

our jacket; while washing our hands we know that we are

washing our hands. Master Doc The composed short poems for

us to recite while washing our hands or buttoning our jackets

to help us remain firmly rooted in awareness. Here is the poem

he wrote for us to recite while buttoning our jackets:

While buttoning my jacket

I hope that all beings

Will keep their hearts warm

And not lose themselves.

With the aid of verses like this, it is easy for the sun of awareness

to shine its light on our physical actions as well as our

thoughts and feelings. When I was a child I often heard my

mother tell my elder sister that a girl must pay attention to her

every movement. I was glad I was a boy who didn’t have to

pay attention like that. It was only when I began to practice

meditation that I realized that I had to pay a thousand times

more attention to my movements than my sister had. And not

only to my movements, but also to my thoughts and feelings!

My mother, like all mothers, knew that a girl who pays attention

to her movements becomes more beautiful. Her movements

are not jerky, rushed, or clumsy; they become gentle, calm,

and graceful. Without knowing it, my mother taught my sister

meditation.

In the same way, someone who practices awareness becomes

beautiful to see. A Zen master, observing a student ringing the

bell, sweeping the yard, setting the table, can guess how ripe

that student is, can measure the student’s “level of meditation”

in his or her manners and personality. This “level” is the fruit

of the practice of awareness, and the master calls it “the flavor

of Zen.”

The secret of meditation is to be conscious of each second

of your existence and to keep the sun of awareness continually

shining—in both the physical and psychological realms, in all

circumstances, on each thing that arises. While drinking a cup

of tea, our mind must be fully present in the act of drinking

the tea. Drinking tea or coffee can be one of our daily pleasures

if we partake of it fully. How much time do you set aside for

one cup of tea? In coffee shops in New York or Tokyo, people

come in, order their coffee, drink it quickly, pay, and rush out

to do something else. This takes a few minutes at most. Often

there is loud music playing, and your ears hear the music, your

eyes watch others gulping down their coffee, and your mind is

thinking of what to do next. You can’t really call this drinking

coffee.

Have you ever participated in a tea ceremony? It may take

two or three hours just being together and drinking one or two

cups of tea. The time is not spent talking—only being together

and drinking tea. Perhaps you think this is irresponsible because

the participants are not worrying about the world situation,

but you must admit that people who spend their time this way

know how to drink tea, know the pleasure of having tea with

a friend.

Devoting two hours to a cup of tea is, I agree, a little extreme.

There are many other things to do: gardening, laundry,

washing dishes, binding books, writing. Perhaps these other

tasks are less pleasant than drinking tea or walking in the hills,

but if we do them in full awareness, we will find them quite

agreeable. Even washing the dishes after a big meal can be a joy.

•

To my mind, the idea that doing dishes is unpleasant can occur

only when you aren’t doing them. Once you are standing in

front of the sink with your sleeves rolled up and your hands

in warm water, it really isn’t so bad. I enjoy taking my time

with each dish, being fully aware of the dish, the water, and

each movement of my hands. I know that if I hurry in order to

go and have a cup of tea, the time will be unpleasant, and not

worth living. That would be a pity, for each minute, each second

of life is a miracle. The dishes themselves and the fact that

I am here washing them are miracles! Each bowl I wash, each

poem I compose, each time I invite a bell to sound is a miracle,

and each has exactly the same value. One day, while washing a

bowl, I felt that my movements were as sacred and respectful as

bathing a newborn Buddha. If he were to read this, that new-

born Buddha would certainly be happy for me, and not at all

insulted at being compared with a bowl.

Each thought, each action in the sunlight of awareness becomes

sacred. In this light, no boundary exists between the

sacred and the profane. I must confess it takes me a bit longer

to do the dishes, but I live fully in every moment, and I am

happy. Washing the dishes is at the same time a means and an

end — that is, not only do we do the dishes in order to have

clean dishes, we also do the dishes to live fully in each moment

while washing them.

If I am incapable of washing dishes joyfully, if I want to finish

them quickly so I can go and have a cup of tea, I will be equally

incapable of drinking the tea joyfully. With the cup in my hands

I will be thinking about what to do next, and the fragrance and

the flavor of the tea, together with the pleasure of drinking it,

will be lost. I will always be dragged into the future, never able

to live in the present moment.

•

We lead extremely busy lives. Even though we do not have to

do as much manual labor as people in former times, we never

seem to have enough time for ourselves. I know people who say

they do not even have enough time to eat or breathe, and it

appears to me to be true! What can we do about this? Can we

take hold of time with both hands and slow it down?

First, let us light the torch of our awareness and learn again

how to drink tea, eat, wash dishes, walk, sit, drive, and work in

awareness. We do not have to be swept along by circumstances.

We are not just a leaf or a log in a rushing river. With awareness,

each of our daily acts takes on a new meaning, and we

discover that we are more than machines, that our activities are

not just mindless repetitions. We find that life is a miracle, the

universe is a miracle, and we too are a miracle."

—The Sun My Heart