The Practice of Sangha - Thich Nhat Hanh

The Practice of Sangha
02.23.24

“Sangha.” What is it? Essentially, it’s a Buddhist term for community — from a specific community of Buddhist monastics to a meditation buddy you meet with every day, or anything in between.

Whatever your definition, sangha is invaluable; it’s one of Buddhism’s famed three jewels, along with the Buddha (teacher) and the dharma (the teachings). So this Weekend Reader is all about sangha: what it is, why it matters, and what it means to be part of one (or not). May the wisdom here help you feel more at home.  —Rod Meade Sperry, editor, Buddhadharma: The Practitioner’s Guide

What Is Sangha?  Thich Nhat Hanh explains that sangha is more than a community, it’s a deep spiritual practice.

A sangha is a community of friends practicing the dharma together in order to bring
about and to maintain awareness. The essence of a sangha is awareness,
understanding, acceptance, harmony and love. When you do not see these in a
community, it is not a true sangha, and you should have the courage to say so. But
when you find these elements are present in a community, you know that you have
the happiness and fortune of being in a real sangha.

In Matthew 5:13 in the New Testament of the Christian Bible, we find this statement:
“Ye are the salt of the earth; but if the salt hath lost its savor, wherewith shall it be
salted? It is thenceforth good for nothing but to be cast out and to be trodden
underfoot of men.” In this passage, Jesus describes his followers as salt. Food needs
salt in order to be tasty. Life needs understanding, compassion, and harmony in order
to be livable. This is the most important contribution to life that the followers of Jesus
can bring to the world. It means that the Kingdom of Heaven has to be realized here,
not somewhere else, and that Christians need to practice in a way that they are the
salt of life and a true community of Christians.

Salt is also an important image in the Buddhist canon, and this Christian teaching is
equivalent to the Buddha’s teaching about sangha. The Buddha said that the water
in the four oceans has only one taste, the taste of salt, just as his teaching has only
one taste, the taste of liberation. Therefore, the elements of sangha are the taste of
life, the taste of liberation, and we have to practice in order to become the salt. When
we say, “I take refuge in the sangha,” it is not a statement, it is a practice.

The trees, water, air, birds, and so on can all be members of our sangha.
A beautiful walking path may be part of our sangha. A good cushion can be also.

In the Buddhist scriptures it is said that there are four communities: monks, nuns,
laymen and laywomen. But I also include elements that are not human in the sangha.
The trees, water, air, birds, and so on can all be members of our sangha. A beautiful
walking path may be part of our sangha. A good cushion can be also. We can make
many things into supportive elements of our sangha. This idea is not entirely new; it
can be found throughout the sutras and in the Abhidharma, too. A pebble, a leaf and
a dahlia are mentioned in the Saddharmapundarika Sutra in this respect. It is said in
the Pure Land Sutra that if you are mindful, then when the wind blows through the
trees, you will hear the teaching of the Four Establishments of Mindfulness, the
Eightfold Path, and so on. The whole cosmos is preaching the buddhadharma and
practicing the buddhadharma. If you are attentive, you will get in touch with that
sangha.

Sangha as our roots

I don’t think the Buddha wanted us to abandon our society, our culture or our roots in
order to practice. The practice of Buddhism should help people go back to their
families. It should help people re-enter society in order to rediscover and accept the
good things that are there in their culture and to rebuild those that are not.
Our modern society creates so many young people without roots. They are uprooted
from their families and their society; they wander around, not quite human beings,
because they do not have roots. Quite a number of them come from broken families
and feel rejected by society. They live on the margins, looking for a home, for
something to belong to. They are like trees without roots. For these people, it’s very
difficult to practice. A tree without roots cannot absorb anything; it cannot survive.
Even if they practice intensively for ten years, it’s very hard for them to be transformed
if they remain an island, if they cannot establish a link with other people.

The practice of Buddhism should help people re-enter society in order to rediscover
and accept the good things that are there in their culture
and to rebuild those that are not.

A community of practice, a sangha, can provide a second chance to a young person
who comes from a broken family or is alienated from his or her society. If the
community of practice is organized as a family with a friendly, warm atmosphere,
young people can succeed in their practice.

Suffering (dukkha) is one of the biggest problems of our times. First we have to
recognize this suffering and acknowledge it. Then we need to look deeply into its
nature in order to find a way out. If we look into the present situation in ourselves
and our society, we can see much suffering. We need to call it by its true names—
loneliness, the feeling of being cut off, alienation, division, the disintegration of the
family, the disintegration of society.

Our civilization, our culture, has been characterized by individualism. The individual
wants to be free from the society, from the family. The individual does not think he
or she needs to take refuge in the family or in the society and thinks that he or she
can be happy without a sangha. That is why we do not have solidity, we do not have
harmony, we do not have the communication that we so need.

The practice is, therefore, to grow some roots. The sangha is not a place to hide in
order to avoid your responsibilities. The sangha is a place to practice for the
transformation and the healing of self and society. When you are strong, you can be
there in order to help society. If your society is in trouble, if your family is broken, if
your church is no longer capable of providing you with spiritual life, then you work to
take refuge in the sangha so that you can restore your strength, your understanding,
your compassion, your confidence. And then in turn you can use that strength,
understanding and compassion to rebuild your family and society, to renew your
church, to restore communication and harmony. This can only be done as a
community—not as an individual, but as a sangha.

In order for us to develop some roots, we need the kind of environment that can
help us become rooted. A sangha is not a community of practice in which each
person is an island, unable to communicate with each other—this is not a true
sangha. No healing or transformation will result from such a sangha. A true sangha
should be like a family in which there is a spirit of brotherhood and sisterhood.
If we see a group of people living mindfully, capable of smiling,
of loving, we gain confidence in our future.

There is a lot of suffering, yes, and we have to embrace all this suffering. But to get
strong, we also need to touch the positive elements, and when we are strong, we can
embrace the suffering in us and all around us. If we see a group of people living
mindfully, capable of smiling, of loving, we gain confidence in our future. When we
practice mindful breathing, smiling, resting, walking and working, then we become a
positive element in society, and we will inspire confidence all around us. This is the
way to avoid letting despair overwhelm us. It is also the way to help the younger
generation so they do not lose hope. It is very important that we live our daily life in
such a way that demonstrates that a future is possible.

We need a sangha

In my tradition we learn that as individuals we cannot do much. That is why taking
refuge in the sangha, taking refuge in the community, is a very strong and important
practice. When I say, “I take refuge in the sangha,” it does not mean that I want to
express my devotion. No. It’s not a question of devotion; it’s a question of practice.
Without being in a sangha, without being supported by a group of friends who are
motivated by the same ideal and practice, we cannot go far.

