RESOURCES

By BRANDY KIDD

Of all the many Dharma-related conversations I have with folks inside and outside the sangha, the conversations about solitary retreats are the ones met with the most curiosity and awe (mostly by those who haven’t gone on a solitary retreat). A lot of questions ensue: 

Q: Is it true that you don’t talk at all during the entire retreat??

A:  Only with the teacher during the daily interview.

Follow-up Q: How do you DO that??

A: What started out scary turns out to be surprisingly wonderful.

Q: Is it true that you have no phones, no computers, no books, no journals?

A:  Only the text that the teacher suggests or that you request to work on.

Follow-up Q: How do you DO that??

A:  What started out intimidating turns out to be quite lovely.

These questions highlight the acclimatization most all of us have experienced to constant stimulation and interaction via texts, social media, emails, podcasts and books available instantly and always to us. That going without for a few days actually sparks trepidation in so many people’s minds is quite understandable.  

And if I’m being honest, when I began attending solitary retreats a dozen years ago, I felt the same way. Back then I was in the heart of parenting younger kids, working full time, and busy with sangha life. The idea and the practice of letting it all go was disconcerting. I couldn’t fathom what I would do with that much silence, that much space, that much “idle” time. It certainly highlighted how very attached I was to my worldly life. Accordingly, I began with very short solitary retreats: the three-night minimum.  

And at first, there were challenges. The places where I still had emotional healing to do would show up on retreat. I would feel anxiety. I would feel lonely. The Inner Critic would show up on retreat with me, absolutely uninvited. Fred’s support was key in helping me move through those experiences, as afflictive habit energies and schemas began to dissipate over time. It wasn’t always peaceful, that’s for sure.

In recent years, I have begun to look forward to these retreats more and more. But the challenge now is to not just “bliss out,” but rather to stay in that state of open, spacious, awake awareness that is our true nature (to be the Host more than a very “chill” Guest). It feels so good to be able to take a break from the discursive mind, but that’s not the path. In fact, it’s just the beginning. As Patrul Rinpoche warns: “stillness, bliss, and clarity: disrupt them again and again.” 

The main thing I’ve learned is to show up with zero attachments to how I want the retreat to unfold. My only aim need be to stay open, awake, aware, and compassionate to whatever arises, both within the four two-hour meditation sessions, and during the breaks in between, while enjoying a meal or a walk in the gardens. And also: to be brave; to be diligent, knowing that the more I practice, the more I can help my self and others.  

In this way, how to show up on solitary retreat is very much how I aspire to show up everyday in life (and also at death), “with no difference between meditation and post-meditation, no division between sessions and breaks. BUT (caps are mine), until stability is attained, it is vital to meditate, away from all distractions and busyness, (p)racticing in proper meditation sessions” (another bow to Patrul Rinpoche).

In other words: it’s vital to retreat. 

Brandy Kidd, who is currently serving as leader of the FCM Naples sangha, is an ordained member of the Order of Interbeing who also works as a psychotherapist in Naples and who loves being mom to two adult kiddos and a sweet, attention-seeking hound dog.

In his Dharma talk on November 16, 2025, our teacher Fred reminded us that our emotional suffering arises in our minds, nowhere else, which leads us to ask ourselves: What is the cause? What's underneath the restlessness, the need for stimulation, the complaints about the job, the distress about the world, the unease about relationships, the emotional afflictions? What's causing all this to arise?

For many of us, our minds are not used to going in this inner direction. We are used to pointing the finger outside ourselves. If you can find the inner cause and eradicate or lessen the cause, ending our suffering becomes easier. Thich Nhat Hanh actually said we don't need any "thing" to be happy. The potential for happiness already is present in our minds. We just have to learn to mine our own treasure.

Fred shared that the cause of our suffering comes from our strong identification with an ego that thinks the world and the people in it should be different than they are. A lot of our emotional suffering in life is self created, yet we believe the cause is "out there". If you think it's out there, then the solution is to work hard to control others and external events. The problem with that is that the world won't cooperate with us. It is operating from its own causes and conditions. 

After giving time for reflection, in Q&A with those attending in person and online, Fred summarized: "The collective thought of the sangha is the cause is because I want things (and myself) to be other than they are. At its root is our wrong perceptions about reality. We don’t see how things really are. If we can let go of our distorted thinking about life and work with it as it is, it will be much easier to intelligently respond to it.

