Happy Monday! Peace on this Martin Luther King Jr. Day. King used the power of marches to draw attention to inequality and injustice. One of the many legacies he left us.

Last week I had the opportunity to see the Buddhist monks on their Walk for Peace. I imagine you’ve heard about them, maybe have seen them also. I actually saw them twice on the same day and they were completely different experiences.

I saw them first along a rural road about 10 miles from my home. I’m familiar with the road because we take it every Sunday to church; it’s pretty much in the middle of nowhere. They’d stopped at the volunteer fire department for lunch and I pulled over about a mile away and waited. Others did the same, and because this is a long stretch of nothing, we could space out with car lengths between most of us. Immediately around me were maybe ten other people. Maybe.

Excitement and awe buzzed in the air, but as an undercurrent. What we felt was reverence, even before the monks walked by, like those moments when you enter a place of worship and immediately know you’ve entered a sacred space. We talked in low voices. Even the cows seemed to sense something extraordinary was about to happen, staying quiet, at rest.

I’d not thought to bring flowers. Another woman insisted I take some of hers. I will forever be grateful she offered. This is the only photo I took, anything more felt irreverent or an intrusion. Even the whispers stopped as the blue lights of the police escorts came into view. Then all of a sudden, the monks were there! They appeared so quietly. Most of us bowed in respect. I was close enough their saffron-colored tunics were mere inches from my hands, I could see the fibers, sense the weight of the cloth; I could see the creases in their faces as they smiled, and the joy in their eyes. Kindness. Peace. Benevolence. My daughter-in-love later described her experience saying it was as if they floated by. Yes.

The first monk took my flowers, with a smile and a nod of acknowledgment. Another monk handed me a flower, and another gave me a bracelet of braided yellow and orange threads. Flowers given to the monks are blessed and redistributed along the way. The bracelets are to be worn until they wear off; reminders of non-attachment and that nothing is permanent.

After they passed, I joined many others in our cars following them to the church where they would have visiting hours and spend the night. The two-lane rural road became a main divided highway and at some point, we were able to pass them. They were scheduled to arrive at the church around 6:00, it was 3:00 when I arrived. Parking was already a problem. People were lined 2 and 3 people deep. Traffic hadn’t been stopped so cars zipped by. People around me were talking to each other, talking on their phones, comparing the situation to being at a parade. There was a different kind of curiosity and energy than earlier. Someone with either a bullhorn or intercom system was denouncing the walk and reminding everyone to turn to Jesus. Thankfully he stopped before the monks arrived around 6:20, followed by hundreds who were now walking with them.

The monks weren’t walking on the side of the road, more toward the center with people all around them. They weren’t distributing flowers or bracelets. I caught a glimpse of them between bodies and they looked more focused on their walk than on the people. They looked tired. I hoped it was simply because they were at the end of their day’s journey, but I can’t help thinking it was also because of the crush of the crowd. A day or so later they requested people walk with them in spirit, not physically around or behind them.

I was across the highway from the entrance of the church, and caught up in the groundswell of people, everyone holding their cellphones aloft trying to catch a photo, as we all swarmed onto the driveway.

As I sit here now, I imagine it was similar to when King marched to Selma and D.C.

The monks disappeared into the church while we waited outside where they’d deliver their message and have visitation. I don’t know how many we were but I know it numbered well over a thousand. Even though the atmosphere was completely different from the afternoon, it wasn’t bad, just not the same. What was wonderful was the diversity of cultures, the number of families bringing their children–some in strollers or on their dad’s shoulders. I spoke with a woman from Ireland, heard several other languages. So many brought water and snacks for the monks. Once the monks emerged and one of them opened with a chanting, the crowd quieted. I was at the very fringes of the group and decided I’d had my ‘moment’ earlier in the day. I left after the beautiful chanting.

Unfortunately, when I got back to my car I was blocked in and couldn’t leave. Maybe it was a sign I was supposed to return to the church, but I didn’t feel the nudge to go. The intimacy of the afternoon was what my own heart needed.

But the crowd was needed, too. Peace must enter our own hearts first, then spread person to person. Inner peace becomes communal peace. While in the crowd I didn’t hear any complaining about the cold or the long wait. People shifted to allow those behind to see, especially for those with small children.

I was thrilled my daughter-in-love and Grands, one 9yrs old, the other 7yrs old, also had their intimate moment with the monks. The men took their flowers, and the older Grand received a bracelet. I’ll give mine to the younger one. They have an inkling of the walk’s significance; I hope the seeds of peace and hope will continue to grow.

Maybe one day there’ll be no need for these walks and marches.

May today be your peaceful day. See you next week for Book Review Monday!