If we do not have a supportive sangha, we may not be getting the kind of support we
need for our practice, that we need to nourish our bodhichitta (the strong desire to
cultivate love and understanding in ourselves). Sometimes we call it “beginner’s
mind.” The mind of a beginner is always very beautiful, very strong. In a good and
healthy sangha, there is encouragement for our beginner’s mind, for our bodhichitta.
So the sangha is the soil and we are the seed. No matter how beautiful, how vigorous
our seed is, if the soil does not provide us with vitality, our seed will die.

One of the brothers from Plum Village, Brother Phap Dung, went to Vietnam some
years ago with a few members of the sangha. It was a very important experience for
him. He had been in the West since he was a small child. Then when he went to
northern Vietnam, he got in touch with some of the most ancient elements in
Vietnamese culture and with the mountains and the rivers of northern Vietnam. He
wrote to me and said, “Our land of Vietnam is so beautiful, it is as beautiful as a
dream. I don’t dare take heavy steps on this earth of Vietnam.” By this he meant that
he had right mindfulness when he walked. His right mindfulness was due to the
practice and support he had in the sangha before he went to Vietnam. That is
beginner’s mind, the mind you have in the beginning when you undertake the practice.
It’s very beautiful and very precious, but that beginner’s mind can be broken, can be
destroyed, can be lost if it is not nourished or supported by a sangha.
To practice right mindfulness, we need the right environment,
and that environment is our sangha.

Although he had his little sangha near him in Vietnam, the environment was very
distracting, and he saw that if he stayed too long without the larger sangha, he would
be swept away by that environment, by his forgetfulness—not only his own
forgetfulness, but the forgetfulness of everybody around him. This is because right
mindfulness for someone who has only just started the practice is still weak, and the
forgetfulness of the people around us is very great and capable of dragging us away
in the direction of the five cravings.

To practice right mindfulness, we need the right environment, and that environment
is our sangha. Without a sangha we are very weak. In a society where everyone is
rushing, everyone is being carried away by their habit energies, practice is very
difficult. That is why the sangha is our salvation. The sangha where everyone is
practicing mindful walking, mindful speaking, mindful eating seems to be the only
chance for us to succeed in ending the vicious cycle.

And what is the sangha? The sangha is a community of people who agree with each
other that if we do not practice right mindfulness, we will lose all the beautiful things
in our soul and all around us. People in the sangha standing near us, practicing with
us, support us so that we are not pulled away from the present moment. Whenever
we find ourselves in a difficult situation, two or three friends in the sangha who are
there for us, understanding and helping us, will get us through it. Even in our silent
practice we help each other.

In my tradition they say that when a tiger leaves the mountain and goes to the lowland,
it will be caught by humans and killed. When practitioners leave their sangha, they
will abandon their practice after a few months. In order to continue our practice of
transformation and healing, we need a sangha. With a sangha it’s much easier to
practice, and that is why I always take refuge in my sangha.

How a sangha helps us

The presence of a sangha is a wonderful opportunity to allow the collective energy of
the sangha to penetrate into our body and consciousness. We profit a lot from that
collective energy. We can entrust ourselves to the sangha because the sangha is
practicing, and the collective energy of mindfulness is strong. Although we can rely
on the energy of mindfulness that is generated by our personal practice, sometimes
it is not enough. But if you know how to use that energy of mindfulness in order to
receive the collective energy of the sangha, you will have a powerful source of energy
for your transformation and healing.

Your body, your consciousness, and your environment are like a garden. There may
be a few trees and bushes that are dying, and you may feel overwhelmed by anguish
and suffering at the sight of that. You may be unaware that there are still many trees
in your garden that are solid, vigorous and beautiful. When members of your sangha
come into your garden, they can help you see that you still have a lot of beautiful
trees and that you can enjoy the things that have not gone wrong within your
landscape. That is the role that the sangha can play. Many people in the sangha are
capable of enjoying a beautiful sunset or a cup of tea. They dwell firmly in the present
moment, not allowing worries or regrets to spoil the present moment. Sitting close to
these people, walking close to these people, you can profit from their energy and
restore your balance. When their energy of mindfulness is combined with yours, you
will be able to touch beauty and happiness.

Nothing is more important than your peace and happiness in the here and now. One
day you will lie like a dead body and no longer be able to touch the beauty of a flower.
Make good use of your time; practice touching the positive aspects of life in you and
around you.

Don’t lock yourself behind your door and fight alone. If you think that by yourself you
cannot go back to embrace strong feelings, you can ask one, two or three friends to
sit next to you and to help you with their support. They can give you mindfulness
energy so that you can go back home with strength. They can say, “My brother, I
know that the pain in you is very deep, and I am here for you.”

Taking refuge in the sangha is a very important practice. Abandoned, alone, you get
lost, you get carried away. So, taking refuge in the sangha is a very deep practice,
especially for those of us who feel vulnerable, shaky, agitated, and unstable. That is
why you come to a practice center, to take refuge in the sangha. You allow the sangha
to transport you like a boat so that you can cross the ocean of sorrow.

When you allow yourself to be in a sangha the way a drop of water allows itself to
be in a river, the energy of the sangha can penetrate into you, and transformation
and healing will become possible.

When we throw a rock into a river the rock will sink. But if we have a boat, the boat
can carry hundreds of pounds of rocks and it will not sink. The same thing is true with
our sorrow and pain. If we have a boat, we can carry our pain and sorrow, and we will
not sink into the river of suffering. And what is that boat? That boat is, first of all, the
energy of mindfulness that you generate by your practice. That boat is also the
sangha—the community of practice consisting of brothers and sisters in the dharma.
We don’t have to bring just joy when we come to the sangha; we can also bring our
suffering with us. But we have to walk on the path of joy with our suffering, we have
to share joy with our brothers and sisters. Then we will be in touch with the seeds of
happiness in ourselves, and the suffering will grow weaker and be transformed. Allow
yourself to be supported, to be held by the sangha. When you allow yourself to be in
a sangha the way a drop of water allows itself to be in a river, the energy of the sangha
can penetrate into you, and transformation and healing will become possible.

Practice is easier with a sangha

The only way to support the Buddha, to support our sangha, to support the earth, to
support our children and future generations, is to really be here for them. “Darling, I
am here for you” is a statement of love. You need to be here. If you are not here, how
can you love? That is why the practice of meditation is the practice of being here for
the ones we love.

To be present sounds like an easy thing to do. For many of us, it is easy because we
have made it a habit. We are in the habit of dwelling in the present moment, of
touching the morning sunshine deeply, of drinking our morning tea deeply, of sitting
and being present with the person we love. But for some of us it may not be so easy,
because we have not cultivated the habit of being in the here and the now. We are
always running, and it is hard for us to stop and be here in the present moment, to
encounter life. For those of us who have not learned to be present, we need to be
supported in that kind of learning. It’s not difficult when you are supported by the
sangha. With sangha you will be able to learn the art of stopping.