"Could it be this simple? Actually, it is that simple. So, why don’t we all do it? Just accept the world, people and myself as they are. I'm not talking about condoning or not condoning the way things are. I'm talking about accepting reality.

By JONI MASSE

My first encounter with FCM was to attend a retreat on patience. After searching the web for a Buddhist teacher, I chose to pursue this weekend event, knowing I was deeply in need of guidance on how to develop a keener practice of patience coupled with the practice I already had for over 30 years.

I sought wisdom so I could also be kinder, more loving, and less attached to an outcome over which I had no control – the aging process, sickness, and ultimately death.

My husband’s health was clearly declining and since he and I do not always see eye to eye on health-related issues, I believed patience would be an asset to benefit our journey together as we moved through this period of our lives. The retreat gave me far more than I hoped for, and since then, patience has often lent its hand in my quest for equanimity, embodying loving kindness. 

Why would I need extra patience, you might ask. After 30 years of being in relationship, I’d come to accept how different our habits could be, and there had been many times I had found patience accompanied by compassion helped ease suffering in my mind. I anticipated diving deeper as I watched my husband continue to battle his smoking addiction while his lungs clearly were saying, “stop.” He also did not trust Western medicine; he had not seen a doctor in over 40 years. 

After an acute episode of breathing difficulty and a short stay in the hospital with a diagnosis of high blood pressure and severe COPD, he began to realize the benefits of Western medicine. That was one month following my retreat. 

Patience came in handy as his habits are often in conflict with mine. He likes to put things off till later, and I like to get them done asap. A year after his first hospitalization he found his body in extreme pain along with some acute bleeding. This was about eight months ago, when I was in the middle of the Intensive “Deconstructing the Myth of Self.” We sat up together one entire night while he was passing large clots when he peed and was in such pain he could not walk, but he chose not to go to the emergency room. We were both scared.

Practicing mindfulness, loving kindness, and extreme patience got me through that hellish night. In the morning, he agreed to go to the ER and two months later he was going through surgery for bladder cancer. 

Now we are four months out since his surgery. He has not smoked since, and he is committed to better health. I am committed to supporting him through the journey, as he experienced setbacks and had another hospitalization. We are growing as a couple while we find solace in our spiritual commitments and our commitment toward a healthier relationship.

A practice as simple as experiencing my own imperfection at cleaning a rug at FCM has helped me during this time. I am experiencing equanimity from my continued practice of meditation and studying the Dharma, in addition to the recent choice of my giving time to selfless service on Tuesdays with the cleaning crew.

The Dharma and patience led me to the Tuesday mornings. I make it to the center to meditate and offer my service. I feel joyful and grateful. I feel love. I feel at home. When I mindfully clean, I am given moments of insight into my practice: dropping the story, the attachments, the ego, the desires, and simply feeling the lessons, giving me peace.

I remember at the patience retreat Fred speaking about the traffic. Since I live an hour away from the center, traffic has been a deterrent for me. Now on Tuesday mornings, driving an hour each way with traffic I also encounter numerous moments to practice patience. I now look forward to pausing at red lights, traffic jams and delays.

I move more slowly. Cleaning gives me moments of non-self and patience as I deliberately attempt to get each speck of dirt off the rug, witnessing my attachment to such a desire, and the state of grace I feel when I let it all go. The sense of fellowship I receive from the sisters at the center is very heartwarming and comforting, as well, and feeds my spirit.

Offering to serve in whatever capacity I am needed sheds a bit attachment of ego as well. And I practice patience…as I know my Ego and Self have always leaned a bit toward being an overachiever and loves efficiency and “getting a lot done in a short period of time”, but this is not what selfless service is about. So, I get to LET GO of the Self who has a habit of doing things fast and furious while ignoring other insights.

What began in a retreat for developing patience, wanting to be recognized by the community for my years of “accomplished” spiritual lifestyle, seeking like-minded beings to support me in my journey, has evolved to cleaning specks of dirt off a rug, and feeling grateful for the experience to serve others.

So when you enter the hall, know that I have cleaned with loving kindness in my heart and if you see a speck of dirt, realize that too was a gift for my spiritual development. 

Joni Masse of Tarpon Springs began her conscious spiritual practice about 35 years ago, when she became a yoga teacher and lived in an intentional Yoga community. That led her to study Buddhism at a Buddhist inspired college, Naropa University in Boulder CO and to follow Pema Chodron and her many books and online courses. Finding a center like FCM in the spring of 2024 has given her a sangha and a live teacher, and she is deeply grateful.

