When I first saw photos of them on Facebook, I didn’t think it was a big deal. Monks on a peace walk? In the past, I’ve participated in these with the folks from the Leverett Peace Pagoda. They conduct them without any resulting hubbub. Usually they walk through towns with little or no local notice.
But as the days went on, the pictures increased, along with the crowd size. Plus they were walking through the Deep South, not exactly a region one equates with Asian monks decked out in Saffron robes. They did have a cute little dog with them, leashed up and walking with a placid look on his doggie face.
I did some research and found that they were walking from their Buddhist temple in Fort Worth, Texas to Washington D. C. apparently to ask Congress to make Buddha’s birthday (“Vesak” in their tradition) a federal holiday. Admittedly, I did scoff at that, “Yeah, fat chance with this Congress” but soon realized that the destination was less important than the journey. Further photos showed lots of people lining the roadways as they marched by and being welcomed at churches and community centers in tiny towns I had never heard of. And all of this taking place, not in the liberal bastions of the Northeast and California but in the heart of Red State America.
After a particularly horrendous week that saw Trump invade Venezuela, the murder of Renee Good, Trump’s threat to invade Greenland and ending with Kristi Noem unleashing her agents to terrorize Minneapolis, I figured that I needed to post something positive on my Facebook page in order to save my sanity. I posted a few photos of the monks and pasted their mission statement from their website. Pleased with myself, I left it at that.
The next morning as I lay in bed, I scrolled over to Instagram and began to view the various videos of these monks in action. I thought I’d spend a few minutes with one or two before brewing my coffee. In fact, I spent an entire hour watching several dozen, all with tears running down my face. The coffee had to wait.
I am a weeper by nature and my wife is lovingly amused whenever something on television gets the waterworks flowing, the latest culprit being a Subaru ad with two young cancer victims going to their first (and perhaps only) prom night. But this was different, a deeper sorrow that felt more like an uncontrollable release from trauma. Reading the hundreds of comments accompanying the videos, I noticed that everyone was reacting the same way. Tears of joy and release. Tears they had no control over. And each tearful comment had anywhere from 1,000 to 5,000 likes.
Something was definitely going on here. This was not a typical peace walk.
What unraveled me was not the monks in motion but their interactions with those they met. Big tough-looking guys kneeling in prayer as they passed. Small town police officers saluting them. Children passing handmade notes of thanks illustrated with hearts and rainbows. People in wheelchairs handing out or receiving flowers. Women and not a few men sobbing in gratitude. All races, all religions and, I’m quite sure, all political points of view. The lead monk was draped with a sash containing pins and badges gifted by the police departments that have safeguarded them on their line of march. When they entered Columbia, South Carolina, they were followed by thousands.
It struck me that we Americans, whatever our politics; are feeling battered and desperately crying out for acts of kindness, love, peace and compassion. There is something about these dedicated 19 souls walking barefoot through the winter days that have touched all of us deep in our hearts.
And then there’s that little pooch. Aloka was a stray “Indian Pariah” dog who encountered the group in Kolkata and followed them to the Nepalese border. His name means “light” but he’s already been christened the “Peace Dog.” So far, Aloka has traveled over 1,800 miles with them and has gained, at last count, 750,000 followers on Facebook.
The “Walk for Peace,” as it’s called, ends in Washington D.C. in mid-February. It would not surprise me if they were welcomed by a multitude of 100,000. Imagine if they were greeted by all members of Congress and the president himself.
It may be too much to hope for, but maybe these Buddhist holy men can begin the process of healing our wounded nation.
Daniel A. Brown lived in Franklin County for 44 years and has written a monthly My Turn column for over two decades. He lives outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico with his wife, Lisa and dog, Cody.
