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When I first saw photos of them on Facebook, I didn’t think it was a big deal.
Not only have I seen numerous images of monks on a peace walk but have joined those from the Buddhist ashram near my former hometown. They periodically conduct their own walks without any resulting hubbub, walking 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.
Admittedly, I did scoff at that, “Yeah, fat chance with this Congress.” But I soon realized that the destination was less important than the journey. Further photos showed many people lining the roadway 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 were not the images of 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 filled with pins and badges gifted by the police departments that have safeguarded them on their line of march:
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When they arrived at Columbia, South Carolina, they were followed by thousands:
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It struck me that we Americans—whatever our politics—are feeling battered and desperately crying out for simple acts of kindness, love, and compassion. There is something about these simple nineteen souls walking barefoot through the winter days that has 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. Her name means “light” but she’s already been christened the “Peace Dog.” So far, she has traveled over 1,800 miles with them and has gained at last count, 266,000 followers on Instagram.
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 100,000 people. 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.
~
author: Daniel Brown
Image: @walkforpeace.usa/Instagram
Image: @walkforpeace.usa/Instagram
Image: @walkforpeace.usa/Instagram
Editor: Molly Murphy
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