By BILL Mac MILLEN

I recently attended Fred’s in-person offering of four “pop-up” teachings on the Heart Sutra, one of the most widely read and beloved of the Buddhist sutras, and one we regularly chant at FCM during Sunday Sangha. As one of Fred’s senior students, and an FCM Dharma Instructor, the series was especially meaningful for me in a variety of ways.  

First, I deeply appreciated the opportunity to be physically present in the Meditation Hall with a realized teacher who is also my teacher, to hear Fred’s insights and wisdom firsthand just like Shariputra got to listen to Avolokita in the sutra.

Aware of all the consistent effort and sacrifices Fred has made over his life to come to realization—not just to study these deep teachings intellectually, but also to embody them in daily life and tirelessly transmit them to anyone with an interest—I found all four pop-ups tremendously inspiring. Simply listening to Fred transmit the Heart Sutra encourages me to keep deepening my own realization.

And I’m not new to the Heart Sutra. I’ve been chanting it for 12 years, have heard many teachings on emptiness (the primary focus of this sutra), read many books and commentaries on the sutra and emptiness, and done my own reflections and meditations on the subject. But Fred’s teaching is so personal, so down-to-earth, filled with clarifying examples (like asking if “wetness” is separate from water) and clear, that I was able to hear his transmission with a degree of freshness that allowed new insights and understandings to arise. 

For example, I already knew the history of the sutra and was aware of ongoing academic interest in debating its origin. But listening to Fred, my own preoccupation with the source of the sutra’s words disappeared behind the thought, “What does it matter?” If a proven cure for a disease afflicting me were found, would I decline to take the medicine until I knew the source of that cure, and all the details around how and when the cure had been developed?

This thought inspired me to recognize the opportunity before me to let go of distractions and simply “take the cure” for suffering that the Heart Sutra offers. It also energized a renewed sense of urgency within me to do so, to wake up to the cure now. This urgency arose in connection with my ongoing appreciation of the truth of impermanence—specifically in relationship to this aging body and its daily reminders that my journey here is time limited, that there’s literally “no time to lose.”

I’ve long found the application of Buddhist teachings on emptiness both invigorating and challenging. Still the question remained, “How can I apply the teachings in practical ways to end my own suffering and benefit others?” Hearing Fred’s explanations and insights over the four weeks of pop-up teachings on the Heart Sutra deepened my understanding of both the truth of emptiness and the implications of that truth for my own practice. It re-energized my ongoing aspiration to wake up.  

Finally, I found listening to the chanting of the gatha at the end of the sutra profoundly moving. Many voices joined the solo leader in chanting with increasing energy:   “Gate, gate, paragate, parasamgate, bodhi svaha” (“Gone, gone, gone beyond, gone to the other shore, awake, rejoice”). I saw Fred’s smile as we listened to the chanting, and heard again his tireless encouragement that awakening to the nature of my mind (reaching ‘the other shore’) is entirely possible for all humans, including me. 

I left the final pop-up with a renewed sense of faith in the teachings, my teacher, and my own ability to realize the teachings. The seeming conundrum of how to both live a worldly life and enhance the experience by realizing the truth of emptiness now seems much more “doable.”

Walking away after the final night’s talk, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for the teachings, my teacher Fred, and our FCM community.

Bill Mac Millen has been a student of Fred and a member of FCM since 2013. Currently, he is the Center Care Leader shepherding maintenance and beautification of our grounds and facilities and a regular contributor in leading workshops and retreats. 

By CAROL MEYER

Ever wonder how FCM does all? How we offer such rich Dharma programs, maintain our beautiful facilities and campus, nurture and sustain loving community, keep everyone informed, and continue to grow? How we do it all as a sangha of over 350 members relying almost entirely on selfless service, with only three paid staff (Dharma Teacher Fred, Caretaker David Braasch, and Office Manager Liz Stepp)? 

The short answer? Hundreds of members and friends willingly offer selfless service, and we have a quiet non-hierarchical organizational structure consisting of two governing bodies: the Board of Directors and the Leadership Council.   

The Board of Directors was established in the FCM Bylaws when FCM was incorporated in 1986 as a Florida not-for-profit and tax-exempt 501(c)(3) religious organization for the purpose of furthering the practice of Buddhism. The Board currently consists of four officers and four directors serving staggered terms. The Dharma Teacher serves as an ex-officio member of the Board. Follow this link if you want to see who is currently serving on our FCM Board. 

