A letter from a mother whose son is one of the monks forcefully evicted from Bat Nha.

I know that you have received the full ordination, and I have to refer to you as “Teacher.”   But then I also know that you want me to continue calling you the way I used to when you were living at home.  Plus, this is a love letter, and if I am too formal, it would diminish the communicating effectiveness of a letter.  So, I’ll continue to call you my son, even though you are also the son of the Buddha and of Thay.

Bat Nha is no longer.  Bat Nha has become a legend.  I am thinking about the trees, the stream and the birds at Bat Nha.  Absent of monks and nuns, Bat Nha must be so deserted and depressing, especially when all the meditation halls and dormitories have been smashed, and the statues of Mother and Children have fallen.

There are no more steps in walking meditation, solid and free; no more fresh smiles and bright eyes; no more powerful sitting meditation sessions in the Great Garuda Wing Meditation Hall; no more joyful activities with the college students on the Days of Mindfulness; no more retreats where practitioners, especially young people, come in tens of thousands to listen to Thay giving the Dharma talks.

There is no more beautiful soprano singing of Sister Thi Nghiem during tea meditation and reverberating tenor chanting of Brother Phap Niem at sitting meditation. Bat Nha now is vacant, dejected, forlorn, enduring.  Bat Nha has become a legend in the heart of the people, of the country and of the nation.

I don’t want to let my mind drown in despair, so I sat down to practice deep looking.  And I saw in the ultimate dimension, Bat Nha has become immortal.  Bat Nha has become something like a fairy tale.  Bat Nha has become a legend.  Suddenly, I smiled in the dark of the night:  I saw that my son is an element that has helped to create that legend, and I feel very proud.

During the whole day of September 27th, I could not be still.  I followed closely what was going on in Bat Nha via Phusaonline.  I did follow my breathing, pray to the Buddha, sit in meditation and touch the earth many times, asking the Three Jewels to protect you and all the monks and nuns.  When I came to visit you last year, all the monks and nuns treated me with such gentleness and affection, as if I were their mother.  I was deeply moved.  Thus, I feel reassured knowing that your safety and your danger are intricately woven with the safety and danger of the Sangha.  And the Sangha has great spiritual powers and merits, protected by all the gods.  Thus, whatever happens, all of you will be safe.  On the following Monday, I practiced sending energy to the Sangha the entire time I was at work.  I knew that even though my son’s ceremonial robe was torn, even though you were pushed into a ditch, and even though you were kicked on your side, you still responded with peace.  You did not let the actions of your thoughts, speech, and body dragging you into hatred and violence.   The whole incident is very painful to me.  But I know that you are still safe, and that you are not too seriously injured.  My son, I had been mistreated like that, too, but because of it, I grew up quickly and I became strong.  You have succeeded.  All of my children have succeeded.  Surely, the Buddha and all the patriarchs have witnessed your sincere practice, and they are very pleased about the young monks and nuns of Bat Nha Monastery.  I am confident that even though your elder brothers were threatened, interrogated, and forced to return to their home towns, they have continued to maintain their practice of compassion and peace.  The Buddha and the patriarchs are watching out for them and protecting them.  Do not worry, my son.  I know that my child, held in the heart of the Sangha, is taking care of the present moment with your wholehearted mindfulness.  I see Thay’s teaching is essential:  That the future is made of a substance called the present.   If the present is beautiful, the future will be beautiful.  I know that not only the monks and nuns of Bat Nha have made this legend.  There are also wonderful lay friends, like uncle Nghiem and auntie Khanh, who have stood side by side with all of you in the most dangerous moments.   There are hundreds of uncle Nghiem and auntie Khanh who have helped make legend of Bat Nha.  Courageous Auntie Khanh has become a great example for us to emulate [even though she was a long-term follower of the Venerable Abbot of Bat Nha, she dared to speak up about his unjust behaviors in a conference; she prostrated before his monastic disciples to beg them not to harass the young monks and nuns anymore; and she had to endure beatings by two hired women, as a result].  My son, I am so proud of this Buddhist practitioner from the Peace and Happiness Temple [the Venerable Abbot’s first temple]. This is truly a marvelous lotus in the pond Wisdom (Bat Nha).  The image of auntie Khanh kneeling down before Brother Dong Hanh to beg him not to use violent means has been engraved in my heart, and I am very proud to have someone of the same aspiration like that.

My child, the legendary Bat Nha will forever be here.  And other legends will certainly manifest to continue the legendary Bat Nha.  Young people with aspirations like you are present at any time and at every place in our country.  I pray for them.  People like you give hope to our motherland.  Please rest assures and practice with your entire beautiful beginner’s heart.  That heart is yours, but it is also mine.   I will write you again through other means.

Your mother,
Nguyễn Phước Song Thân