Plum Village, or Village des Pruniers in French, is a Buddhist monastic community in Southern France. It is the residence of the Vietnamese Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh who established the community in 1982 as a place to practice mindfulness in a communal setting with the aim of teaching and promoting awareness and understanding of individual and social conflicts.

I was in residence at the village for one week in January. This is a summary of that time. Through it I will elaborate on the experiences that had the deepest impact on me.

The first and immediate experience was that of location. Situated an hour by train east of Bordeaux, Plum Village is nestled in the country surrounded by farms and vineyards. One can’t help but feel the life sustaining ability of the growing region as one admires the countless farms and fields. This sense of vitality continues upon entering the village. As a couple days went by I reflected on this feeling of vitality and positive energy that seemed to emanate from everything. For me it made me think of my grandmas house, and how arriving there, especially as a kid, always filled me with positive feelings. Grandmothers tend to do everything with huge amounts of love and affection that it always makes everything seem more full. This is especially true of a grandmas cooking. I’ve been cooking some of my grandma’s recipes recently, but it doesn’t feel as satisfying or sustaining as when she cooks them. I can’t help but feel that more goes into a recipe then just the food. Love, compassion, and care also seem to make a meal nourishing.

Something similar was felt at Plum Village when eating. I felt so sustained by the food that it took me a while to realize that the meals were strictly vegan; something I never expected to wholly embrace, even though I’ve been a vegetarian for over a year. The food was also incredibly delicious.

This positive energy wasn’t just felt at meal times. Roughly every other day or so, lay people would gather for dharma sharing. Dharma sharing involved sitting in a circle in quiet meditation begun by three sounds of a bell. A monk would then lead the discussion as individuals were invited to talk openly about the relevance of a particular topic to their lives. Although participation was voluntary, I found it easy to open up and discuss whatever thoughts or feelings arose within me at the moment, as did a large majority of the retreaters.

A very interesting fact about these fellow retreaters that stuck with me was their background. Many of them came from lives marked by both financial and social success. These people had good jobs, comfortable lives, and social status: all things the world represents as the pinnacle of achievement. Yet many of these individuals were united in a common understanding that they weren’t satisfied. This understanding that material wealth and social status cannot bring ultimate happiness is one of the oldest lessons of a majority of the world’s spiritual and philosophical traditions (It is especially true of Buddhism if one knows the story of the Buddha). But it was nice to re-examine this lesson from a modern standpoint where such high levels of technological achievement may sometimes give the illusion that humans can finally sustain happiness through material possessions. Instead, these individuals recognized an urge to understand more about themselves, and to find a deeper and more lasting connection with the world.

I felt a memorable connection during an exercise called the “tunnel of love.” For the tunnel of love, men and women from both hamlets line up across from each other face to face in two rows and put their arms up and against their partners to form a tunnel that everyone else takes turns walking through. Those walking keep their eyes closed while the others help move them along as they pass; whispering kind words into the blind walkers ears. I was a bit hesitant at first, but as it commenced, the power of this exercise was immediately felt. I was taken back by many of the people, even grown men, crying as they walked through. When my turn came I closed my eyes and began walking. Within seconds I remember surrendering to the help and affections of others. I soon felt a liberating feeling; like a weight had been lifted, as I was guided by virtual strangers who were simultaneously whispering kind words into my ears. At one point someone grabbed my hand, and I couldn’t help but squeeze it. At another, someone simply whispered the word “love” in a clear and precise tone. That word is still echoing in my mind.

The monks at Plum Village live separately from laypersons such as myself who come and visit. But they eat, teach, and practice with everyone. For one of the dharma sharings, the monk who was leading it talked of his feelings over being put in charge of the recycling. He recalled how frustrated he would get at times because of people who would fail to allocate certain materials to the proper recycling bins even though they were clearly marked. What he said next was very touching. He said that after reflecting and meditating on his feelings he realized that being frustrated was perhaps a sign there was trash in his own heart that needed to be recycled.

In the same session another monk reflected on his job of being in charge of payments and processes of those wishing to come on retreat. He remarked that although he didn’t like the job at first, he realized it was because of him that outsiders were given a chance to visit Plum Village and experience a week or two of life changing experiences. And so, seeing his job from this viewpoint made him enjoy it much more.

What I soon realized about these monks was that they were not superhuman in the sense that most westerns might imagine; meditating for hours on end, going without food, being impervious to the elements. Instead they were, to quote Nietzsche, “Human, all too human.” Yet they were human in a free and pure way as a result of the authenticity of their contemplation. What truly made these monks special was their willingness   to confront their emotions instead of repressing them.

A constant theme at the village was that happiness can’t be experienced without suffering. That is, they are really two sides of the same coin. Embracing both sides allows us to feel the world in its un-dualistic nature. A common saying at the monastery is that a lotus flower grows in mud and not marble. More appropriately, what is suffering is actually a useful or necessary step to something more remarkable. We forget that pain is a sign of a healthy body in so much as we are equipped with a warning system for any time we may be injured or over straining ourselves. In Buddhism, pain and suffering are parts of individuals that can’t be alienated form who they are. An individual can only embrace it with compassion and be there for it with hope and faith that it can be transformed. For me this is like a family member who one is bound to through blood. One can’t replace the blood, or the years of growing up together. One can only accept them as a part of their own life.

In Buddhism, suffering is a sign that we feel compassion and empathy for the rest of the world; for those living in poverty, or for those living lives of unabated consumption. We need to be in touch with such suffering as to recognize how are own lives are inextricably linked with the lives of everyone else. For me it is like the day after a workout of some kind: you want your body to be sore as it is a sign of a good workout. Similarly our connection to suffering is the sign of a close connection to the rest of the world.

In this world, especially the West, most kinds of suffering and doubt are expected to be repressed or drowned away in the consumption of other activities: drinking, shopping, watching TV, sex. Yet what ends up being suppressed are feelings and questions of human experience that cannot be avoided; questions that are hard but necessary: Am I really happy? What is the point of life? What is happiness? What is truth? These are human questions that comprise who we are.

These questions are not easy, but asking them with courage is the difference between unknowingly being controlled and carried away by our urges and base desires, or the possibility of a life where one feels lasting happiness. At Plum Village the later begins with a simple activity: being mindful and present to all of one’s thoughts and actions; whether they are based in hate and anger or love and compassion.

As I awoke on the morning of departure and began getting dressed, I remember the feeling of putting my wallet in my pocket for the first time in a week. The moment was both sad and profound. I realized that the “real world” I was going back into was not any less real; only unnecessary.

A few hours later I was back in Bordeaux walking from the train station to my hotel. As I looked around, the feeling was one of joy and sadness. I was sad because I was looking around at all the people who were unable to live in the present moment for more than a few fleeting instances. But I also felt joy at both feeling compassion for them, and for understanding a little bit more how their prospects of joy or sadness are my prospects as well.