Have you been following the Walk for Peace? If not, it’s a group of 19 Buddhist monks and their rescue dog, Aloka, who are currently walking from Fort Worth, Texas, to Washington, D.C. Their stated purpose? To “share peace, compassion, unity, and healing together.” By the time their 2,300 mile journey ends on or around February 12th, they will have passed through ten states and walked 120 days through all kinds of weather including rain, snow, sleet, and ice — sometimes barefoot, always in their traditional saffron robes.
The color of those robes symbolizes humility, clarity, and the warmth of compassion, and it makes quite a sight against the wintry landscapes they pass through — something that feels spiritual, outside of time and space. The simplicity of the robe’s style reaches back to a monastic lineage from a time when orange dyes were inexpensive — turmeric, even rust. Wearing the robes is part of their ordainment, a pledge to let go of worldly attachments.
I started following the monks’ Facebook page almost from the beginning, back when they didn’t have many followers. But their Moving Meditation — or Walking Prayer, as it’s often called — has caught on fire. Their online following has grown to over 316,000. And thousands have greeted them along highways or walked beside them, handing them flowers and fruit or accepting a string‑blessing bracelet from one of the monks. Police departments have given them escorts and badges for the lead walker to display on a scarf. Churches have hosted them for meals but they mostly sleep in tents. Volunteer doctors have checked on them. One monk was hit by a car, lost his leg, and had to return to the temple in Texas — but Aloka, after his own surgery, has returned to the walk.
What hooked me is that this is such a rare cultural moment in America, and such a stark contrast to what is happening in Minnesota at the same time. The brutality of the ICE operations there — in a state that doesn’t even have as many undocumented immigrants as places like Florida or Texas — feels senseless, driven by pure vindictiveness born out of a soul-less administration.
The monks are not walking to protest. Their official Facebook page says, “This is a neutral space for peace and unity. Please do not post about politics, social protests, or religious arguments. Let us focus only on what brings us together.” But in the back of my mind, I can’t stop worrying about the reception they’ll get in Washington. Will the president acknowledge their presence? If he does, will someone suggest a drinking game based on how many times he mentions that he deserves a Nobel Peace Prize? Will the Proud Boys show up with tiki torches and chatting for the monks be deported? Will ICE be there to demand their papers?
Jasper talked me down from my worst fears — somewhat — by reminding me that ICE doesn’t operate in a vacuum, that “they know the optics wouldn’t be good,” and that there haven’t been incidents as the monks have crossed the country, if you don't count the times a few passing motorists have yelled obscenities at them. I said “somewhat” because poor optics haven’t stopped ICE so far, and the occupants of the White House are so laser‑focused on themselves that they might not even be aware the monks are coming to their neighborhood.
I’m torn. Part of me wishes I could stand at the side of the road with a flower in my hand, waiting to see the orange robes appear in the distance. And at the same time, I wish I could be in the cold streets of Minnesota holding a sign that reads, “First they came for the immigrants, and I spoke up because I know how the rest of the goddamn poem goes.”
But in an era when so much feels loud and brittle, the monks’ quiet procession reminds us that gentleness is still a powerful force — and that sometimes the most radical thing we can do is to keep putting one foot in front of the other with an open and hopeful heart. ©
Until Next Wednesday.
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