Training the Heart

Mindfulness is not only something we practice when sitting on a meditation cushion, but it can also flourish as a full-time training of the heart. Sister True Virtue (Annabel Laity), the first Western woman ordained by Vietnamese Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh in 1988, offers a rare window into the core of Buddhist practice. In her autobiography, True Virtue: The Journey of an English Buddhist Nun, she shares the trials and joys of her lifelong search for spiritual community. With decades of monastic life at Plum Village in France, her words highlight how mindfulness can gracefully inform all aspects of life—how we think, speak, and act.

Can you bring us back to the day of your ordination, at the Vulture Peak, in 1988? My teacher, Thay, had a very special relationship with Vulture Peak. When we visited India in 1988, it was not the first time Thay had been there. He had previously sat on Vulture Peak to watch the sun set. On the day of my ordination, we watched the sun rise. It was a very special ordination because it was the first bhikkhuni ordination in the Plum Village tradition. There was also a novice ordination that day, and three of us, the novice sister, my elder sister in the dharma Sister True Emptiness, and I became nuns. 

During the official ceremony, the ordination master cut a small lock of my hair, but afterward, we had to shave our heads completely. As I shaved my head, I made a great vow: to end my afflictions and help all beings cross to the other shore. When my teacher saw me after, he said, “You look so much more beautiful as a nun.” Of course, the purpose of shaving our heads is not to look beautiful but to renounce worldly beauty. Yet there is a kind of spiritual beauty that shines when one receives the precepts. In Buddhist tradition, this is called the “precepts’ body.” After ordination, people’s faces shine with a special light. But we cannot take our new appearance for granted—we must practice diligently to maintain it. That day was truly wonderful, and we left our hair on the mountain, where it returned to the earth.

In Buddhism, precepts are the foundation of practice. Can you tell us about the connection between ethics and mindfulness? Yes, thank you for raising this point. It is very important, especially today, when mindfulness is becoming widespread. Some people may think of mindfulness simply as a means to an end. In the worst case, even a bank robber could say, “I must learn mindfulness and concentration so that my robbery will be more successful.” But that is not right mindfulness.

In the noble eightfold path, we hear about right mindfulness, right concentration, right view. This implies that there can also be wrong mindfulness and wrong concentration. A bank robber may practice wrong mindfulness. For Buddhists, mindfulness must have an ethical basis—this is right mindfulness. The ethical foundation is found in the noble eightfold path: right action, right speech, right livelihood, and so on. Without these, mindfulness is incomplete.

Mindfulness must be integrated into our daily life. It is not something we practice only when we want to achieve a worldly goal.

The Buddha himself used the word sikkha “training” to describe the precepts. Without precepts, we cannot develop concentration and insight. Mindfulness must be integrated into our daily life. It is not something we practice only when we want to achieve a worldly goal. Right mindfulness is practiced in every action, every word, every thought. Without that ethical foundation, it becomes wrong mindfulness.

Let me share an example. In the military and the police, many young men join because they want to protect their country. But the training they receive often dehumanizes them, causing great suffering. Many soldiers and police officers take their own lives, sometimes more [often] than are killed by the guns of others. In India, even a high-ranking officer has become concerned and has asked one of our Plum Village dharma teachers to teach mindfulness to help their young men. Not to make them shoot better but to help them to not kill themselves and, rather, be aware of their strong emotions and be able to take care of themselves. When the teachers came, they simply invited the soldiers to share their feelings, and they cried. Why? Because no one had ever asked them about their feelings. This shows the importance of right mindfulness—mindfulness with compassion, ethics, and humanity.

You also wrote a book called Mindfulness: Walking with Jesus and Buddha. Can you elaborate on how mindfulness can serve as a bridge between different traditions? Yes. What we really need in the West is a spiritual dimension to our lives. This is not only true for adults but also for children and teenagers. Many young people who come to Plum Village recognize this need. One teenager [even] said, “When we greet each other with palms joined, it feels like home.” That sense of spiritual home is what we are looking for.