The Board meets at least five times per calendar year, uses consensus decision-making and assumes all of the traditional fiduciary roles of the boards of non- profit organizations, including the following.

1. Elects new directors and directors who serve as officers of the corporation: Board chair, Board chair-elect, secretary and treasurer

2. Ensures that FCM remains true to its stated vision, mission and core values

3. Engages in strategic (“big picture”) planning to set broad policy and objectives, and ensures FCM remains focused on realizing stated short and longer-term goals and priorities

4. Oversees FCM finances, including: preparation and approval of the annual budget, prudent collection and expenditure of operating funds and initiation of capital campaigns

5. Establishes committees, effective management structures, and priorities to help FCM realize its mission, vision and strategic plans 

6. Participates in key staffing decisions, including recruitment and engagement of members to offer selfless service as directors, officers, and program leaders

Want to know what our FCM Board is focusing on now?  Here are the current 2025 priorities adopted by our FCM Board at its 2024 annual Board retreat last December.

1. Continue building a community that nourishes personal connections and relationships in all FCM activities and through the implementation of “family groups.”  (3-year priority)

2. Elevate and strengthen FCM’s culture of selfless service as a path of practice and by supporting the development and appointment of a Selfless Service Coordinator.

3. Continue to develop the infrastructure to create a permanent digital marketing group.

4. Increase FCM's partnerships and interactions with local non-profit organizations having missions and values similar to FCM’s.

5. Encourage the leadership to promote a wider awareness and utilization of the FCM Sangha Harmony Guide within FCM and proactively encourage leadership training to address situations of disharmony or conflict. 

While the Board focuses on “big picture,” the Leadership Council and its area leaders focus on daily operations and doing all that we want and need to do together. The Leadership Council, which includes Fred at the center of it all, meets weekly to ensure communication flows among all areas, challenges are met, and the sangha flows like a river with all areas working together in harmony.  Here are our current area leaders and members of the Leadership Council.

• Our teacher Fred serves as our spiritual guide, providing leadership and support, and ensuring that we remain focused on realizing FCM's mission, values and goals.
  
• Dharma Programs Leader Angie Parrish oversees all Dharma programs, including Sunday sangha, meditation, workshops and classes, Intensives, Days of Mindfulness, retreats, online courses and recordings and more.
  
• Communications Leader Carol Green oversees communications (including Mindfulness Matters).
  
• Community Care Leader Peggy Wallace oversees programs that support and nurture our community and membership, such as Sangha Building/Membership, Sangha Care and Support, Social Activities, Death & Dying, and Spiritual Friends groups.
  
• Facilities Leader Bill Mac Millen and Caretaker David Braasch are in charge of the safety and maintenance of FCM’s Tampa Practice Center, including grounds and gardens, buildings and facilities, kitchen, housekeeping, selfless service and our residential caretaking program.
  
• Operations Leader Lydia Anderson, along with our Office Manager Liz Stepp, are responsible for financial reporting, risk management and compliance.
  

Want to know even more about how FCM works?  Follow this link to the Organization page in the About section of our website, and check out the role of the Order of Interbeing and Council of Elders in our amazingly wonderful sangha! 

Carol Meyer of Asheville, NC, has been a member of FCM for 13  years and currently is leader of FCM's Order of Interbeing.

By PEGGY WALLACE

My brother was 13 years my senior. I didn’t really grow up with him around. He was off to college before I could even make sense of his existence.

But for him, I was like his first child. He had memories of our early years together, he as a teenager and me as a toddler, that simply don’t exist for me in any real way. He loved me fiercely, always.

When I was myself a teenager, we developed a bond so strong, other members of our family couldn’t fathom it. He was present in my life in a way that no other adult was. He mattered to me in a way that simply didn't apply to other people. When he suddenly died in 2009, it left a gaping hole in my world. The pain of losing him is something that remains with me, just under the surface.

One of the many things we bonded over was music. He was a musician in his spare time, playing guitar and piano, writing and recording songs, playing on the street corners in his downtown Boston neighborhood just for fun. I loved music, and because I adored him, this was our bonding place.