The sangha is a wonderful home. Every time you go back to the sangha, you feel that
you can breathe more easily, you can walk more mindfully, you can better enjoy the
blue sky, the white clouds and the cypress tree in your yard. Why? Because the
sangha members practice going home many times a day—through walking,
breathing, cooking and doing their daily activities mindfully. Everyone in the sangha
is practicing in the same way, walking mindfully, sitting mindfully, eating mindfully,
smiling, enjoying each moment of life.

We are always running, and it is hard for us to stop and be here in the present
moment, to encounter life. With sangha you will be able to learn the art of stopping.
When I practice walking, I make mindful and beautiful steps. I do that not only for
myself but also for all of my friends who are here; because everyone who sees me
taking a step like that has confidence and is reminded to do the same. And when they
make a step in the present moment, smiling and making peace with themselves, they
inspire all of us. You breathe for me, I walk for you, we do things together, and this is
practicing as a sangha. You don’t need to make much effort; your practice is easy,
because you feel that you are supported by the sangha.

When we sit together as a sangha, we enjoy the collective energy of mindfulness,
and each of us allows the mindful energy of the sangha to penetrate us. Even if you
don’t do anything, if you just stop thinking and allow yourself to absorb the collective
energy of the sangha, it’s very healing. Don’t struggle, don’t try to do something, just
allow yourself to be with the sangha. Allow yourself to rest, and the energy of the
sangha will help you, will carry and support you. The sangha is there to make the
training easy. When we are surrounded by brothers and sisters doing exactly the
same thing, it is easy to flow in the stream of the sangha.

As individuals we have problems, and we also have problems in our families, our
societies and our nations. Meditation in the twenty-first century should become a
collective practice; without a sangha we cannot achieve much. When we begin to
focus our attention on the suffering on a larger scale, we begin to connect with and
to relate to other people, who are also ourselves, and the little problems that we have
within our individual circle will vanish. In this way our loneliness or our feeling of being
cut off will no longer be there, and we will be able to do things together.

If we work on our problems alone, it becomes more difficult. When you have a strong
emotion come up, you may feel that you cannot stand it. You may have a breakdown
or want to die. But if you have someone, a good friend sitting with you, you feel much
better. You feel supported and you have more strength in order to deal with your
strong emotion. If you are taking something into your body that is toxic, even realizing
that it will make you sick, you may not be able to change your habit. But if you are
surrounded by people who do not have the same problem, it becomes easier to
change. That is why it is very important to practice in the context of a sangha.
Because you feel supported there, the sangha is the most appropriate setting and
environment for the practice of looking deeply. If you have a sangha of two, three,
maybe even fifty people who are practicing correctly—getting joy, peace, and
happiness from the practice—then you are the luckiest person on earth.

We don’t have to force ourselves to practice. We can give up all the struggle and
allow ourselves to be, to rest. For this, however, we need a little bit of training, and
the sangha is there to make the training easy.

So, practicing in the setting of the sangha is much easier. We don’t have to practice
so intensely. Our practice becomes the practice of “non-practice.” That means a lot.
We don’t have to force ourselves to practice. We can give up all the struggle and
allow ourselves to be, to rest. For this, however, we need a little bit of training, and
the sangha is there to make the training easy. Being aware that we are in a sangha
where people are happy with being mindful, where people are living deeply the
moments of their days, that is enough. I always feel happy in the presence of a happy
sangha. If you put yourself in such an environment, then transformation will happen
without much effort. This is my experience.

Practicing in the sangha

The sangha isn’t perfect

If you are a beginner in the practice, you should not worry about what is the correct
thing to do. When surrounded by many people, we might be caught by the idea, “I
don’t know what the right thing is to do.” That idea may make us very uncomfortable.
We may think, “I feel embarrassed that I’m not doing the right thing. There are people
who are bowing, and I am not bowing. People are walking slowly, and I am walking a
little bit too fast.” So, the idea that we may not be doing the right thing can embarrass
us.

I would like to tell you what really is the right thing. The right thing is to do whatever
you are doing in mindfulness. Mindfulness is keeping one’s consciousness alive to
the present reality. To bow may not be the right thing to do if you don’t bow in
mindfulness. If you don’t bow but are mindful, not bowing is the right thing. Even if
people are walking slowly and you run, you are doing the right thing if you run
mindfully. The wrong thing is whatever you do without mindfulness. If we understand
this, we will not be embarrassed anymore. Everything we do is right provided we do
it in mindfulness. To bow or not to bow, that is not the question. The question is
whether to bow in mindfulness or not, or not to bow in mindfulness or not.
If you take a step and you feel peaceful and happy, you know that is the correct
practice. You are the only one who knows whether you are doing it correctly or not.
No one else can judge. When you practice breathing in and out, if you feel peaceful,
if you enjoy your in-breath and out-breath, you know you are doing it correctly. You
are the best one to know. Have confidence in yourself. Wherever you find yourself, if
you feel you are at ease and peaceful, that you are not under pressure, then you
know you are doing it right.

The function of the bell in a sangha is to bring us back to ourselves. When we hear
the bell, we come back to ourselves and breathe, and at that point we improve the
quality of the sangha energy. We know that our brother and our sister, wherever they
are, will be stopping, breathing, and coming back to themselves. They will be
generating the energy of right mindfulness, the sangha energy. When we look at each
other, we feel confident, because everyone is practicing together in the same way
and contributing to the quality of the sangha. So we are friends on the path of practice.

You don’t sit for yourself alone, you sit for the whole sangha—not only the sangha,
but also for the people in your city, because when one person in the city is less angry,
is smiling more, the whole city profits.

The sangha is made out of the work of individuals, so we have the duty to help create
the energy of the sangha. Our presence, when it is a mindful presence, contributes
to that energy. When we are absent during the activities of the sangha, we are not
contributing to sangha energy. If we don’t go to a sitting meditation, we are not feeding
our sangha. We are also letting ourselves go hungry, because we are not benefiting
from the sangha.

We don’t profit from the sangha, and the sangha doesn’t profit from us. Don’t think
that we sit for ourselves. You don’t sit for yourself alone, you sit for the whole
sangha—not only the sangha, but also for the people in your city, because when one
person in the city is less angry, is smiling more, the whole city profits. If we practice
looking deeply, our understanding of interbeing will grow, and we will see that every
smile, every step, every breath is for everybody. It is for our country, for the future,
for our ancestors.

