I visited Big Sur a while back and it welcomed us with warmth and sunshine. Much the opposite of my internal weather back then. I was in the middle of purchasing a new home, thereby capsizing 8 years of my life built on sweat and tears in San Francisco. Surely, not everything was awash. I was in Big Sur after all! In one of the most beautiful places in Northern America with my fellowship of caring friends and a mischievous dog. We had driven down with an intention to recuperate and revive ourselves.

After a rewarding morning hike and a satisfying lunch, we walked into a gift shop. You could tell it was historic because it had many doors, some of them lead to nowhere. The walls were cold and sturdy and made of neatly stacked stones whose shapes were made visible by mortar layered underneath. They loomed over me like great gray waves. Heavy and aged wooden beams held everything upright. And there were shelves everywhere. They were filled with colorful antiques, artworks, books, maps, candles, pottery, crystals, and much more. As you walked, all the way back towards the bright bay windows, you could find the crystal blue pacific, against the pale and endless horizon, beaming at you.

A couple more minutes were spent wandering in the store when my attention began to drift off again.

Can one be so overwhelmed with the options presented to them that they lose whatever sense of purpose they had until then, and are lost again?

Walk into a bookstore, turn on Netflix, or get into your car. The alternatives from there on are so many.

But just when I had almost given up, my eyes latched onto a dusty shelf with a book, at roughly my eye level. Inscribed in a purple and a relaxed font, it read How to Walk. I felt an impulse to pick it up. Was it possible that the book almost had a secret homing instinct that brought me to it because it needed me as much as I needed it? It is strange how the same me, on another different day, could have walked right past it. But today was different and changing. I was unaware this dainty little book, that could fit into the palm of your hands or into your skirts’ pocket, could call unto people and be capable of relinquishing storms in one’s head.

I took the book to the checkout counter where I opened it and waited for my turn to pay. It’s been two years since… so much has changed, but what this book does for me hasn’t.

It’s a simple book no doubt, but the affect we can let simple things have on ourselves, is profound.

~

One morning, barely a week ago, while I was waiting for my morning coffee to brew I began reading tweets on my phone. I almost scrolled past a tweet with a name that appeared in the corner of my eye : Thích Nhất Hạnh. There was an image attached to it with a quote that made me smile:

One deep breath later, the purpose of the tweet made itself appear. The venerable Vietnamese Monk who had dedicated almost a century short of a few years of his extraordinary life, to the practise of Buddhism and Mindfulness, was no more.

I placed my phone on the table, the glowing screen away from me. I felt a surge of tears coming down, my breathing was getting quicker and louder. I laid my head and arms on the table in front of me, blocking every ounce of light. When I finally reclaimed by breathing, I did not fully understand what had just happened.

That evening after work, I went on my daily walk. And like any other day over the past two years, I let the words of Thich Nhat Hanh alight me just like daylight would. The kind of daylight that filtered itself through the passing trees and homes, jumping from one thing to another and catching you by surprise.

I would remind myself what he wrote. His friendly but persistent words:

“Walk as if you are kissing the Earth with your feet.”

“Be aware of the contact between your feet and the earth.”

“Walk as if you are kissing the earth with your feet.”

Sometimes I would have to remind myself, to sleep well:

“When another person makes you suffer, it is because she suffers deeply within herself, and her suffering is spilling over. She does not need punishment; she needs help. That’s the message she is sending.”

“Suffering is not enough. Life is both dreadful and wonderful…How can I smile when I am filled with so much sorrow? It is natural–you need to smile to your sorrow because…

you are more than your sorrow.”

And when I spent too much of my waking hours lost:

“If you love someone, the greatest gift you can give them is your presence”

“When we walk like (we are rushing), we print anxiety and sorrow on the earth.

We have to walk in a way that we only print peace and serenity on the earth… Be aware of the contact between your feet and the earth.

Walk as if you are kissing the earth with your feet.”

~

A Note

Your book was a guiding stone for me for the past two years. Your words have echoed silently through the pages of my mind when I knew I needed to reach out to them. Your words have orchestrated peace and joy. Seldom on my self assuring walks I would smile when they appeared in front of me in the form of a cute squirrel or a marvelous tree. Your departure is a great loss for humanity and we will miss you and your smile. But your teachings and your spirit will always live on in our practice.

October 11, 1926 - January 22, 2022

May your soul rest in peace.