We could spend hours listening to music, each taking a turn at picking out songs from his vast music library. Back when music was made on vinyl and there were stores that sold things called "records", we could spend an entire afternoon combing through the options, making our selections, and then going home to have a listening party. He taught me about rhythm, tone, pitch, harmony, and cadence. I learned to identify the different musical instruments simply by sound. There literally are not many songs (particularly the classics) that aren’t tied to my memory of him in some way.

And so, in 2009, music stopped for me, or rather, I stopped the music. It was painful, especially in the early days following his death, to listen to songs we enjoyed together.

And so, very soon after his passing, I started telling myself stories about music: You can’t enjoy music anymore. If you listen to that, it will bring back painful memories. Music isn’t special anymore. It’s not going to sound as good, now that he’s gone. And on and on, the stories went. Until I decided that music would no longer be a part of my life. I tuned into talk radio and called it a day. I had decided that I was no longer a music fan. Too painful. Too hard. 

Fast forward 15 years and I’m at the FCM Widsom Retreat. It’s a few days into the retreat when, close to the end of the evening, Fred instructs us all to lay down in the Meditation Hall. Get comfortable, he says, because we’re going to listen to music.

Panic. Stories. I don’t listen to music, and certainly not in public, because I’m likely to cry. I was stiff, and tense, and worried. And I heard the stories start to play in my head.

And then Fred said, seemingly directly to me, “Just relax”.  So this time, I decided to try something different. This time I thought, What might happen if I don’t tell those stories and just listen? Could I let music just be music?  Could it be joyful again? Could I enjoy the beauty of it again? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if that was possible?

Because I had long ago made the decision to invent and tell myself my stories about music, I also had to make the decision to put the stories down, if only for a moment, just to see what would happen.

As I lay there in the Meditation Hall, staring out the window at the dark night, heat lightning lit up the sky, and the music began to play. Oh, God, acoustic guitar. My brother's first, most loved instrument. For a moment, my heart ached and I started to entertain an old story, but I was able to let it go, telling myself, “I don’t have to tell a story about this, I can just listen”.

And then, the magic happened. The music was stunning, clear, melodic. As I let go of my stories, gorgeous tempos and melodies flowed over me like old friends coming home again. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I was stuck by the serene peace the music brought to me. It was one of the more powerful moments of my life.

I did a lot of thinking in the wake of that experience. I realized very acutely that the stories I had invented, perpetuated, and told over and over again had walled me off. I was missing out on the joy of music and it was all my own doing. What else was I holding myself back from? In what other ways was I limiting my life experience because of these stories? And why did I invent them in the first place? Well, that’s another discussion entirely but if I had to sum it up, I could: Fear.

And so I began examining my own mind, and looking for the stories in my everyday life (they are not hard to find). I began deconstructing these stories that I once thought kept me safe. Each time one began to play, I stopped and examined it. Was it true? Did I need to keep telling it? Was it really helping me, or was it depriving me from being fully open and engaged with my life? What is this story keeping me from?

And that process continues today. And slowly, in the untelling of my once-cherished stories, I am reclaiming my life and giving it back to myself, uncovering joy along the way. 

Peggy Wallace of Tampa has been a member of FCM since 2021. She is a member of the Board of Directors, leader of Community Care on the Leadership Council and a member of the Order of Interbeing.

By RAJ GOYAL

Arriving at the Florida Community of Mindfulness always feels like returning to a sanctuary. The stillness of the Zen garden, the gentle trickle of water and the nourishing silence of the sangha have a way of loosening knots I didn’t even realize I’d been carrying. In this space, the mind softens, and the heart quietly opens.

For the past six months, I had been working through Part One and into Part Two of the Deconstructing the Myth of Self Intensive, taking deliberate steps to observe the structure of self. I came eager to go deeper in the August retreat, but a week before the retreat, my mother had a TIA. In an instant, I was swept back into the identity of “responsible son.” The sense of “me” became sharper, heavier.

Through reflection—and my parents’ loving encouragement—I realized they had the resources to manage without me. That recognition allowed me to arrive fully.

The drive to the center became my first practice. With each mile, my thoughts slowed, my breath deepened. By the time I stepped onto the grounds, gratitude filled me—gratitude for my wife and family, who had given me the space to be here, and for the chance to turn inward without distraction.

Early in the retreat, I noticed subtle triggers from daily life. My aspiration was to look beyond the content of these triggers and examine the architecture of self. Turning toward my “mistrust” schema in inner child work brought waves of sadness, suspicion and insecurity.