The best thing we can do is to transform ourselves into a positive element of the
sangha. If members of the sangha see us practicing well, they will have confidence
and do better. If there are two, three, four, five, six, seven of you like that in the
sangha, I’m sure the sangha will be a happy sangha and will be the refuge of many
people in the world.

Our transformation and healing depend on the quality of the sangha. If there are
enough people smiling and happy in the sangha, the sangha has more power to heal
and transform. So you have to invest in your sangha. Every member of the sangha
has his or her weaknesses and strengths, and you have to recognize them in order
to make good use of the positive elements for the sake of the whole sangha. You also
have to recognize the negative elements so that you and the whole sangha can help
embrace them. You don’t leave that negative element to the person alone, because
he may not be able to hold and transform it by himself.

You don’t need a perfect sangha—a family or a community doesn’t have to be perfect
in order to be helpful. In fact, the sangha at the time of the Buddha was not perfect.
But it was enough for people to take refuge in, because in the sangha there were
people who had enough compassion, solidity and insight to embrace others who did
not have as much compassion, solidity and insight. I also have some difficulties with
my sangha, but I’m very happy because everyone tries to practice in my sangha.
If we lived in a sangha where everyone was perfect, everyone was a bodhisattva or
a buddha, that would be very difficult for us. Weakness in the other person is very
important, and weakness within yourself is also very important. Anger is in us,
jealousy is in us, arrogance is in us. These kinds of things are very human. It is thanks
to the presence of weakness in you and weakness in a brother or a sister that you
learn how to practice. To practice is to have an opportunity to transform. So it is
through our shortcomings that we learn to practice.

There are some people who think of leaving the sangha when they encounter
difficulties with other sangha members. They cannot bear little injustices inflicted on
them because their hearts are small. To help your heart grow bigger and bigger,
understanding and love are necessary. Your heart can grow as big as the cosmos;
the growth of your heart is infinite. If your heart is like a big river, you can receive any
amount of dirt. It will not affect you, and you can transform the dirt very easily.
The Buddha used this image. If you put a little dirt in a pitcher of water, then that
water has to be thrown away. People cannot drink it. But if you put the same amount
of dirt into a huge river, people can continue to drink from the river, because the river
is so immense. Overnight that dirt will be transformed within the heart of the river. So
if your heart is as big as a river, you can receive any amount of injustice and still live
with happiness. You can transform overnight the injustices inflicted on you. If you still
suffer, your heart is still not large enough. That is the teaching of forbearance and
inclusiveness in Buddhism. You don’t practice to suppress your suffering; you practice
in order for your heart to expand as big as a river.

One time the Buddha said to his disciples: “There are people among us who do not
have the same capacity as we do. They do not have the capacity to act rightly or to
speak rightly. But if we look deeply, we see in their hearts that there are good seeds,
and therefore we have to treat those people in such a way that those good seeds will
not be lost.”[1] Among us there are people who we may think do not have the capacity
to practice as well as we do. But we should know that those people also have good
seeds, and we have to cultivate those good seeds in such a way that these good
seeds have a chance to be watered and to sprout. We don’t need to be perfect. 
I myself am not perfect, and you don’t need to be perfect either.

The Buddha saw all his disciples as his children, and I think of mine in the same way.
Any disciple of mine is my child that I have given birth to. In my heart I feel at ease, I
feel light and happy, even though that child may still have a problem. You can use
that method, too. If there is a person in the sangha who troubles you, don’t give up
hope. Remember, “My teacher has given birth to that child. How can I practice in
order to see that person as my sister? Then my heart will feel more at ease and I will
be able to accept her. That person is still my sister, whether I want her to be or not.”
That feeling and those words can help dissolve the irritation that you are having with
that person.

If we have harmony in the sangha, we can give confidence to many people. We don’t
need to be perfect. I myself am not perfect, and you don’t need to be perfect either.
But if in your own way you can express your harmony in the sangha, this is your gift.

In the sangha there must be difficult people. These difficult people are a good thing
for you—they will test your capacity of sangha-building and practicing. One day when
that person says something that is not very nice to you, you’ll be able to smile, and it
won’t make you suffer at all. Your compassion will have been born and you will be
capable of embracing him or her within your compassion and your understanding.
Then you will know that your practice has grown. You should be delighted that such
an act does not make you angry or sad anymore, that you have enough compassion
and understanding to embrace it. That is why you should not be tempted to eliminate
the elements that you think are difficult in your sangha.

I am speaking to you out of my experience. I now have a lot more patience and
compassion, and because I have more patience and compassion, my happiness has
grown much greater. You suffer because your understanding and compassion are not
yet large enough to embrace difficult people, but with the practice you will grow, your
heart will grow, your understanding and compassion will grow, and you won’t suffer
anymore. And thanks to the sangha practicing together, thanks to your model of
practice, those people will transform. That is a great success, much greater than in
the case of people who are easy to get along with.

I take refuge in the sangha

The reason we take refuge in anything is because we need protection. But very often
we take refuge in people or things that are not at all solid. We may feel that we are
not strong enough to be on our own, so we are tempted to look for someone to take
refuge in. We are inclined to think that if we have someone who is strong and can be
our refuge, then our life will be easier. We need to be very careful, because if we take
refuge in a person who has no stability at all, then the little bit of solidity we have
ourselves will be entirely lost. Many people have done that, and they have lost the
little solidity and freedom they once had.

When a situation is dangerous, you need to escape, you need to take refuge in a
place of safety. The sangha is that.

Thich Nhat Hanh (1926-2022) was a renowned Zen teacher and poet, the founder of the
Engaged Buddhist movement, and the founder of nine monastic communities,
including Plum Village Monastery in France. He was also the author of At Home in the
World, The Other Shore, and more than a hundred other books that have sold millions of
copies worldwide.

Where You Fall - Tricycle Daily Dharma, April 12, 2014

Where You Fall | April 12, 2014 You get up where you fall down. You don't get up somewhere else. It's where you fall down that you establish your practice. —Ryokan Steve Weintraub, "Umbrella Man"

NEW FILM CLUB: PAYBACK Our new Film Club selection looks at debts that can't be paid back with money. Based on the Margaret Atwood book Payback: Debt and the Shadow Side of Wealth, the film explores debt in its various forms—societal, personal, environmental, spiritual, criminal, and of course, economic—along with the intriguing debtor-creditor relationship.	BLOG: BRIDGING THE GAP With his Tibetan Buddhist academy in Kathmandu, Nepal, Chökyi Nyima Rinpoche hopes to bridge the gap between study and practice, reviving the age-old tradition of the scholar-practitioner.