We must keep spiritual things truly spiritual [and] not materialize them. In this way, we can receive the transmission of wisdom from Eastern spirituality, which, in fact, was also originally present in Christianity, though it may sometimes [get] lost in institutions. Once, I went to speak at a Vatican conference. I shared stories of children practicing in Plum Village, and the audience was very moved. The next day, it was even mentioned in the newspaper. I felt a little proud and told Thay, expecting him to be happy. But he reminded me, “You did not become a nun to be a star.” His words helped me remember humility. Praise and blame both come and go.

What we truly need is a global spirituality, where we can keep our own traditions—Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism—but also find common ground. If we continue to fight—Hindu against Muslim, Catholic against Protestant—there is no future for humanity. One possible path forward is our shared love for Mother Earth. Whether we believe God created nature or that nature simply arose, it does not matter. What matters is that we all love the Earth and want to protect her. This shared reverence can unite us across traditions.

Yes, and this connects to the reality of interbeing. How can we recognize and practice interbeing in our daily lives? The first step is to realize interbeing with our family members. Your spouse’s happiness and your happiness are not two separate things. Your children’s suffering is your suffering. When we see this clearly, we naturally take care of the happiness of those around us, not only our own.

When we become angry, the first thing we must do is take care of ourselves. Anger damages our health and strengthens the habit of anger. When anger arises, we recognize it: “I am angry.” Then we step away, breathe, walk mindfully, and reconnect with nature—even if it’s just looking up at the sky in the middle of a city. This helps us calm down.

When we look deeply, we see that the other person is also suffering. Compassion for ourselves transforms anger, and compassion for the other arises as well. This is interbeing.

Another way to understand interbeing is through the lotus and the mud. We cannot have a lotus without mud. The mud represents suffering, while the lotus represents compassion and understanding. They depend on each other. If there were no suffering, there would be no compassion. Likewise, when we see a flower, we recognize that it is made of sunshine, rain, earth, and the gardener. In the same way, suffering and happiness inter-are.

Sometimes it is hard to face suffering—our own and that of others. To counter this, I heard you suggest two practices: writing a letter to oneself, and imagining the other person as a 5-year-old child. Can you share more about these practices? Yes. 

The first practice is writing. For example, if someone challenges you—perhaps your boss or someone close to you—you can write down exactly what they say or do that pushes your buttons. Then, you write down how you usually react, and, finally, consider: “Is there another way I could react?” This reflection helps us see our habit energy and opens the possibility for change. If the other person also practices, you can share with them; if not, sometimes it is best to keep it as your own reflection, what Thich Nhat Hanh has called unilateral disarmament. If both sides can do this, even better.

The second practice is to recognize the 5-year-old child within ourselves and others. No matter how old or strong someone appears, they still carry their vulnerable child within. When we touch our own inner child, we see how situations affect us, bringing up childhood wounds. Then we realize the other person also has a fragile inner child. Understanding this, we naturally look at them with more compassion. Our eyes reveal this understanding—we don’t need to say it. Before, our look may have conveyed blame or resentment, but with understanding, our gaze softens and communicates compassion.

We can keep our hearts open by seeing that those who cause harm are also victims—caught in systems they cannot escape.

In the face of today’s global challenges, how can we keep an open heart? It is important to remember that our loving-kindness, compassion, and true happiness cannot be destroyed. Even if human beings manage to destroy life on this planet—through war, global warming, or misuse of resources—Mother Earth has always found ways to renew herself. After millions of years, new life will arise.

So what we do with our thoughts, words, and actions in the direction of peace is never lost. If enough of us cultivate peace, there will be no more war. The spiritual energy of our practice endures, even if we don’t see its immediate results. In the far future, this energy will still be present, helping life to flourish again.

On a personal level, we can keep our hearts open by seeing that those who cause harm are also victims—caught in systems they cannot escape. For example, farmers who use pesticides may harm our health, but they harm their own health more. They are victims of a larger system. Seeing this helps us move beyond blame and maintain compassion. Every act of mindfulness, every drop of love we put into the collective consciousness, is never lost.

♦

Excerpted and adapted from an interview for the Women Awakening Project.