Betsy Arizu, the retreat leader, with her steady presence and compassionate guidance, created a path for exploring these wounds safely. Her process was so clear and impactful. In the embrace of the sangha, I could question long-held stories, gently offering my inner child new evidence that these old truths were not absolute. New, healthier beliefs began to take root.

There were moments of resistance, especially when memories cut close to the bone. At times, missing my family pulled me away from the present moment. When that happened, I walked slowly through the Zen garden, letting breath and step become one. Guided meditations with Misti Oxford-Pickeral and Bill Mac Millen brought me back to the work at hand. Misti’s almost angelic voice in the morning chanting set the tone for each day with clarity and intention.

One of the most powerful moments came during deep sharing after the inner child sessions. I felt raw yet held. The community’s presence gave strength to the tender perspectives I was forming. It was as if we were not only loosening the knots within ourselves but gently untangling each other’s as well.

In those moments, I felt what it means to take true refuge—in the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha—rather than in the delusive, conditioned self.

Since returning home, I’ve deepened my daily meditation, aspirations and intentions. My journey with the book Emotional Alchemy continues, now with a sharper focus on the schemas that construct the self. As Zen Master Dōgen wrote, “To study Buddhism is to study the self; to study the self is to forget the self.”

Raj Goyal began his practice in 2017, starting with yoga and moving toward longer meditations. He found FCM about two or three years ago and has embraced its community ever since. He live in Odessa, FL, with his wife and their three daughters (ages 5, 13 and 15). This year is dedicated to deep self-work for his own growth and for his family.

By KARUNA REIFF

Since becoming a mother, I had hoped to take my family one day to a family retreat at a Plum Village monastery.  As a child myself, I had wholeheartedly enjoyed attending several Plum Village family retreats in the U.S., as well as a few summer family retreats in Plum Village, France. Those experiences were always bright, happy spots in my childhood where my connection with Buddhism and Buddhist communities started to grow.

My dream came true this summer when I went with my husband and our two children (ages 10 and 13) to the Family Retreat at Blue Cliff Monastery. The monastery sits on 80 peaceful acres of woodland in the rural Catskill region of Pine Bush, NY-- a lovely change from busy Tampa Bay! Blue Cliff is home to a thriving community of monks, nuns, and lay practitioners who share the art of mindful living with thousands of adults and children every year. 

Karuna and Newton Reiff relax among the Buddha statues at Blue Cliff Monastery.

In the photo above, Karuna hugs her daughter, Metta, in front of the Blue Cliff meditation hall.

We attended a four-day retreat primarily led by the monks and nuns. It seemed part mindfulness retreat (not much silence, though!) and part summer camp. The adults' program included some meditation, a Dharma sharing group, work meditation, and talks/panels on topics such as the Five Mindfulness Trainings, transforming suffering, and Beginning Anew. 

Meanwhile, the children were immersed in their own activities, which often included games like soccer, tag and volleyball.

Miraculously, our 13- year-old son, who typically likes to do his own thing, happily spent almost all day every day with the Teen Program without any complaints. Our 10-year-old daughter joined the children’s program for her age group where she enjoyed playing outside almost all day and learning about things like the Two Promises and Beginning Anew.  

The accommodations were varied and a surprise (at least for us) until we arrived. We were very comfortable in an RV while other families stayed in dorms or camped. Delicious vegan meals were served buffet-style three times daily with enough variety for everyone to be satisfied.  

What stood out the most for me was how quickly all members of my family felt comfortable and happy.

The children instantly sensed Blue Cliff was a safe place where they could wander about and feel free. As parents, my husband and I quickly relaxed our guard as we felt the kindness of the community and knew our children were engaged in wholesome, nurturing activities. 

The retreat watered and planted seeds in the four of us around kindness and living more harmoniously with others. Being with so many other families (250 total people) engaging in this wholesome way of being encouraged us in our practice. And, of course, it was nice to have someone other than me sharing this wonderful path with our family. 

While most of the families that we met live in other parts of the country, connections were made and hopes of meeting again during future summer retreats were expressed. We also had the good fortune of attending with another FCM family, the Sedhains, which made the experience even more special. 

We hope to return for another family retreat at Blue Cliff and hope this article will encourage other FCM families to consider a family retreat at one of the Plum Village monasteries here in the United States. Blue Cliff (NY), Magnolia Grove (in MS)  and Deer Park (CA) monasteries all hold annual family retreats. It’s a great way to vacation together!    

