When discussing caring for the earth, we must first recognize that the earth isn’t external to us. It’s not merely a resource to be grasped, protected, or altered; this mindset of control, extraction, and possession has led to our current environmental crisis. Historically, driven by an undercurrent of greed, we’ve viewed our surroundings as material to be consumed for our benefit.
We often look outward, expecting others to improve, but in the Zen tradition, transformation begins with ourselves, here and now. We have the opportunity to practice sitting and listening to our breath, body, feelings, and emotions. What’s present? Can we name it clearly, without adding stories? In feeling the breath, our mind no longer dwells on the past or gets carried away toward the future. The breath flows in and out naturally. We simply need to stop, recognize, and feel it. In this way, the spiritual dimension is already present.
Mindfulness isn’t something we strive to obtain; it’s our inherent capacity to be aware. We all contain a seed of mindfulness, even if it’s been buried. While mindfulness is gaining popularity worldwide, it’s sometimes misused as a tool for self-improvement or competition: “Who sits more still? Who’s more Zen?” This reflects a mentality of control, capturing, and extracting. Instead, we have to understand the practice of mindfulness is an ongoing cultivation of inner and outer presence, allowing us to accept and embrace the present moment. With meditation we develop an ability to look deeply, allowing transformation and understanding to be the fruits of our mindfulness practice. Just like an organic garden, mindfulness naturally grows and evolves, adapting to different conditions.
“The lotus thrives in the mud, knowing how to regenerate itself; it possesses the wisdom to be present and let go.”
To work effectively with the earth, we must acknowledge its spiritual nature and wisdom, which surpasses our own. Although humans often believe themselves superior, causing harm to the planet, the earth itself embodies freedom and the ability to endure and transform. I believe that humanity is part of the earth’s ecosystem. But due to our dualistic view of a separate self, we have lost the balance and harmony with our actions in relation to the earth. Therefore, it is important to practice coming home to ourselves to recognize and transform our suffering, greed, and habits and to cultivate a new way of seeing and being. Through mindfulness, we align more closely with the earth’s wisdom and live more harmoniously.
“Earth Holder” is a term used in the Plum Village tradition to describe a bodhisattva, a being who vows to remain where there is suffering in order to help.
Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh grew up surrounded by suffering, including war and discrimination, yet he chose to focus inward and ask how he could contribute positively to his community. He formed a group of young peace activists committed to nonviolence and understanding, even toward perceived enemies. Thich Nhat Hanh, who wrote in a poem that “man is not our enemy,” taught that our true adversary is ignorance, which leads to greed, violence, pain, and discrimination. He emphasized the need for inner transformation to cultivate understanding, healing, and care, fostering unity despite differences. We can celebrate each other’s unique cultures and wisdom, learning to listen to one another.
In the spiritual dimension, we can connect with our ancestors—genetic, spiritual, and land. Our practice is to see ourselves as part of a continuous stream, carrying our ancestors into the present and future. By transforming our thoughts, we also transform generations of pain and suffering, because we’re our ancestors’ continuation, and our actions build the next generation.
Our practice also involves practicing gratitude, being in touch with the wonders of life, and seeing life itself as a miracle. When we begin to view life from this perspective, our relationship with the world around us changes. We develop respect and cultivate moderation. We learn to recognize when we have enough, when to stop, and when to simply enjoy.
We bow to our food, recognizing it as a gift and a wonder. It’s more than just sustenance—it becomes part of us. We carry this food in our daily actions, embodying the gratitude and respect we cultivate in every moment.
Moderation is a deep practice. When you eat, you have an opportunity to slow down, which is a real gift. For many of us, eating is often combined with socializing, entertaining, work, or meetings, so we end up eating our thoughts and projects instead of savoring our meals. But we can train to eat mindfully, without waste. We can ask ourselves, “What’s enough for us?” Sometimes, taking less makes us more grateful.
Our bodies are impermanent. We all age and eventually die, returning to Mother Earth’s embrace. Everything we cherish is also temporary, and we must eventually let go. What endures are our actions—our thoughts, words, and acts of kindness and love, which can be transferred through generations.
Walking is an opportunity to connect with nature, feel grounded, and be present. And walking meditation can sometimes make it easier to be mindful than sitting meditation. It involves channeling our thoughts, feelings, and breath into each step. Try practicing without shoes. Feel the ground beneath your feet, the texture of the grass, or the sensation of rocks. If something causes discomfort, see it as an opportunity to be mindful and grateful for the awareness it brings.
Walking meditation was foundational for my teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh, especially during moments of despair or emotional turbulence. Being in exile, he learned that home is not a physical place but rather a state of being present. Though we all have this “home” within us, we might have forgotten it. Our practice of returning to the breath helps us reconnect with our inner home, where we can understand and transform our suffering.
We’re here to grow and transform continually. And in transformation, we sometimes need mud. It’s a good ingredient to help nurture the lotus flower within us. Our practice involves taking care of the “mud,” learning to accept, see, feel, and even smell it. Then we nurture it into flowers of wisdom. The teaching of “no mud, no lotus” reminds us that suffering and happiness are intertwined, supporting one another.
The lotus may symbolize the beauty and happiness in life, but once you cut it and place it in a vase with clean water, it’ll only last for a few hours before wilting. However, the lotus thrives in the mud, knowing how to regenerate itself; it possesses the wisdom to be present and let go. Thanks to the mud, it can grow, bloom again, and offer itself to the world. Likewise, by understanding and accepting our suffering, we cultivate compassion and happiness. Tending to our suffering allows us to heal past wounds and transform our pain.
Happiness involves recognizing and appreciating what we have—our senses, connections, food, and loved ones. Mother Earth invites us to slow down, listen, and understand our actions and their impact. In observing pain and harm without being overwhelmed, we nurture compassion, understanding, care, respect, gratitude, and mindfulness in every action.
Love is freedom, which includes the liberty to practice, suffer, and transform. It’s not about doing or taking whatever we want. True freedom involves mindfulness and an awareness of our actions’ consequences. True freedom comes with responsibility.
