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Collective Healing from War |
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By Trish Nelson
In the United States, as we face the fifth anniversary of the Iraq War, the enormous suffering from this war ripples through our society. Just as in the Vietnam War, very few people want to see or acknowledge these wounds. The need to recognize, embrace and transform the suffering from war is urgent. Some spiritual elders are able to recognize this and be a catalyst for such deep collective healing. One such elder is Vietnamese Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, who returned with his spiritual community to Vietnam after nearly forty years of exile to offer Great Requiem Ceremonies in three regions of Vietnam. I was with hundreds of his other students from all over the world in March 2007 at the first such ceremony. We listened intently along with thousands of Vietnamese in Ho Chi Minh City. “If we don’t transform the wounds from the war, we will transmit them to future generations,” he said.
“We have not had a chance to speak out. Our suffering has been deeply suppressed,” he added. “Communists and anti-communists, five to six million people died from bombs and other causes. We pray for all of them. Americans also. Many people died unjustly. Many bodies were never found. We have been granted permission from the government to perform this ceremony in the tradition of the south.” I heard him repeat, “We have not had a chance to acknowledge the suffering and injustices we’ve experienced. We transmit suffering that is deep in our consciousness; we transmit it to our children.”
Naming the suffering and acknowledging the wound is a fundamental step in healing. That was in the opening prayer. Naming our own suffering goes beyond the 58,000 soldiers who died during the war. It includes the 100,000 American Vietnam Veterans who committed suicide in the decades since the conflict. Alcoholism, domestic violence, unemployment, drug abuse and homelessness all run at staggering levels within the Vietnam Veteran population compared to the rest of society. The war never ends for thousands who still suffer from Post Traumatic Stress. All of this is a direct result of living through the trauma of war. It is not just Vietnam Veterans either. We are now seeing the same thing show up in Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans. CBS news recently reported that over 6,250 Veterans committed suicide in the year 2005. That is over 120 suicides per week in one year alone. The suicide count already exceeds the combat death toll from Iraq.
The New York Times story, ‘WAR TORN; Across America, Deadly Echoes of Foreign Battles,’ from January 13, 2008 (http://tinyurl.com/2fvokv ), shows that the violence is also directed outward. The report found “121 cases in which veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan committed a killing in this country, or were charged with one, after their return from war.” Many such killings were committed under the influence of alcohol and/or impacted by Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. “About a third of the victims were spouses, girlfriends, children or other relatives,” reports the article. Without tools to embrace and transform suffering from war, it ripples out. Few have the courage to see how we all are affected by war. We all can participate in breaking the walls of denial and transforming wounds also. That was Vietnam for me. [see also the related story / speech by Edward Tick in this issue.]
Thich Nhat Hanh invited as Head of the Ho Chi Minh Ceremony a local Buddhist Tantric Master known as a specialist in assisting the dead cross over. He gave his whole heart to the task. Chanting masters and local musicians practiced for three months before we arrived, using instruments hidden in Vietnam for fifty years.
Everyone got invited to the ceremony. Chanting masters went to the mountain and the river where people died in great numbers to invite the “wandering souls” to come. Awakened beings called ‘Bodhisattvas’ were asked to come and help. Family members were invited to create alters at home for their loved ones who died. Many thousands who were not there were invited to pray during these three days wherever they were.
Every person represented a cell in the body of healing. Children of war, conceived of a Vietnamese woman and an American soldier, were here as a grown nun and monk. A bomber pilot, a nurse, an American soldier, refugees who escaped by boat, women who lost their children, their husbands and brothers were all present. In either grey robes or brown robes, with hair or without, we traveled in nine buses to the temple where more grey-robed citizens and brown-robed monks and nuns waited. Communist police in green and red uniforms directed traffic to make our massive convoy possible.
Booming Ceremonial drums announced the arrival of Thich Nhat Hanh. As a river, we flowed through throngs of Vietnamese. People of all ages stood silently with heads bowed and hands in prayer as we passed. Thich Nhat Hanh led the monks and nuns, followed by the western lay practitioners. Over 200 people walked slowly and peacefully into this beautiful temple. We were welcomed with great reverence. Being a part of the traveling community with Thich Nhat Hanh for this ceremony was the highest blessing in my lifetime.