Karuna Reiff lives in St Petersburg where she works as a hospice social worker.  She helps to facilitate the Family Program at FCM.  

By KATE TALANO

When I arrived at Plum Village for what became my year of residency, I carried a quiet but persistent belief that something was wrong with me. That I had somehow fallen out of alignment with life and had to fix myself to return to the light that I had recently touched while sitting with my grandfather as he transitioned.

But during my year at Plum Village, slowly and with great tenderness, that belief began to unravel as my practice with the Three Jewels—the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha—deepened. I didn’t just study the Three Jewels at Plum Village, I touched their living, embodied nature as truths I could rest in: that I am already whole; that the path is available in each moment; and that I am never alone.

"If you meet the Buddha, kill the Buddha," the monk said as we shared over cups of warm tea.

"What? Kill the Buddha?" I asked, dismayed and puzzled by this koan.

He nodded, smiling. "There is no Buddha. You are the Buddha."

In their own artful way, each of the monastics reminded me that there was no need to look outside myself for the Buddha. The very concept of the Buddha being a thing outside myself was, in fact, clouding my vision. It kept me from seeing the Buddha everywhere, as a living energy and true jewel within me and all life.

Gradually I came to apprehend the Buddha as a presence rather than an idol—as a state of being, a way of seeing clearly right here and now. My practice focused on noticing when I am and am not dwelling in that Buddha within, and on learning how to support myself in coming back to that place of wholeness when self-identification feels strong. In this way, the Buddha became a true jewel for me.

Similarly, a monastic sparked my deepening apprehension of the jewel-like nature of the Dharma. One day while perusing the quiet aisles of the hamlet library, I discovered a small book by Sister Jina—one of the elders, a radiant Irish nun whose energy could light up a stone. A few days later, I passed her near the dining hall, bowed, and said, "Sister Jina, your poetry was so beautiful."

She blinked, then laughed. "Poetry? What poetry? Oh! You must mean my little book. That’s just my diary from a five-month retreat. The Sangha wanted me to write an autobiography, but I had no interest. So I gave them my journal entries. Every morning, I’d wake up and write three lines about what I directly experienced that day. That’s what became my little book."

From that day on, inspired by her practice, I did the exactly same. I kept a small notebook in my pocket and wrote down three lines each day—based exactly on what I saw, tasted, touched, heard, smelled, or noticed arising in my mind.  For example, I wrote the following at 5:46 am on October 27 while walking from the bunkhouse to the meditation hall.

blanketed night sky,

littered with lights

so visibly empty

The silent meals, daily walking meditations, and mindful work periods all soon became part of this practice. Dharma permeated all my waking hours, and began to sink into my bones. Insights arose without my seeking out understanding. Instead of reading about emptiness, I began listening to the visible emptiness, hearing the silence which is eternally all-encompassing, and seeing emptiness as the nature of everything.   

Deepening apprehension of the jewel of Sangha happened, in part, in relationship with other laywomen living at Plum Village. We were five who called ourselves the "Cosmic Sisters" and were responsible for co-creating the Plum Village farm with all the other co-creators—the sun, wind, plants, bees, birds, boars, and other critters. We worked and celebrated joyfully, sinking our bare feet and hands into the Earth, lighting bonfires and dancing to welcome the solstice sun and full moons—sometimes too exuberantly.

One day the monastic sisters kindly asked us to be a bit more contained with our excitement because some practicing noble silence found our laughter echoing up the hill distracting. But they also thanked us for our little honey-nectar bubble of joy, for they felt it, too.

It was in the hum of this great joy, the felt sense of connection with both lay and monastic practitioners, that my appreciation of the jewel-like nature of Sangha deepened. There’s something sacred about being deeply seen and heard. It allows what is most vulnerable to surface and be safely held. For me, the embrace of Sangha allowed a deep sorrow within me to arise. I sank myself into the land and into the arms of my cosmic sangha, knowing grief needed to move through, and love needed to come home.  

Immersed in Sangha, I came to appreciate the Buddha’s teaching, “Sangha is not part of the path; it is the path.” I discovered this jewel extends in concentric circles to encompass all beings—my four cosmic sisters, the 300-person Plum Village community, the global Sangha of practitioners, the countless non-human beings buzzing and growing beside us, the ancestors behind and the descendants ahead, mother Gaia, sister moon, father Sun. Sangha became for me a living refuge. We are never alone. 