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NEW TRICYCLE E-BOOK: CONVERSATIONS: VOLUME 1 Join the Tricycle community and download Conversations: Volume 1, our newest e-book featuring interviews with the Dalai Lama, Pema Chödrön, Robert Aitken Roshi, the actor Jeff Bridges, and more.	5th ANNIVERSARY OF BUDDHAFEST! Join us June 19-22 in the Washington, DC area. Featuring Gelek Rimpoche, Ram Dass, Tara Brach, Roshi Joan Halifax, Allan Lokos, Barbara Bonner, Fleet Maull, and Sharon Salzberg. Plus films and music.	ENLIGHTENING CONVERSATIONS CONFERENCE Tricycle & Spring Journal present a new conference series exploring the intersection of Buddhism and psychoanalysis. This year's meeting investigates the opportunities and obstacles in human awakening. May 9-10, 2014. 7.5 CECs approved.
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Mark Nunberg on practice

June 2025 

Dear Common Ground Friends,

Early next week I will begin a two-month meditation retreat. I don’t consider this an easy choice. Leaving behind my duties, relationships, and distractions feels scary and intimidating. At this time of uncertainty and so much suffering, it feels especially poignant to be turning my attention away from the troubles in our world. As challenging or suspect as retreat practice can appear, I trust it as a wise, compassionate, and courageous way to address the suffering in my heart and in our world.

Throughout his 45 years of teaching, the Buddha taught that our world is burning with the fires of greed, hatred, and delusion. We experience this directly whenever our mind gets entangled with our likes and dislikes, resulting in attachment and fixed views. Sincere practice is a powerful force for healing and releasing. It helps us to show up in our lives in ways that creatively, nimbly, and effectively address suffering in and around us. 

Our Buddhist practice does not tell us specifically how to live our lives. Instead, practice develops a wise, tender, and embodied sensitivity that allows us to feel our way through all the twists and turns of life. This skillful and compassionate navigation doesn’t arise from fixed ideas but rather from a refined ethical and spiritual sensitivity. I believe that this is the medicine that our world deeply needs. Our practice supports us in finding our own way to express a wise and compassionate response, moment by moment. Although we may aspire to alleviate suffering, without this careful discernment, our actions might be the cause for more suffering, not less. The Buddha taught, “Hatred never ceases by hatred, by non-hate alone does hatred cease; this is an ancient and eternal truth.” Wise and compassionate action depends on humility and an ongoing sensitivity to our heart’s underlying motivations and views.

May we contribute to the causes for the deepest healing and peace, in our hearts and in our world.

Mark Nunberg
Co-Guiding Teacher 

Ajahn Sumedho - the right way to meditate

 p100-01 From ‘The mind and the way’

How should I try to practice meditation when my mind is just scrambled at the end of the day when mind goes around and around spinning in circles because when i sits still my minds either thinking about things or I feel sleepy.

 Answer:  well regard meditation as recognizing the way things are.  to start a meditation is always to recognize where you are right here.  so that if your mind is scrambled at the end of the day, then just recognize scrambled, acknowledge the feeling and the aversion to it. The wanting it to be otherwise. That is the right way of meditating. With this attitude you'll find that your meditation will have a very beneficial effect

Meeting the Divine Messengers - Bhikkhu Bodhi

Meeting the Divine Messengers

By Bhikkhu Bodhi

The traditional legend of the Buddha’s life tells us that throughout his youth and early manhood Prince Siddhattha, the Bodhisatta, lived completely unaware of the most elementary facts concerning human mortality. His father, anxious to protect his sensitive son from exposure to suffering, kept him an unwitting captive of ignorance. Incarcerated in the splendor of his palace, amply supplied with sensual pleasures, and surrounded by merry friends, the prince did not entertain even the faintest suspicion that life could offer anything other than an endless succession of amusements and festivities. It was only on that fateful day in his twenty-ninth year, when curiosity led him out beyond the palace walls, that he encountered the four “divine messengers” that were to change his destiny. The first three were the old man, the sick man and the corpse, who taught him the shocking truths of old age, illness and death; the fourth was a wandering ascetic, who revealed to him the existence of a path whereby all suffering can be fully overcome.

This charming story, which has nurtured the faith of Buddhists through the centuries, enshrines at its heart a profound psychological truth. In the language of myth, it speaks to us not merely of events that may have taken place centuries ago but of a process of awakening through which each of us must pass if the Dhamma is to come to life within ourselves. Beneath the symbolic veneer of the ancient legend, we can see that Prince Siddhattha’s youthful stay in the palace was not so different from the way in which most of us today pass our entire lives—often, sadly, until it is too late to strike out in a new direction. Our homes may not be royal palaces, and the wealth at our disposal may not approach anywhere near that of a north Indian rajah, but we share with the young Prince Siddhattha a blissful (and often willful) oblivion to stark realities that are constantly thrusting themselves on our attention. If the teachings are to be more than the bland, humdrum background of a comfortable life, if they are to become the inspiring, sometimes grating, voice that steers us on to the great path of awakening, we ourselves need to emulate the Bodhisatta in his process of maturation. Joining him on his journey outside the palace walls—the walls of our own self-assuring preconceptions—we must see for ourselves the divine messengers we so often miss because our eyes are fixed on “more important things,” i.e., our mundane preoccupations and goals.

The Buddha says that there are few who are stirred by things that are truly stirring, compared to those, far more numerous, who are not so stirred. The spurs to awakening press in on us from all sides, yet too often, instead of acknowledging them, we respond simply by putting on another layer of clothes to protect ourselves from their sting. This statement is not disproved even by the recent deluge of discussion and literature on aging, life-threatening illnesses and alternative approaches to death and dying. For open and honest awareness is still not sufficient for the divine messengers to get their message across. To convey their message, the message that can goad us on to the path to liberation, something more is needed. We must confront aging, illness and death not simply as inescapable realities with which we must somehow cope at the practical level but as envoys from the beyond, from the far shore, disclosing new dimensions of meaning.

This disclosure takes place at two levels. First, to become divine messengers, the facts of aging, illness and death must jolt us into an awareness of the fragile, precarious nature of our normal day-to-day lives. The first three messengers must impress upon our minds the radical deficiency that runs through all our worldly concerns, extending to conditioned existence in its totality. Thereby they become windows opening upon the first noble truth, the noble truth of suffering, which the Buddha says comprises not only birth, aging, illness and death, not only sorrow, grief, pain and misery, but all the physical and mental factors that make up our being-in-the-world. The homeless ascetic must become more than a quaint object of curiosity; he should serve us as a reminder that the way to liberation cuts through the austere landscape of renunciation and inner self-mastery. Clad in his ochre robes, this sedate and dignified figure serves as a pointer to the fourth noble truth, the truth of the path, and its culmination, the truth of suffering’s cessation.

