NEWS

Guest Article by Julie Crandall

​Ginger and I trailed behind the monks as people all around lined the streets snapping photos and straining to get a look at the single file line of robed men. They were surprisingly quick and bright faced as they waved and accepted flowers from outstretched hands.It was day 80 on the Walk for Peace and the monks had one message: Peace. Here. Now. Inside my heart. Inside yours.

Aloka, the peace dog, was missing as he’d had surgery and was recovering. I thought my dog, Ginger, would be a good stand in “peace dog” today, but judging by all the other dogs in the mix, I wasn’t the only one who thought this.

Everyone loves Aloka (“Light”). He was a stray and had followed the monks while they were on an another peace walk in India. He’s been walking with them ever since; a light on their journey. Later in the evening, when the monks addressed the crowd, the first question would be: “How is Aloka?”

We need the pure love of our dogs, especially now. And we need these monks who tell us to forgive, to let it go, to choose peace, to not let the pain swallow you. Loving kindness is the way forward.

There was a rainbow of people out to greet the monks - Black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Indian. Old, young, able bodied, people in wheel chairs, others leaning on walkers. So many languages floating in the air. But in all these faces the same expressions of joy, peace, tenderness. Everyone wants a glimpse of what feels possible in these 19 monks.

I stood in front of the home of a native South Carolina army veteran. He had brought his grandbaby out to witness this moment. “I reckon they mean no harm.” He took a long look at my peace flag and decided it was “purdy.”  I thanked him for his service and meant it. His granddaughter waved at Ginger. As different as he and I probably are, I know we want the same thing: Peace. Love. A world that embraces our kids and grandkids.

I’m clinging to that.

With all the sunflowers and daisies and carnations and flowers of every colors, shape, and size, beauty seemed to be accessible to everyone, passed from hand to hand.

A little girl gave me a purple flower. I took it and passed her the orange carnation that one of the monks had given me. Another child handed me a picture she had drawn of Aloka. Her mom gave Ginger a scratch.

Later, when the monks spoke, it was like they were directly speaking to me and described what we occasionally experience at prodemocracy demonstrations. “There are times when people will shout at us, cuss at us, drive by in their trucks and blow the black smoke on us...”

But the monk didn’t sound angry or resentful.

So what do they do?

Simple. They don’t absorb it. They let the rage and hostility bounce back to where it came from. The monks let it go and send authentic and true loving kindness toward all. Period.

I thought of Renee Good, killed days before. I thought of her dog in the back seat of her car. I thought of the description of Renee that she sparkled. It could have been any of us.

“Don’t absorb it. Repeat after me: this will be my peaceful day,” the venerable monks tell us. We want to believe them. I watched as the local sheriff escort stepped out from his truck to hug one of the monks and say a quick goodbye.

Peace.

How do they not give up? In a world where unthinkable cruelty happens: a young mother shot three times with her six-year-old son’s stuffed animals lying next to her. And this past Saturday, on Day 91 of the Walk for Peace, as the monks entered the Capitol in Raleigh during the ice storm, an ICU nurse in Minneapolis was trying to help a woman up who had been shoved onto the ground in sub zero temps. His last words, before he was shot ten times, were to the woman he was helping, “Are you okay?”

A photo is circulating of Alex Pretti smiling as his dog licked his face. No…none of us are ok right now.

Aloka The Peace Dog (photo from Instagram)

And, even so, the numbers of people who want to be in the presence of these peaceful monks grow every day as they walk through rain, snow, and sleet - 30 miles every single day - toward their destination of Washington D.C.

Is loving kindness possible when hate is so real?

The news cycle moves at lighting speed, one horror bumping the last from our attention. But the monks move one purposeful step at a time, reminding me to keep moving forward. Be mindful. Breathe. Stay alive. Not because democracy and decency and goodness are certain or guaranteed, but because we won’t give up on those things. We can’t. We take one more step and then another.

It has been two weeks now since we saw those monks. Ginger and I left a little canister of tiny dog treats for Aloka with an attached note, “May you and all beings be well, happy, and at peace.”

I’m trying hard to repeat and absorb this mantra of the venerable monks.

Ginger? She’s my “Aloka” and she’s got it down.