In essence, the year at Plum Village was for me a return to wholeness. I became more present, more fully myself. I learned to cultivate rootedness, which became the solid ground from which I could slowly dissolve the small, separate self and step into the vastness of interbeing. I began to see that my humanness and my Buddhanature are not two. That both nirvana and samsara are here. The Three Jewels carried me through transformation, and my gratitude deepened as the world itself became a monastery—everywhere a place of practice, of return home.

I offer this reflection with deep gratitude—for the opportunity to live this experience, and for the honor of sharing it. May these words be of benefit.

By KATE TALANO

Two years ago, I was gifted the honor of shepherding my grandfather through the thin yet boundless veil of this human experience and what lies beyond.

I had never experienced death in that form of intimacy before. I was not taught what to say, or what to do, yet I was following the intuitive acts rooted in breath. The years of caring for him with Alzheimer's had given us a deep bond. He had been declining for a few days prior--resisting, grasping. Slowly, his body was returning to the land. I watched, listened, and wrote. 

Early one morning, while everyone else in the home was sleeping, I went over and placed my forehead to his and said, “If there is one more thing to teach us, it’s that strength does not lie in persevering itself, but in the wisdom of knowing when to persevere and when to let go. Now I can imagine what you are going to do takes a lot of energy. So I am going to breathe with you, but it’s up to you if you’d like to stay or go.”

Then I took two deep breaths, harmonizing with his. 

We entered what I describe as ”the space between”—that liminal space beyond time, beyond words, beyond anything I had previously concretized in my mind. All was silence, light and love. Complete oneness. Peace showered my body and his as together we bore witness to his continuation. It was breathtaking. I saw us as our light bodies, not our human bodies. Never had I seen ultimate reality so clearly.

There was so much space and knowing found in the emptiness of that light and silence. I remember staring at myself in a mirror afterwards and smiling. I was not the self I had thought I was. It was in that moment with my grandfather when my purpose, my path in life became clear—to share the light, to heal, to support others on their paths to awakening to the beauty of our true nature. Destiny was not a destination, but a way of being.

In the weeks after his passing, everything I thought I understood felt upside down. What was happening? I had believed that awakening to the true mind meant finding a steady place to rest. But instead, I found myself lost in the very unknowing that awakening invites. There seemed to be a fine line between awakening and insanity, and I kept tripping over it. Yet deep within there was a quiet voice asking me to pause with kindness, gently let go, and surrender to not knowing without fear.

From that tender place, I made a series of spontaneous decisions that felt more like surrender than choice. I resigned from my job, packed up most of my belongings, tapered off the antidepressants I’d been on and off for ten years, and ended a relationship with a loving French man that had gently reached its natural end. I asked him to drop me off at the gates of a monastery in the south of France called Plum Village—a monastery I had serendipitously discovered a year earlier through a simple Google search for “Buddhist centers near me.”

I had discovered that Plum Village offered a long-term program in which lay practitioners could join the monastic community for the traditional three-month Rains Retreat and, if the fit felt right, stay on for nine months or more, living in service and deep practice alongside the monastics. I applied for the program late summer, and had received a notification that a spot had opened up, which I was able to accept.

There, I dedicated my time to both my ancestors and my future descendants. This body, this breath, this Earth-made flesh is not mine alone. It is borrowed bone and water, soil and sun shaped by generations before me, and destined to nourish life beyond me. I practiced not only for my own transformation, but for all who once moved through this matter, including my grandfather, and all who may one day be shaped from it.

What felt like falling apart was, in truth, falling together into the path, the practice, the community. I was entering “not knowing,” an awareness without solidity. In a future article, I will share how immersing myself in this community offered me steady ground beneath my feet, helping me unlearn what no longer served me and remember the way back to our true home.

Kate Talano first joined FCM in 2022 shortly after discovering Plum Village and attending a Wake Up retreat, but the seeds of mindfulness were planted in her much earlier by her elementary school counselor, Brandy Kidd, a longtime student of Fred and member of FCM who taught her how to tend to her “worry garden.” She spent a year from October 2023 to October 2024 living long-term in Lower Hamlet Monastery in Plum Village, France. After returning from Plum Village, she began teaching in the public schools in Maine, but soon moved back to Naples to be closer to her family. She teaches Deep Ecology to children and is writing a creative non-fiction memoir that offers a heartfelt invitation to meet life with curiosity, courage, and presence.