When we meet the divine messengers at this level, they become catalysts that can induce in us a profound internal transformation. We realize that because we are frail and inescapably mortal we must make drastic changes in our existential priorities and personal values. Instead of letting our lives be consumed by transient trivia, by things that are here today and gone tomorrow, we must give weight to “what really counts,” to aims and actions that will exert a lasting influence upon our long-range destinies and our ultimate aim as we meander through the cycle of repeated birth and death.

Before such a revaluation takes place, we generally live in a condition that the Buddha describes by the term pamᾱda, negligence or heedlessness. Imagining ourselves immortal and the world our personal playground, we devote our energies to such “worldly dhammas” as the accumulation of wealth, the enjoyment of sensual pleasures, the achievement of status, and the quest for fame and renown. The remedy for heedlessness is the very same quality that was aroused in the Bodhisatta when he met the divine messengers in the streets of Kapilavatthu. This quality, called in Pali samvega, is a “sense of urgency,” an inner commotion or shock that does not allow us to rest content with our habitual adjustment to the world. Instead it drives us to embark on our own journey into homelessness, whether actual or metaphoric. As Prince Siddhattha did after meeting the homeless mendicant, we must leave behind our cozy palaces and plunge into unfamiliar jungles, to work out with diligence an authentic solution to our existential plight.

It is at this point that the second function of the divine messengers comes to prominence. For aging, sickness and death are not only emblems of the unsatisfactory nature of mundane existence but pointers to a deeper reality that lies beyond. In the traditional legend the four divine messengers are gods in disguise. They have been sent down to Earth from the highest heaven to awaken the Bodhisatta to his momentous mission, and once they have delivered their message they resume their celestial forms. This teaches us that the final word of the Dhamma is not surrender, not an injunction to resign ourselves to the cruel fact of our human mortality, nor even to accept our finitude in a mood of joyful celebration. The inevitability of old age, sickness and death is the preliminary message of the Dhamma, the announcement that our house is ablaze. The final message, suggested by the fourth divine messenger, is something else: an ebullient cry that there is a place of safety, an open field beyond the flames, and a clear exit sign pointing the way of escape. 

If, in this process of awakening, we must meet old age, sickness and death face to face, that is because the place of safety can be reached only by honest confrontation with the harsh truths about human existence. We cannot reach safety by pretending that the flames that engulf our home are nothing but bouquets of flowers: we must see them as they are, as real flames. When, however, we do look at the divine messengers squarely, without embarrassment or fear, we will find that their faces undergo an unexpected metamorphosis. Before our eyes, by subtle degrees, they change into another face—the face of the Buddha, with its serene smile of triumph over the army of Mara, over the demons of Desire and Death. The divine messengers point to what lies beyond the transient, to a dimension of reality where there is no more aging, no more sickness and no more death. This is the goal and final destination of the Buddhist path—Nibbana, the Unaging, the Illness-free, the Deathless. It is to direct us there that the divine messengers have appeared in our midst, and their message is the good news that this goal is available to us.

Intention is the Practice - Norman Fischer

Intention Is the Practice

BY NORMAN FISCHER| APRIL 28, 2017

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On the Buddhist path, says Zen teacher Norman Fischer, our intention deepens into commitment and then into vow. At that point, our intentions and our life become one.

When you practice meditation, you are assured of success. But by “success” I don’t mean that things will go as you hope they will.

When you meditate, you soon forget about whether things go as you hope they will. You are happy to be surprised by what happens, knowing you can make use of anything for your practice. In that way, your meditation is always successful,  no matter what arises. All you have to do is do it.

But here’s the problem: it is difficult to sustain a meditation practice. We are so easily sidetracked, distracted, and discouraged. Events of our lives throw us off almost every day. Our intention to practice wobbles and wavers.

Intention is everything. If your mind is always aligned with your intention to practice, you are always practicing. Practice is the spirit of practice, more than any specific activity. The mind of practice is practice. And that’s intention.

What is intention? Probably we can’t completely define it. Like all inner states, it’s hard to grasp. Intention has to do with purpose. Its Old English/French/Latin root intendere implies “to stretch.” So intention is to grow, to develop, toward something purposeful.

Intention is closely connected to two other important inner activities that are foundational for Buddhist practice: commitment and vow. Let’s see how the three work together.

Intention: Somehow the events of my life and the feelings I have about those events bring me to want to think, feel, and act in a particular way.

Commitment: Affirming my intention, I commit to staying with it. I confirm it in my heart.

Vow: I identify with my commitment as myself. No matter what happens—lifetime after lifetime (that is, in a scope wider than I can ever know or experience)—I vow to go on with my commitment.

In the practice of vowing there is no sense that I will ever fully accomplish what I intend. My vow is beyond that—it is to keep on going with my practice forever. In Zen we call this the bodhisattva vow, to practice forever for the sake of all sentient beings. Dogen calls it continuous practice. In Zen, “practice” always means practice for and with others. There is no other kind of practice.

Recently I interviewed the poet Alice Notley about her relationship with Philip Whalen, the late great Buddhist Beat poet. Philip was a Zen priest and one of my dearest teachers. I asked Alice if Philip had ever talked to her about Buddhism. She said, “We had one conversation once, right after my husband died. I told him I needed to take a vow so I could go on. He said there was only one vow in Zen—the bodhisattva vow. He told me what it was, and I took that vow in my head.”

This is an example of someone who, without any other formal practice, has built a life on intention and vow.

Zen, following the sweeping teachings of Mahayana Buddhism, proposes that “all beings have buddhanature,” or, as Dogen purposely misreads it, “all beings are buddhanature.” That is, our basic human nature is awakening, goodness, compassion, connection, and love.

In the practice of vowing there is no sense that I will ever fully accomplish what I intend.

But if this is true, why is life so hard? Why is sustaining the intention to spiritual practice, committing to it, and vowing to go on so difficult? Why is the human world so full of violence, unfairness, and selfishness if we are all buddhanature?

In a short short sutra in the Pali canon, the Buddha says, “This mind, O monks, is luminous. Only it is covered by adventitious defilements from without.”

In other words, the mind, consciousness, is basically buddha (“luminous”). However, the luminousness of the mind has been covered over by bad conditions and the accumulation of our bad responses to those conditions over time. So it is hard for us to see.

When conditions of our life bring us to the intention to see our own luminous beauty, we are going to be okay. We don’t know exactly what will happen but we have confidence in our practice. The path is clear—even when sometimes it may seem not to be. All the activity of Buddhist practice is for the purpose of developing our intention until it becomes our vow, and our intention and our life are one.