Thich Nhat Hanh often referred to the ceremony as the “Ceremony of Non-Discrimination.” He said, “If everyone practices together in the nation regardless of religion; to embrace all religions, all parties, living people as well as the dead…if the whole nation practices together, it will contribute to the transformation of the karma of our country and help liberate the victims.”
Practice meant to listen to the teaching offered each day, to support the energy of the chanting (which had its own transformational power) and to do what was asked: Write down the names of the loved ones you wish to be prayed for. Also, “During these three days don’t blame or criticize. Manifest loving, accepting, kind gestures. Practice Dana (generosity). Keep your mind and heart pure.” People responded, writing thousands of names of loved ones, which monks attached to the walls within the temple.
The teaching of “no death” came on day one. “My father is dead and gone” is not accurate,” Thich Nhat Hanh declared. “It’s more accurate to say, my father has changed form; he is in a new form.” He gave the example of a cloud. “The cloud never dies. It becomes rain, ice, snow. The cloud did not come from nothing. The cloud was the river, and the heat helped make it a cloud.”
“Whether our continuation will be beautiful or ugly depends on our investment in the three karmas of thought, speech and action. Our actions are never lost even though our bodies disintegrate. Death is a game of hide and seek. If a cloud is polluted, the rain will be polluted, and if we drink the water from the rain we will get sick. The same is true for us. If our thoughts are polluted, then our words and actions will be polluted and will pollute ourselves and others.”
Purification was part of the ceremony, not just for ourselves but for the victims of war. That first afternoon, the energy was thick and toxic in the chanting chamber. We were kneeling, and monks and nuns were standing silently. Only the musicians and chanters did their rhythmic dance. We all gave our energy, sweat streaming and tears flowing. I melted into a crumpled pile, feeling nauseous.
The second day the teaching continued. “Signals are in the air around us. We don’t see it; but it doesn’t mean they are not there. We need a radio or TV to see it. Our loved ones are the same. We may not see them, but they are there.”
“Any thinking that has hatred, discrimination, anger … is heavy. It can damage our health and the world”
The requests continued. “Today I vow to emit thinking that is inclusive, loving and compassionate. Speaking this way is nourishing for me and my loved ones.” Ten thousand people responded as best they could.
Few people embody peace in every movement as Thich Nhat Hanh does. So on the final morning when he said, “I can help my people transform. I practice walking in freedom and lightness for all of the dead people. When I take a step, I say to myself ‘This is for six million people.’ Then, on my next step I say, ‘This is for 80 million people who are still living.’” I knew he spoke the truth, and I was inspired to do the same.
When we all were later asked to “Begin Anew,” which means to reflect on past mistakes with the full determination not to continue those actions but instead to do right action, we realized this was not just for ourselves. As we walked in the final procession through the ethereal sound of conch shells and the rhythmic pulse of the huge drum and other ancient instruments, each step was a prayer.
In the final chanting ceremony, I let go as an individual and allowed myself to be carried by my teacher and the community energy. Many images arose during that time: of children, of people caught in a voiceless scream, of American G.I.s covered in dark slime. We were still pouring sweat; tears flowed semi-constantly while the hypnotic tide of the chanters and musicians came in and out. Over time, I felt the heaviness lift. There was a sense of release, of joy and even celebration. I could feel that many who had been suffering now were joyful. Where I once had images of dark sludge, now there was cascading pure water. When we all finally spilled onto the streets at 2 am, there were still thousands of Vietnamese waiting for us. Two old ladies grabbed my arm, held my hands in their gnarled ones, and with faces beaming cried out, “We are so happy!” “Yes, I am so happy too!” Cleansing rains came hours later.
Trish Nelson is a spiritual peace activist, author and teacher living in Portland, Oregon. She can be reached at writenels@aol.com .
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