In Reverence to Thich Nhat Hanh: A Tribute for These Troubling Times 

 In the 1980s, amidst apartheid’s brutal grip in South Africa, I first heard of Thich Nhat Hanh. A story reached me about a Zen monastery where time itself paused with each ring of the temple bell, inviting monks and visitors to return to their breath. At the time, I dismissed these teachings as irrelevant to our struggle. How could mindfulness address the harsh reality of institutional racism, violence, and oppression? What role could meditation play in a land where people were fighting for their fundamental rights?

Yet, the story of the temple bell lingered, whispering possibilities I wasn’t ready to hear. Years later, this simple practice—this pause, this return to breath—would reveal itself as a profound tool for transformation, but not until after years of bearing witness to apartheid’s devastation. During those years, my life was marked by activism, exhaustion, and the painful realization that our struggle had left wounds deeper than the visible scars of apartheid. Each act of resistance added another layer to the armor I had built around my heart until its weight became impossible to bear.

In the late 1990s when I came to the UK I began to practice mindfulness seriously, seeking ways to process the emotional wounds apartheid had etched into my being. At first, it was just breathing—simple mindful breaths that helped calm the storm of memories and rage. Then came walking meditation, each step a conscious choice to stay present, rather than fleeing into the past or future. Thay’s writings became a gateway to understanding how mindfulness could address the complex layers of trauma, grief, and anger I carried.

During the Vietnam War, Thay exemplified how spiritual practice could foster resilience and love amidst devastation. He responded not with bitterness but with profound acts of engaged action: rebuilding villages, establishing schools, nurturing orphans, and speaking to rebuild versus harm resulting in his exile. Through his example, I learned that mindfulness wasn’t an escape from suffering but a courageous turning toward it—one that must extend beyond the meditation cushion into concrete action, always rooted in the ethics of non-harming, compassion and loving speech while engaging for justice and social change.

Thay’s wisdom showed me how to engage with the world’s suffering without drowning in it, transforming my social justice work from reaction born of anger into action rooted in love. When I later joined his Order of Interbeing, it marked a complete reorientation of my life—a commitment to cultivating peace within that could create ripples of transformation in the wider world.

At my first retreat, the presence of Thay was transformative, revealing the depth of his teaching not only with words but also through simple, mindful presence. One morning, arriving early for meditation, I sat near the front of the hall. As dawn crept in through the windows, I felt, rather than saw, someone settle beside me. The silence deepened, as though the space itself had begun to meditate.

When I opened my eyes, I glimpsed Thay’s back as he mindfully walked away. Had he truly sat beside me? Or was it simply the living presence of his teaching, so palpable in that space? The question dissolved into what moment had awakened in me—a commitment to the path I was walking.

In 2019, I journeyed to Vietnam, drawn by news of his return there after his stroke. The whisper rippled through the temple on one occasion: “He is here.” In my eagerness, I entered the wrong entrance and found myself face-to-face with him, his wheelchair paused in the narrow corridor. Startled, I bowed deeply. When I straightened, his gaze met mine with such directness that time seemed to stop. In that timeless moment, I felt simultaneously exposed and embraced. His eyes, deep as still mountain pools, held the entirety of existence. They saw everything—my struggles, my failings, my deepest aspirations—and met it all with boundless compassion. It was a moment of searing clarity, revealing the essence of his teaching: to see deeply is to love deeply is to be fully present.

The final time I saw him alive, he was being wheeled through the temple courtyard, paying respects to his teachers. When his chair paused, he reached out to touch a wooden bench—a gesture so simple yet so complete in its mindfulness that it seemed to consecrate the space. After he left, I approached the bench, drawn by an inexplicable need to connect. I placed my hands where his had rested, as though his touch had left some residue of awakening, I might absorb through my skin. When news of his transition arrived, I was asked to write in his memory, but grief sealed words inside me. Having just mourned Archbishop Desmond Tutu, I found myself suspended in a space beyond expression. Yet, I never truly felt his absence—his presence had always transcended the physical, and his teachings continues to illuminate the path through our troubled world.

These personal encounters with Thay, particularly that moment in Vietnam, revealed how individual healing can radiate into collective transformation. 

Now, in January 2025, three years after his passing,  I reflect on his wisdom amidst today’s global crises. As we witness the anguish and suffering in Gaza, Sudan, Yemen, Ukraine, Israel and many other places torn by greed, craving for power, and trauma, and we face the existential threat of ecological breakdown and deepening polarization in our communities, his words echo with renewed urgency. In our yearning for guidance, we often speculate how Thay would respond to today’s crises. Yet such thoughts bind his teaching to a fixed time and place, missing the heart of his wisdom and practice. His enduring legacy invites us to engage fully with what is happening in this moment and time through the lens of our practice and ethical application: ‘Peace is every step’.

For me, Thay lives on in the whisper of wind answering my desperate calls for support amid strong emotions, in the fragrance of yellow chrysanthemums on my altar, in the resonant voice of the meditation bell calling us home to the present moment. Sometimes, I catch glimpses of his brown robe—not in physical reality, but in the way someone walks with gentle awareness, their feet kissing the earth, their hands and words reaching out to heal our wounded world.

Thay’s life and teachings offer us a timeless guide, reminding us that real transformation begins within, through every mindful breath and step, yet must extend outward to heal our communities and protect all forms of life. In honoring his legacy, may we embody these teachings through engaged action, advocacy for justice, and protection of our planet—each step guided by the wisdom he so deeply lived.

Gate Gate Paragate Parasamgate Bodhi Svaha.

Author’s Note: 

1.Thich Nhat Hanh affectionately called Th?y, meaning “teacher” in Vietnamese

2. The closing Sanskrit phrase, from the Heart Sutra, can be translated as “Gone, gone, gone all the way over, everyone gone to the other shore. Enlightenment!“ as translated by Thich Nhat Hanh

rehena Harilall / True Deep Source (she/we)  is an Order Member and aspirant Dharma Teacher in the UK.  She is the founder of Buddhists Across Traditions, uniting diverse Buddhist paths to promote racial, social, and climate justice. Celebrating both her African and Asian heritages, Rehena’s journey of healing and peace, shaped by growing up in apartheid South Africa, has been shared through Lion’s Roar and Mindfulness Bell. In 2024, she orchestrated  two Multi-Faith Silent Peace Walks in London, calling for peace, reconciliation, justice, and an end to violence through wars and conflicts.