Four Reflections That Strengthen Your Intention to Practice

Every time we sit in meditation, every time we turn the mind toward positive thought and action to benefit others, we are strengthening our intention, our commitment, and our vow to practice continuously—moment after moment forever.

The “four great reflections” is a traditional contemplation for developing intention. It is the first of the fifty-nine mind training (lojong) slogans of Indo–Tibetan Buddhism. It is called “Resolve to Begin,” for if you contemplate these four great truths of life you will strengthen your intention to practice.

1. THE RARITY AND PRECIOUSNESS OF A HUMAN LIFE.

Think about it: you have been born into this colorful world with others. You have everything you need. You have been lovingly cared for and nurtured. You can see, hear, taste, touch, smell, and think. You can love and be loved. Your soul can know beauty. This is an incomparable gift.

Stop and take a few breaths to contemplate the gift of human life you have received…

2. DEATH IS INEVITABLE AND UNPREDICTABLE.

No one can escape death and no one knows when it will come. It comes in the night, in the morning, in the afternoon, or evening. It comes at home or while away. You can die this evening, one week from today, one month, one year, one decade.

Life is brief. No one knows how long it will last. Children die, young people die, old people die. Every day, millions of people depart this life. One day, you don’t know when, it will be your turn.

Stop and take a few breaths to contemplate this…

3. SUFFERING IS INEVITABLE.

No one escapes pain—physical pain, loss, dishonor, disrespect, loneliness, anxiety, panic, stress, fear. Not even the most fortunate among us escapes. These days we divide the world into those who are privileged and those who are not. But in Buddhism we recognize that all beings born into this world suffer. This is our basic condition.

Stop and take a few breaths to contemplate this….

4. THE INDELIBLE POWER OF ALL OUR ACTIONS.

Throughout our lives and at the time of death, the only thing we really have is the power of our thoughts, words, and deeds. These can be allies and protectors, or they can make our lives miserable.

Everything depends on how we conduct ourselves. In the end we can’t depend on our bodies, our wealth, or our intelligence—not even our relationships. No one can accompany us on our final journey. But the words, thoughts, and deeds of a lifetime will shape the path we walk.

Stop and take a few minutes to contemplate this…

Gratitude Practice

Live Session Summary, Sunday, May 21, 2023: It was good to be with you today for our Live session on gratitude. Here is a summary of the key points, quotes and poems from today’s session: 

Robert Emmons, a leading writer and researcher on gratitude speaks of gratitude as ‘a felt sense of wonder, thankfulness, and appreciation for life.’ It is strongly associated with happiness. Grateful people tend to be happier people. The more we incorporate gratitude into our lives, the more benefits we experience. Scientific studies indicate the benefits of practicing gratitude, including its role in: 

• Helping people deal with stress and trauma 

• Encouraging moral behavior

• Strengthening relationships

• Limiting the effect of negative emotions

• Supporting generosity and helpfulness

• Improving cardiac health

• Gratitude made participants in one study lastingly less depressed and happier than any other positive psychology intervention.

A study also showed that people who kept a gratitude journal were on average 25 percent happier, slept one-half hour more per evening, and exercised 33 percent more each week compared to those not keeping a journal. 

Some other key themes on gratitude we covered include:

• Gratitude opens us to all of life, connects us with all beings, and helps us move out of narrow, contracted view of ourselves and of life. 

• Cultivating gratitude is taking refuge in the truth, in the dharma—and is not wishful thinking. It is a ‘foundational’ practice that helps creates the conditions for the arising of compassion, generosity, and other wholesome states.

• Gratitude is immeasurable, potentially infinite—there are no limits to who and what we can be grateful for. We can keep expanding our gratitude further, just as we can when we develop loving-kindness, compassion, and equanimity.  

• It neutralizes painful, afflictive states, like greed, hatred, and fear. We can’t be grateful and angry or craving at the same time.

• Gratitude can arise spontaneously—and it is important to consciously cultivate it as a practice in order to make it an ongoing trait or attitude in our life. The more we practice gratitude, the more it tends to arise spontaneously out of the conditions of our life. 

• It is important to include difficulties in our gratitude practice as they are what help create the conditions for us to wake up: I shared quotes from a prayer offered by Tibetan Buddhist monks and nuns, ‘Grant that I might have enough suffering to awaken in me the deepest possible compassion and wisdom’; Mary Oliver’s poem, ‘The Uses of Sorrow’: ‘Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too was a gift’; and Rilke’s statement that we should ‘always trust in the difficult.’ 

If you would like to explore gratitude as a practice, here are two specific practices that you might work with this coming week: 

• Reflect daily on three things you are grateful for and why you are grateful to this person, or for this experience.... Let yourself take in for 30-60 seconds how gratitude feels. You might put it in words—'Thank you, X, for…’ or ‘I’m grateful for…’ Notice any changes over time as you practice gratitude… 

• When you find yourself caught up in a difficult or painful mind state—anger, fear, craving, confusion, doubt…—consciously pause and shift your focus towards something you are grateful for. Allow yourself to take in and experience the feelings of gratitude. Notice if this practice, over time, has any effect in helping you let go of, or loosen identification with, the difficult mind state. 

We’ll take some time next week to check in on how these practices have gone. Also, we’ve uploaded the recording of last week’s Live session that Laurie Cameron and I did together. This should be available in the next few days. I hope you have a lovely week and look forward to seeing you next Sunday, May 28, at 9am Eastern. Warmly, Hugh 🌻 💜 🙏🏻

Practice notes

 Practice ideas after spending time with my teacher, Warren. I can be a bad Buddha and  still practice. A comment that reveals my own judgment around how I practice. Which reveals my own judgment about me as a practitioner.

Teacher offered to have me check in for accountability maybe once a week so long as it doesn’t create or stress. Like brushing my teeth I do a daily doesn’t have to be done the same way every day each time. Maybe I’ll brush longer in one spot in another spot

Lightly and Patiently... : For the Time Being - Norman Fischer

Lightly and Patiently... : For the Time Being - Norman Fischer

Why would they want to do this? Because it turns out that facing pain — not denial, not running in the opposite direction — is a practical necessity.

Hugh Byrne - Aug 28, 2022

Live Session Summary, Sunday, August 28, 2022: Good to be with you today for our Live session. Today I want to give a different kind of summary, which will include a brief overview of the class today (as I do each week) and also respond to some of the points raised by people in the ‘comments’ today—focusing on things that may be of interest to many or most of those who participated and/or those in this group. (In a separate post(s))

I’ll begin with the regular summary: The theme today was ‘deepening our practice’ and I focused most attention on the final of four areas where I typically advise people who are looking for support in their practice to give attention. This was the theme of longer retreat practice. The other three areas I highlight below. 

