Last year, during a hiking trip, Paul and I collected some black bean seeds to plant in his backyard. As we walked, Paul started juggling three of them. They’re big enough to juggle, surprisingly. I had never juggled three before, and was genuinely impressed. Then he handed them to me and encouraged me to give it a try. To my surprise, I managed to juggle all three on my very first attempt. I stood there, a little stunned, while Paul laughed and said, “I was trying to impress you, but looks like it didn’t work.”

Maybe it was a side effect of spending 10 days in silence at Dhamma Rasmi. I was in a state of deep inner peace then. There was no pressure, no inner dialogue. When I picked up the seeds, I didn’t think. I didn’t expect. I simply let my hands move while my mind stayed still. That moment reminded me of Andy Puddicombe’s TED Talk, All It Takes Is 10 Mindful Minutes. Later that day, as I packed for my trip up north, Paul gifted me four proper juggling balls to practice with. The black beans have been thriving in his garden ever since, but the juggling balls still sit in my desk drawer (a reminder to start practicing more, I guess!?)

That same year, I spent a few quiet weeks in the lovely little town of Bellingen down south. One morning, after finishing my meditation on the yoga deck, I sat in silence, watching the first rays of winter sunlight dance across the wooden floor. Out of nowhere, Nathan appeared. Without a word, he handed me his guitar and said, “My Zen teacher once told me that playing guitar can be a form of meditation. Give it a try.”

I’ve always had a complicated relationship with the guitar. When I was 19, I enrolled in a class and quit after the very first day. I told myself the class was too far, I was too busy with university, and I felt too old (I was the only adult there aside from the teacher). Still, I used my student savings to buy my first guitar and tried to teach myself. But the pattern kept repeating: I picked it up, then quit. Picked it up again, then quit again.

Looking back, I realise I wasn’t failing at the guitar. I was weighed down by expectations. I wanted to be good, fast. And when I didn’t meet my own standards, I gave up. Again and again.

But now, I wonder… what if I approach the guitar the way I did those black bean seeds? What if I let go of the outcome, and simply play, not to achieve anything, but to be present? I don’t need to master it. I just need to sit with it. Let my fingers gently touch the strings. Make peace with the sound. Let it become a practice in surrender.

Because in the end, all it really takes is being mindful.

with metta,

thuy