What Will We Do with Our Awakening?

The first retreat I ever went on with Thich Nhat Hanh was a revelation. In receiving profound teachings, finding stability in seated meditation, and connecting with others during dharma discussions, I felt like I was being peeled like an onion. Outer layers of myself were falling away, and I was becoming more intimate with my world.

The retreat was held at a university. The places where we slept, ate, meditated, and talked were scattered around the campus, all a good hike from each other. The instruction was to make the walking part of our practice. We could move at a normal clip; the invitation was simply to bring our attention to the breath and feet. Days went by, and the seven factors of awakening—mindfulness, investigating the nature of reality, energy, joy, relaxation, concentration, and equanimity—grew stronger in me. 

One night, near the end of the retreat, I was walking back to my dorm, taking three steps with each inhalation and five steps with each exhalation. The sky was dark. The streetlights shone. Inhale. Exhale. People walked around me. University students talked and laughed. Fellow retreatants were quiet. Trees lined the way, and a linden was in bloom—its fragrance heady. Inhale. Exhale. The perfume seemed to infuse every part of me. 

Suddenly, there was no me. I was not separate from the linden, from all the trees, the people, the sidewalk, the world, the stars. The seven factors of awakening—they flowered. A calm yet intensely joyous moment, it was what in Buddhism is called an “enlightenment experience.”

We’re all capable of having experiences like this. For some people, an enlightenment experience can come seemingly out of nowhere. Maybe they don’t have any sort of spiritual practice, but they’re looking at a painting or feeling the thunder of a waterfall or just mopping the floor, and for whatever reason, in that instant, they discover the true nature of reality and realize at a heart level—not with the intellect—that there’s no separation between them and everything they see and touch.

Although an enlightenment experience can come at any time for any reason, we open ourselves to these experiences when we engage in practice—seated meditation, walking meditation, chanting, or what have you. In this issue, Lisa Ernst quotes Suzuki Roshi as saying, “enlightenment is an accident. Practice makes us accident prone.”

The seven factors of awakening naturally arise in us. They can also be intentionally cultivated both in formal practice and in daily life. In fact, when we apply the seven factors of awakening to everything we do—from making love to eating lunch to reading email—everything becomes our practice and everything makes us more likely to slip into awakening. 

Of course, these enlightenment experiences don’t last, and we quickly find ourselves once again inhabiting our small selves. The practice becomes letting go of attachment to enlightenment experiences and becoming more aware that there are actually tiny, subtle glimmers of enlightenment in ordinary moments. Can we notice and appreciate, for example, subtle joy when we hug our children, or subtle equanimity when we’re making dinner? 

So many of us are heartsick from the suffering in today’s world—the ballooning political and environmental problems. Now, perhaps more than ever, the world needs our compassion, our insight, our awakening. Can glimmers of enlightenment begin to inform how we show up in our lives, day by day, moment by moment?