I began by talking about how any genuine spiritual practice is a training. Rarely does anyone gain the deepest insights, understanding, or awakening all at once, because we have minds that get caught in unhelpful habits that may be deeply entrenched and so change and letting go often require seeing things many, many times, and letting go more and more deeply tends to come with continuing practice. And spiritual growth tends to be a journey that builds on previous insights and understanding. 

I spoke about the four main areas that I typically emphasize and invite exploration of: 1. daily/regular meditation practice, as well as mindfulness practice in daily life; 2. deepening study and investigation of dharma (in its broadest sense) teachings; 3. Participation in and support from community (sangha); and 4. longer periods of practice, typically in formal (teacher-led) retreats or informal personal retreats—which I normally recommend only for those with a strong and established practice or where the person feels at ease and confident in practicing on their own for an extended period of time). 

I spoke about my own early retreat experience thirty years ago and how it helped me both come back to something—a sense of peace, calm, well-being—that I recognized and remembered from times in my childhood; and that set me on the path that I have followed for the past three decades. 

I emphasized the value of longer periods of practice in deepening our confidence in ourselves and in the teachings and practices and the ways in which that deepening confidence can support us in daily life, particularly when things get really difficult. I spoke of a term Rob Burbea used to get across this sense of confidence, ‘cultivating an inner reservoir of well-being.’ I also stressed how important a role longer retreat practice can play in deepening our practice and supporting us in life more broadly. 

I expressed the hope of planting a seed of interest in those who are newer to these teachings and practices as well as encouraging or reminding those (including myself) of the importance of taking time to practice in longer retreats. In a line that my partner Rebecca heard from one of her teachers years ago, ‘there’s no such thing as a one-walk dog’. I love this… we have to continue to practice if we are to walk our talk and live authentically… (I didn’t include this quote in the talk, but just remembered it.)

The poems I shared today were Mary Oliver’s ‘Wild Geese’, particularly emphasizing the lines of letting ‘the soft animal of your body love what it loves’; and Muhyiddin Ibn Al ‘Arabi’s ‘There was a time…’

I’ll share later today some other responses to what a few people spoke about in the ‘comments’… Have a wonderful week and see you at 9am eastern next Sunday! Warmly, Hugh 🙏🏼 🌻

Establish Daily Practice

 How to Establish a Daily Practice of Almost Anything, in Six Steps

BY ANNE CUSHMAN| AUGUST 16, 2022

Whether it’s meditation, yoga, or your favorite creative activity, you’ll get so much more from doing it every day. Follow these six steps, says Anne Cushman, to enjoy all the benefits of daily practice.

Going to a retreat or program is a wonderful way to deepen our meditation practice. But how do we stay connected with these waking-up practices when we go home to the myriad projects, emails, responsibilities, and distractions waiting for us?

This is a question that applies not just to meditation, yoga, and other spiritual practices, but to any creative art we want to commit to, such as painting, writing, or playing an instrument. Paradoxically, the practices we know are most vital to our wellbeing are the very things that are usually pushed aside by daily tasks that feel more urgent.

You may start each day intending to spend half an hour on your zafu, practice walking meditation in the park, or write three haikus capturing the essence of your insights. But you’re out of yogurt and broccoli, there are 237 unread emails in your inbox, your taxes were due last week, and your child has knocked out a tooth skateboarding or needs you to buy Japanese print fabric for a history project. So you put off meditating or working on your memoir for one more day. And then one more. And then one more.

Lately I’ve been offering students a six-step plan that I’ve found effective for establishing and maintaining a home practice of almost anything—even in the middle of a crazily busy life. I’ve used these principles to maintain a yoga and meditation practice for almost 30 years—and also to pursue various long-term artistic projects, such as writing a novel.

Here are six steps you can follow to establish a daily practice of almost anything:

1. Set Your Intention

Get very clear about what you want to commit to—and even more important, why.

Why is it important to you that you sustain a meditation practice—or do tai chi, or paint wildflowers? What part of you does it nourish? Write down your reasons. The more specific you are, the more likely you will be to do it. It’s not just “I want to meditate more.” It’s “I commit to meditating for ten minutes before I wake up the kids for school because it keeps me calm, grounded, and more present for my family.” To make your intention even stronger, share it with someone close to you. However, be careful about talking about it too widely—that can dissipate the energy.

2. Establish a Cue

This is what reminds you to start your practice. The most simple and reliable cue is a specific time. For instance, you decide you will meditate every evening from 9 to 9:30 p.m.

It can also be a floating cue: you will do half an hour of yoga right after you finish work, whenever that happens to be. Or you will take ten mindful breaths whenever you are about to launch your email program. To ensure that your good intentions don’t get overrun by other plans, carve out the time in advance. Write it into your calendar and don’t schedule anything else during that period. Be sure to build in time for any preparations or cleanup that are necessary.

Remember, start modestly. Meditating for ten minutes every day for a year is more beneficial than meditating an hour a day for three days, then burning out. Again, it can help to let the people close to you know what you are doing, especially if you live together. That way they can support you in your commitment.

3. Round Up Your Supplies

Make sure you have everything you need for your practice in a place where you can find it easily. That way you don’t have to waste your precious time hunting them down. Maintain a meditation nook with an inviting cushion, a small altar, and a supply of incense and matches. If you want to write down your dreams every morning, place a notebook and pen on your bedside table.

4. Do Your Practice

So you don’t spend your dedicated practice time spacing out or trying to figure out where to get started, it helps to have a plan in place, especially at first. Know what meditation method you intend to practice—for example, breath meditation or loving-kindness practice—and stick with one method for at least a week before switching. (If you’re planning on using a guided meditation, download or bookmark the instructions in advance, so you don’t eat up your meditation time surfing the web.)

If you’re doing yoga, outline a standard routine you can fall back on, knowing that if you get inspired, you can always change it once you get going. If you’re doing writing practice, put some prompts in your journal to get you started.

 

5. Reward Yourself

Yes, theoretically the practice is its own reward. But especially when you’re establishing a new pattern, it helps to have an external reward as well. After your dawn meditation, make yourself a cup of green tea and sip it slowly while watching the sun come up. After your evening yoga, watch a silly movie with your kids. After you draw in your art journal, put a gold star sticker on your calendar. Our brains love this kind of positive reinforcement.

6. Track your progress

Keeping a record of what you have and haven’t done increases your sense of accountability. Make this part fun! You can go the old-fashioned route by checking off boxes on a calendar. Or you can use one of the many new habit-tracking apps that are available.

Remember, this is about celebrating your accomplishments, not beating yourself up when you miss a day. Through daily small changes of routine, your whole life can shift over time to a new trajectory. Just remember to enjoy the journey.